Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

T he librarian who greeted them at Motham Library reminded Charlie of her mom.

Not that there was any physical resemblance, apart from the glasses on a chain around her neck. The woman was a gorgon, her snakes tied tightly in a scarf around her head. Only the tiniest movement, the smallest twitch under the paisley pattern showed that they were even alive in there.

Mom had blonde highlighted hair that she tied up in a bun. So no, her mom looked nothing like Mary, the gorgon. Except… maybe, if Mom had snakes instead of hair. The idea made Charlie want to giggle.

Her mom would hate being compared to a gorgon.

But really, it was the studious look, the quietly spoken manner they had in common. The reverence with which the gorgon unlocked the cabinets that housed The Almanac of Beasts and took them out in her gloved hands.

All seventeen volumes of them.

“The Almanac, as I’m sure you’re fully aware,” Mary said as she laid each book out on its own stand, “was an attempt by Athelrose Motham to document the different attributes and behaviors of every single monster species in Motham. It was undertaken by the best scribes and illustrators of the time, and the volumes were kept with Motham’s mages for many years. There are remedies in each book for the ailments that afflict each species. Advice on birthing, the raising of younglings. Um… mating practices.” She flushed a little. “It's all very complex. For example, Coltsfoot, a remedy that treats the flu in gargoyles, can kill a griffin in minutes.”

She gave them each a pair of soft cotton gloves to wear. “The volumes are very delicate, so please be very gentle when handling them; the paper is extremely fragile. As you will see, the Almanac on vampires is by far the thickest. The section on reversing bites is the most comprehensive ever compiled.”

“Did humans have access to the Almanac?” Charlie asked.

Mary smiled secretively. “At a price. It’s how Motham clawed back finances to build the city.”

“Oh, yes,” Charlie said, eager to contribute her knowledge. “I do recall reading that the Tween Council of Towns paid a high price when attempting to fix Eliza Dryden’s vampire bite. Though the bite Izcacus gave her was never verified as a true bite, of course. And if she is undead, no one knows where she’s gone. She was last spotted in 48,520—she would have been over a hundred years old by then. Eyewitness accounts say she looked as young as the day she disappeared. So, who knows? Vampires took flight to other kingdoms. She could be living far from here as an undead.”

“You know your history.” Mary looked at her admiringly.

“I have a master’s in monster/human history.”

“Did you study in the library often? Your face looks familiar.”

“Yes, I pretty much lived in here for a while.” Charlie grinned. “I graduated last year.”

“Were you happy with your results?”

“I got a high distinction.” Charlie blushed a little as she caught Max’s gaze on her.

“Oh, well done, my dear.” Mary beamed. “And now you’re working for our eminent professor, so your studies paid off.”

“Charlie is helping me collate the information for my book,” Max said. He turned away and stared with fascination at one of the volumes. “This was a remarkable achievement for early Motham,” he mused, turning the pages of the Almanac on orc kind with great care.

“It’s a shame so few monsters got to see the Almanacs,” Mary said. “The mages were the only ones who were allowed to study the texts. The early witches and wizards of Motham supported monsters’ emotional and spiritual needs.”

“They still do,” Charlie piped up. “Waldo’s work is astounding. He lectured on our course.”

“The mages did indeed do much good,” Max joined in. “Without their magic and herbal remedies, many more monsters would have perished. Motham had very few food sources. It was up to the mages to grow food, not just medicinal herbs. They were the horticulturists as well as the healers.”

“Will that all be in your book?” Mary asked.

“It will indeed.”

“ The Making of Motham is the title you sent me in your correspondence, yes?” Mary cocked her head at Max.

“You have a good memory, Mary.” Max flashed his dazzling smile, and even though Mary’s expression remained bland, Charlie noticed that the snakes under her scarf were beginning to writhe. Maybe that was the equivalent of body language for a gorgon. Her snakes were saying what her face dared not.

Max was simply too handsome not to notice.

“You are welcome to make notes. But please don’t take photographs,” Mary said. “You can, of course, visit whenever you wish, you just need to call me to make an appointment. I’m sorry to be so strict, but we cannot risk this information getting into the wrong hands. There are still some who would like to cause harm with it.

Max inclined his head. “I absolutely understand.”

“We are very wary of vampire requests for viewings. But obviously we trust you, Professor, with your wonderful reputation.” For a moment her scarf looked like it might levitate off her head. A snake slithered out, its little forked tongue shooting out toward Max, and Mary quickly shoved it back under the rim of her scarf.

“My apologies.” She gave an embarrassed cough.

Max looked unfazed by the snake’s appearance. Charlie supposed there were gorgons in Selig. Maybe with the enlightened culture over the mountains, they wore their snakes openly. That would make her curls look totally tame by comparison.

