the door, and groaned with effort as the lock clunked open.
Turning the knob and opening the door – for what was probably the last time – was an exercise in pain management. This place had turned into home for me; it had replaced a place I never wanted to be.
Luckily, Erik called a day of planning, so the town security council was meeting somewhere else. The old courthouse where our offices were was completely empty. If I’d had to look at anyone I probably would have screamed.
The house shoes I’d refused to change out of scuffed along the marble tiles. I passed an old statue of Davis Gerton III, the founder of Jamesburg. He was a werewolf back before it was cool. He came with pilgrims from England, evidently, but managed to keep himself human the whole time. No one ever knew about his lycanthropic condition even though there were two full moons during the journey. He was a symbol of self-reliance, toughness, and the single-minded drive to be solid and strong that the whole town used to build itself up.
He also wasn’t real.
But like Duggan said, sometimes reality doesn’t matter. Rather, the most important thing about a story is what we take from it, the lessons we learn.
I stared at Davis for a second. His long snout, his crooked back, if he was real, a wolf that looked like he did in the sculpture would be four-, maybe five-hundred years old. I shook myself and nodded to the statue in deference. “See ya ‘round,” I said to him, and went on my way.
By the time I got to the end of the hall, went up three flights of stairs, and got to the mayor’s office, which was across from mine, I’d just about resigned myself to what was happening. But when I opened the door, and the first thing I saw was Erik’s leather jacket thrown haphazardly across my desk, I almost came undone.
I grabbed the single framed picture I had – me and Erik and the miniature golf course two towns over – and dropped it face down into the shoebox I brought with me. Opening my drawers, I grabbed the folders full of paperwork and pictures that never got framed and pulled them out.
“Somethin’ got ya down?”
“Holy shit!” I cried out, jolting so hard I dropped a folder that burst all over the floor. A cascade of documents and stamps that were too old to use anymore slid halfway across the room. “Jamie?”
I looked up and sure enough, the bat lady was hanging from the vaulted ceiling above my desk. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shrugged and gave me half a grin, then sneezed. “It’s quiet here when there are breaks. Government shuts down and the bats come home to roost.”
I snorted an empty laugh. “What brings you to my corner of the world? Seems like there’d be more comfortable places to go if you needed a nap.”
Jamie bared her little fangs in a Cheshire grin and then shrugged. “I thought something like this might happen.”
“You thought? You sure you don’t mean that you read my mind?”
She unrolled her wings and stretched, then wrapped back up. The way she was, it reminded me of a mummy, but a strikingly beautiful one with milk-colored skin and jet-black hair. Oh, and also not dead. As I watched, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I stole one of your oranges. Really good this time of year.” She paused for a second then apparently noticed my open mouth. “Well I can’t live on blood all the time. You have no idea how old it gets. Anyway, you’re too smart for me to pretend like there’s no reason I’m here.”
“I’m done,” I said. “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m leaving. Erik can go to hell for all I care.”
Boxing up three folders full of unframed pictures, I looked over at Jamie, whose wings were hanging limp at her sides.
“How do you keep your hair from falling when you’re upside down all the time?” Curiosity strikes me at the weirdest times.
“Tight bun,” she said. “Anyway, you can’t leave. I
Turning the knob and opening the door – for what was probably the last time – was an exercise in pain management. This place had turned into home for me; it had replaced a place I never wanted to be.
Luckily, Erik called a day of planning, so the town security council was meeting somewhere else. The old courthouse where our offices were was completely empty. If I’d had to look at anyone I probably would have screamed.
The house shoes I’d refused to change out of scuffed along the marble tiles. I passed an old statue of Davis Gerton III, the founder of Jamesburg. He was a werewolf back before it was cool. He came with pilgrims from England, evidently, but managed to keep himself human the whole time. No one ever knew about his lycanthropic condition even though there were two full moons during the journey. He was a symbol of self-reliance, toughness, and the single-minded drive to be solid and strong that the whole town used to build itself up.
He also wasn’t real.
But like Duggan said, sometimes reality doesn’t matter. Rather, the most important thing about a story is what we take from it, the lessons we learn.
I stared at Davis for a second. His long snout, his crooked back, if he was real, a wolf that looked like he did in the sculpture would be four-, maybe five-hundred years old. I shook myself and nodded to the statue in deference. “See ya ‘round,” I said to him, and went on my way.
By the time I got to the end of the hall, went up three flights of stairs, and got to the mayor’s office, which was across from mine, I’d just about resigned myself to what was happening. But when I opened the door, and the first thing I saw was Erik’s leather jacket thrown haphazardly across my desk, I almost came undone.
I grabbed the single framed picture I had – me and Erik and the miniature golf course two towns over – and dropped it face down into the shoebox I brought with me. Opening my drawers, I grabbed the folders full of paperwork and pictures that never got framed and pulled them out.
“Somethin’ got ya down?”
“Holy shit!” I cried out, jolting so hard I dropped a folder that burst all over the floor. A cascade of documents and stamps that were too old to use anymore slid halfway across the room. “Jamie?”
I looked up and sure enough, the bat lady was hanging from the vaulted ceiling above my desk. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shrugged and gave me half a grin, then sneezed. “It’s quiet here when there are breaks. Government shuts down and the bats come home to roost.”
I snorted an empty laugh. “What brings you to my corner of the world? Seems like there’d be more comfortable places to go if you needed a nap.”
Jamie bared her little fangs in a Cheshire grin and then shrugged. “I thought something like this might happen.”
“You thought? You sure you don’t mean that you read my mind?”
She unrolled her wings and stretched, then wrapped back up. The way she was, it reminded me of a mummy, but a strikingly beautiful one with milk-colored skin and jet-black hair. Oh, and also not dead. As I watched, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I stole one of your oranges. Really good this time of year.” She paused for a second then apparently noticed my open mouth. “Well I can’t live on blood all the time. You have no idea how old it gets. Anyway, you’re too smart for me to pretend like there’s no reason I’m here.”
“I’m done,” I said. “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m leaving. Erik can go to hell for all I care.”
Boxing up three folders full of unframed pictures, I looked over at Jamie, whose wings were hanging limp at her sides.
“How do you keep your hair from falling when you’re upside down all the time?” Curiosity strikes me at the weirdest times.
“Tight bun,” she said. “Anyway, you can’t leave. I
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