23. Felix

23

FELIX

I t's official—I'm a coward.

I shake my head as we walk to the town hall, berating myself for losing my nerve.

"What is it?" Cat asks, peering up at me.

"Nothing."

She doesn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either.

We arrive at the village hall early, judging from the lack of people inside.

"You're here," Otis says when we walk in, rising from his desk in the corner of the room. His collar is loose, and it looks like he's been tugging at it all afternoon. There's an ink stain on his sleeve. He looks harried and disheveled, and all traces of his jolliness are absent. "Thank you for coming. I'm so deeply sorry you arrived at such a turbulent time."

"How are you holding up?" I ask him, peering at the paperwork on his desk.

He sighs heavily. "I'm working on the report to submit to the magistrate's office in Hellenford. Thankfully, Luther is already here, so he doesn't have to make an extra trip to the village."

Yes, he was here. I glance at Cat to see what she thinks of that. Her eyes are narrowed in quiet thought, and she presses her lips together. She has the same look she did the other day when she was telling me about her sister, the situation dredging up memories best left forgotten.

Should I take her away? Tell Father he can keep his money and appoint a new successor? I'd learn a trade and buy Cat a sweet cottage with the garden she's always wanted. No more hunting, no more werewolves.

As nice as it sounds, I quickly dismiss the idea. Cat might like the quiet life for a while, but she's a hunter at heart. She'd miss GHOST and the friends who have become a second family over the years.

"Such sad timing," Otis continues, "what with his and Annika's engagement. We should be celebrating, not…" He trails off with another sigh. "Not this."

A woman about Otis's age emerges from a room in the back, carrying a tray of biscuits, scones, and small cakes. Even though she's frowning, she has a gentle look about her, with soft eyes and a round face. She wears her brunette hair up, but several strands have escaped, adding to her slightly disheveled look. When she sees us, her face lights up. "Hello."

Otis smiles at the woman, extending his hand toward her. "Set those down, Hildie, and come meet the Wards."

It's his wife, then. They fit together, two pleasant people, both a little too soft for the tragedy that's invaded their village.

"I was preparing refreshments for…" Hildie winces and then shakes her head as if even speaking of the meeting grieves her. She sets the tray on Otis's desk and then hurries to greet us.

"Catriona, Felix," Otis says, "this is my wife, Hildie."

"It's such a pleasure to meet you both." She gives me a warm smile and then takes Cat's hands. "Otis has said nothing but nice things. I apologize for not stopping by to say hello yet. Time keeps getting away from me."

"Thank you for preparing the apartment for us," Cat says. "I especially loved the flowers."

Hildie smiles. "I'm so glad."

The door opens, and Arnold, Bernice, Annika, and Luther enter the building.

"Hello, friends," Otis says. "I'm sorry to disrupt your evening like this."

"It's fine, Otis." Bernice crosses the room. Like her daughters, the seamstress is pretty. Her hair is brown, streaked with gray, and she has a tidy appearance. She's Hildie's opposite, but the way they greet each other shows they're close.

She turns to Cat, clasping her arms. "I'm so relieved you're all right. When we realized you were out there, at the same time as…" She swallows hard. "I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you when you were walking home from our house."

"We're all right," Cat assures her gently. "Where's Heidi? And Carl?"

"Heidi didn't want to bring the children, so she stayed home with them and Mother. Carl didn't feel comfortable leaving them alone, so he stayed home as well."

Arnold joins us, rubbing his wife's shoulder. "They'll be all right."

Bernice lets out a slow breath, nodding.

"Let's move to the meeting room," Otis suggests, leading us into an adjoining space with long wooden benches and a podium. We sit with Arnold's family.

Hildie brings her tray of refreshments and then disappears, returning with several teapots. Satisfied with the spread, she sits next to Otis on the bench in front of us.

Friedrich and Jane arrive next, followed by Johann, Mr. Martin who owns the bookshop, and a few families we haven't met yet.

Cyril slips in, avoiding eye contact and staying toward the back of the room.

"I'm not sure Bruno should have brought Frida," Bernice says to Hildie quietly when the tavernkeeper and his aunt enter the room. "I'm afraid tonight's conversation will frighten her."

