7. Grace

7

GRACE

A rriving at work in the nick of time, I plop gracefully onto my seat, checking my emails for any urgent messages before my meeting with Adam. He's my main rival for investigative pieces, but our editor wants us to work together to avoid repetition. It's an unavoidable irritation.

In journalistic circles, Adam is like a predator. He has a nose for stories that the public just gobbles up. He could find the most obscure detail and sniff out any anomalies. But his methods leave a lot to be desired.

For example, he deliberately woos the female clerks in city hall, so he can get first dibs on any cases that will come up. He shamelessly bribes them with flowers, gift cards, vouchers to restaurants… Anything to get ahead of the competition – not just me, but reporters from other publications, too.

I don't understand what they see in him. He's a misogynist, chasing every person in a skirt. I can never forget how shamelessly he flirted with me when I first started. He mistook me for an intern and thanked me for wearing a skirt to work.

Shaking my head at the memory, I decide to grab myself a cup of coffee before the meeting. Knowing Adam, he'll likely argue over any pieces I get assigned to write. I grab my notebook and pens, passing by the pantry to brew myself a cup.

"Meeting with Adam?" Betty, the administrative assistant, whispers to me.

I give her a wordless yes, raising my eyebrows in confirmation.

"You better take a large," she says, exchanging the cup I got.

"Thanks," I tell her gratefully.

To my surprise, the meeting goes off without a hitch. Adam barely argues when Don, our editor, gives me the seven-car pileup to write about. He must be up to something, I think. He'd never give in so easily unless he had a prior motive.

During the meeting, I've been receiving emails from one of my contacts in the coroner's office. He gave me the name of a park ranger who had mentioned a woodcutter. This woodcutter may be willing to talk. And I can hardly wait to finish the meeting myself, so I can check out what he had to say.

Don seems pleasantly surprised to have the meeting so short. He's probably blocked out an hour at least, expecting Adam to argue about his assignments. His expression of relief as we adjourn is almost comical.

I settle back into my seat, the office buzz humming around me as I open the email from my contact at the coroner's office. My heart skips a beat when I see the name and number of the park ranger he mentioned. Without wasting a second, I dial the number, my fingers tapping anxiously on my desk.

"Hello?" a gruff voice answers.

"Hi, this is Grace from the Pilham Herald. I got your number from a mutual contact. I was hoping to ask you a few questions regarding some recent activity in the forest."

The ranger lets out a sigh. "Look, I haven't seen any potential shifter activity myself, but there's a woodcutter named Matthew who mentioned something suspicious. He's on break in fifteen minutes. If you can make it to the forest by then, he'll meet you at the gas station near Pilham's woods. He doesn't want to speak over the phone."

I scribble down the details, my pulse quickening. "Thank you so much. I'll be there."

I grab my bag and head out, my mind racing with possibilities. As I drive to the gas station, I can't help but wonder if Ethan knows anything about this. He was so cagey about shifters when we talked. Maybe he's heard the same rumors.

The gas station comes into view, and I pull in, parking my car and scanning the area. A man in his late forties, with rugged features and a wary expression, stands near the entrance. He looks around before making eye contact with me and nodding subtly. This must be Matthew.

"Grace?" he asks as I approach.

"Yes, Matthew, right?" I confirm.

He nods again, glancing around nervously. "Let's walk," he says, leading me towards a more secluded area behind the station.

"What did you find?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

Matthew exhales sharply. "I've been working in Pilham's woods for years. Recently, I've found random articles of clothing strewn around. Jackets, shirts, even shoes, torn to shreds. It's not normal."

A shiver runs up my spine. "Shifters tear their clothing when they transform," I murmur, more to myself than to him.

He nods, his eyes darting around. "The loggers are talking. There are rumors about shifters. Some believe they walk among us. Don't trust anyone."

His words send a chill down my spine. I check out his profile, trying to gauge his sincerity. He seems earnest, but my mind immediately goes to Ethan. Has he heard these rumors too? Does he believe in them?

"Thank you for telling me this," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

Matthew nods and turns to leave, disappearing into the trees. I stand there for a moment, processing everything. Ethan's face flashes in my mind, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to him than he's letting on.

That night, I meet Ethan at the Tooth and Claw for our second date. The moment I step inside, I feel like an outsider. The bar is dark and dreary, with dim lighting casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors. The walls are adorned with old hunting trophies and faded photographs, giving the place an air of forgotten history. There are no women around, just groups of men hunched over their drinks, speaking in low, gravelly tones.

I spot Ethan at the bar, his presence a beacon in the otherwise unwelcoming atmosphere. He stands up when he sees me, offering a warm smile that momentarily eases my discomfort.

"Hey, Grace," he greets, pulling out a stool for me.

"Hey," I reply, taking a seat. The bartender, a tall, imposing man with piercing eyes, is wiping down the counter nearby. He glances at me, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

"What can I get you?" he asks, his voice gruff.

"Just a beer, thanks," I say, trying to sound casual.

Ethan and I make small talk, but I can't shake the feeling of being watched. The bartender, Adrian, interrupts us as he sets our drinks down. "Another round?" he asks, even though we've barely touched the first.

"No, we're good," Ethan replies, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Adrian nods but doesn't move away, wiping the table near our elbows. The tension between us grows, and I decide to bring up the topic on my mind. "So, about those shifter rumors…"

Ethan's expression tightens. "Grace, can we not talk about that right now?"

I frown, frustration bubbling up inside me. "Why not? It's important, Ethan. I need to know."

Before he can respond, Adrian interrupts us again, this time with a cloth in hand, wiping down the already-clean table. "Need anything else?" he asks, his eyes boring into Ethan.

"No, thank you," I say, trying to keep my voice polite.

Adrian finally moves away, but the moment is lost. "Let's find a quieter spot," Ethan suggests, leading me to a table in the corner. The shadows here are deeper, and the noise from the bar is muffled. A few plants strategically placed around us give us some semblance of privacy. Hopefully, we'll no longer be interrupted here.

We sit down, and I take a deep breath, deciding to try again. "Ethan, why are you so weird about this? Do you know something you're not telling me?"

He glances around nervously, avoiding my gaze. "It's just… complicated, Grace."

"Complicated how?" I press, but before he can answer, Adrian appears again, this time with a tray of empty glasses. He starts wiping the table next to ours, his presence impossible to ignore.

I sigh, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. "You know what? I think I should go. I have more research to do for my article."

"Grace, wait," Ethan protests, but I can't shake the frustration of him withholding something from me.

"I can't do this if you're not going to be open with me," I say, standing up and grabbing my bag. "I'll see you around, Ethan."

I walk out of the bar, my mind racing with questions and doubts. As much as I'm drawn to Ethan, I can't ignore the feeling that he's hiding something. And until I get to the bottom of these shifter rumors, I won't rest.