"I doubt he wanted to leave her alone," Hildie answers. "Apparently, she's been wandering in the wee hours of the night."

"Whatever for?"

"What do you think?" Hildie glances at Cat, her eyes straying to my wife's cheek, obviously having heard we met the creatures. She must have visited Johann's store after we left.

Frida sits beside Bruno on a bench, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and smiling when her nephew brings her a biscuit from Hildie's refreshment table. She nibbles on it, her eyes distant.

I watch her, remembering our strange meeting last night.

The room is nearly full when Otis takes his place at the front. "I think just about everyone is here, so we'll begin?—"

The door opens, and a man swears. There's a sharp female response, followed by another female voice that's hushed.

All eyes are on Belinda and Millie as they enter the meeting room with their father.

Hubert's hair is long, gray, and stringy. A short, scruffy beard covers his lower face, and his eyes are bloodshot. Wearing a scowl, he yanks away from Belinda's guiding hand and sits on the bench in the back along the wall.

"Sorry," Belinda says, looking like she wants to crawl under the bench. "We're late. We…well, we're late."

Millie merely looks bored as she takes a seat next to her father and sister—like she was dragged here against her will and could have found far better ways to entertain herself this evening.

She notices me studying her family and raises her brows subtly, an inviting smile playing across her lips. I look away, liking the woman a little less each time I meet her.

Slowly, the people in the room return their attention to Otis.

The village reeve clears his throat, preparing to begin. "First of all, I want to thank you for coming. I'm sorry we had to hold this meeting a little earlier in the evening than usual, but that's why we're here, isn't it? As you all know, the wolf attacks?—"

He's cut off by whispered grumblings, making me think that the werewolf rumors have spread and are now broadly accepted.

Otis attempts to quiet the room with a placating wave of his hand. "Now, now. We don't have any evidence there's anything unnatural at play."

"What if it's not wolves but the redcaps?" a young woman says. She works at the tavern, but I don't remember her name. "We've all seen more of them lately. I saw one a few nights ago when I left work."

A few people nod their agreement, and the murmuring begins again. I glance at Frida, but she's staring into the distance, still nibbling on her biscuit.

"There was evidence of a wolf attack each time," Otis says, wringing his hands. "Paw prints—fur."

"Wolves eat their kills, Otis," Arnold says, his tone patient but heavy. "I don't think it's the redcaps either, but I do believe we're dealing with something supernatural."

"What do you think it is, Arnold?" Friedrich asks, the baker looking a touch pale.

Arnold eyes the room, acknowledging that everyone's attention is now on him. "I think it's a werewolf."

No sooner than the words are out of his mouth, Millie and Belinda's father scoffs—loudly.

We turn toward him again, startled by the outburst. Belinda looks horrified, but Millie rolls her eyes and says scathingly, "If you're so certain it's not a werewolf, why don't you go wander the woods and prove it?" She leans close, raising her eyebrows. "Or are you worried the wee redcaps will get you?"

The room is silent.

"Millie, stop," Belinda begs under her breath. "Both of you just…be quiet." She then clasps her hands in her lap and offers her neighbors a tight smile.

"Let's say we are dealing with a werewolf," Johann says. "What do we do about it?"

"If the Alliance suspects there's a threat of that nature, they will send hunters to take care of it," Luther says.

"And…have they mentioned anything?" Johann asks him.

Luther shakes his head. "They have not, though they likely wouldn't inform us if they had."

I can feel Cyril's gaze boring into my head, but I don't turn to acknowledge him.

"So, we need to deal with it ourselves?" Jane asks, her voice shaking a little.

"No," Otis says sharply. "Absolutely not. I don't want anyone putting themselves at risk. We don't even know if it is a werewolf. We're here tonight to take a vote about a curfew, not gather our torches and pitchforks and take to the woods."

"But let's say it is a monster." Millie scans the space before her gaze lands and holds on Cyril. "It might be in this very room."

The young man fidgets, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Or it might not be," Otis says, drawing the villagers' attention back. "There's no way to know, and we can't jump to any unfounded conclusions."

"A true monster in Braunwin," Bernice whispers, shaking her head. "I can't even imagine it."

The room falls silent.

"What about the jubilee?" Mr. Martin asks Otis. He's an old man, easily in his eighties, with sparse white hair, deep wrinkles, and age spots. I've only seen him a few times in passing when he was leaving his bookshop. He didn't smile on any of those occasions, and he's not smiling now.

"What about it?" the reeve asks patiently.

The bookseller bristles. "It's our most lucrative time of the year, when most of us make a good portion of our yearly income. I don't know that we'll be able to stay afloat if we have to cancel it."

"Cancel it?" Annika exclaims. "Surely not."

"Otis," Friedrich says. "You can't be serious!"

Otis holds up his hands, demanding silence before there's complete pandemonium. "We're not canceling the jubilee."

"With all due respect," I say, "you might want to consider it. Whether it's a beast of flesh and blood or a spirit monster, you'll be putting a lot of people at risk if you allow them to flock to the village."

"I'm glad your father left you comfortable, but the rest of us aren't so fortunate," Mr. Martin snaps. "We need the jubilee to happen as scheduled."

Cat shifts beside me, uncomfortable. Others snarl their agreement, and I hold up my hands in surrender.

"Everyone, calm down— calm down ," Otis says. "Felix, I understand where you're coming from, and truly, there is wisdom in your suggestion—now just wait a minute, all of you!" he exclaims when he's met with loud protests. "But…Mr. Martin is right. We need the jubilee. And we need to hold it safely. That brings us back to our curfew."

"What time are you thinking, Otis?" Bernice asks.

He looks uncomfortable. "I would like people off the streets, and most certainly out of the woods, by dusk."

"Otis!" Bruno exclaims. "Are you trying to put my family out of business?"

Otis extends his hands, looking helpless. "Of course I'm not—you know I'm not."

"You can't expect the tavern to shut its doors before supper," Mitzi, Friedrich's daughter, protests. "How am I supposed to pay your taxes without my nightly tips?"

Looking like he wants to roll his eyes, Otis crosses his arms. "Now, they're not my taxes, and you know it. I don't take your money. It goes to Hellenford."

"Well, that's fine. Will you pay them when we can't?"

Cat makes a vexed noise beside me, probably thinking we would have been better off if we had skipped the meeting and stayed home.

The memory of kissing her, my hands in her hair, her body pressed against mine, is distracting.

But I'm drawn back to the present when Arnold says, "What about a group system, Otis? Instead of enacting a curfew, let's agree that if you're going to be out and about, walk in groups of three or more."

A few people nod, liking the idea.

Otis thinks about it, drumming his fingers on the podium. Finally, he says, "Let's take our vote. Who thinks we should set a curfew?"

Both Cat and I raise our hands, along with Jane and Belinda.

"All right," Otis says. "And who thinks we should try Arnold's buddy system?"

About half the attendees vote, including Mr. Martin, Mitzi, and Johann.

"And who believes we should let people go about however they wish?"

Bruno raises his hand, along with Millie, her father, and Cyril.

"Very well, Arnold," Otis says. "We'll try it. From now on, if you have to walk through town after dusk, you must go in groups of three or more."

"That's ridiculous," Hubert snarls. "I'm not letting nothing and no one tell me when I can and can't go about my business." He stands, yanking free of Belinda when she tries to draw him back.

"Hubert," Otis calls, sighing when the door slams closed behind him.

"I'll go after him," Millie says.

"It's almost dark," Belinda protests. "Just let him go."

Millie squeezes her sister's hand. "I'll hurry."

"How are you going to monitor this, Otis?" Bruno asks him after Millie leaves. "We don't have a constable."

"Soon," Otis promises. "I'm working on it, I swear."

"We need one by the jubilee," Friedrich says.

"I know." Otis rubs a hand over his balding head. "We'll have one."

"As Belinda said, it's getting late." Johann rises. "We should be going."

Otis nods. "Be careful walking home, everyone."

Belinda hovers near the doorway, looking unsure of herself.

"You may walk with us," Arnold says, noticing her as well.

"I…" She glances at the open door as Friedrich, Jane, and Mitzi leave. "I don't want to leave Millie."

I glance at Cat, and she nods. "We'll look for her, Belinda," I offer. "You go on home."