After Mary scurried away and they were left alone in the room, Max said, “Please feel free to browse, Charlie. I know it’s a real treat getting to handle these books. I’m going to spend most of my time with the gargoyle volume, I want to get a better idea of how they carried enough Malibar stone to build the old city in a matter of days.”

Charlie walked around and looked at each volume, turning the pages, and when she finally got to the one on wolves, she glanced over at Max, who was deeply engrossed on the other side of the room.

Very tentatively, she opened the book. What would she learn about wolves? Their anatomy? Their mating rituals? She got an illicit little thrill as she turned the pages, until she reached the section on werewolf anatomy.

Her eyes widened as she surveyed the illustration before her, a beautifully drawn naked male figure, its legs and arms spread-eagled within a circle. She’d seen a classical drawing of the human form done similarly somewhere. And to all intents and purposes, this form was human… except for its… sexual organs.

Charlie’s hand crept to her lips. Oh goddess. The penis of a werewolf was huge, dangling halfway down those powerful thighs. And close to the thatch of dark hair at the apex of the thighs was a thick meaty swelling.

She’d heard about wolf knots—who hadn’t?

But she’d never actually s een a picture.

Another drawing on the opposite page showed a profile of the erect penis, the knot swollen at the base, just above the werewolf’s ample ball sac.

She kept turning pages, finding more illustrations—early etchings, she guessed, by the look of them, naive and medieval in style, showing shaggy wolfen creatures with huge paws and claws chasing human women. It was hard to tell if the women were fearful or excited. Their eyes and mouths gaped wide as the wolf bore down on them, fangs bared.

One particular etching held her gaze; of a limp woman held in the embrace of a huge wolf man, her eyes rolling back as if in ecstasy, or terror, the wolf’s huge muzzle at the base of her neck, its teeth about to sink into her skin.

On the opposite page, Charlie read:

During the rut, the wolf and man merge. In the act of mating, the female is chased o’er woodland paths and across rugged hills, her wild emotions of joy and fear intensifying her sexual pleasure, thus making conception more likely after the rut.

At such times, a mate-bite at the base of the neck will bond the female to her wolf for life.

Charlie had already taken off her coat, but now she had to undo the top two buttons of her blouse as well. Those images were grafted onto the back of her eyeballs, and nothing would dislodge them.

She stood squeezing her thighs together to stop the flood of sensations. This was not the time or place to get turned on by old drawings of rutting. She glanced around to see Max still engrossed in his reading on the other side of the room.

Quickly she turned the page, to a list of medications for werewolf ailments.

All kinds of tinctures were listed. Rosemary for treating memory glitches after shifting. Witch hazel and wolfbane for stemming bleeding. According to the text, werewolves bled more easily when they shifted back to human form. This lotion would quickly avert a hemorrhage after an injury.

She was so immersed, she didn’t realize Max was behind her until he spoke.

“Ah,” he said, “you’re looking at the Wolfen Almanac.”

Quickly—well, not too quickly, because she had to be very respectful of these old texts—Charlie shut the book. “Since I’m working for a wolf, I thought it would be useful to understand them,” she said lightly. “Will you be needing to look at this volume today?”

He shook his head. “Not now. We’ve almost run out of time.”

“Has an hour passed already?” Charlie said, surprised.

He gave a rueful smile. “Clearly you and I both go into a time warp when in the company of books.

Charlie smiled back. If he’d known what she’d been engrossed in, she’d die of embarrassment

Luckily, she didn’t have to elaborate as Mary bustled in. “I must put the Almanacs away now, I’m afraid, it’s not good for them to be out in the air for too long. We had one volume that was written in magical ink that disappeared completely after viewing. Only Waldo was able to reinstate the words.”

“Which one was that?” Charlie asked, curious.

“The volume on Elementals.”

Max shook his head, laughing. “Should have guessed.”

“Some folks think working in a library must be boring.” Mary beamed as she locked the volumes behind glass. “But in Motham Library, there really is never a dull moment.”

As they walked out, Charlie had to hide her smile.

She’d second that.

“Wow, is that really you, Professor Hunt?”

Max tensed at the high-pitched squawk behind him as they walked through the foyer. He swiveled to see not one, but two, and then a third identical magpie come flurrying up, their wings ruffling as they ground to a halt, their claws scraping on the parquet floor.

He barely managed to stop himself from flinching. He’d always had issues with birds flapping. It was just one of those things he didn’t take to.

For some people it was spiders. Snakes. Whatever.

Birds were his nemesis.

As well as the flapping, he couldn’t stand their infernal twittering. Really, did they not realize libraries were supposed to be quiet places?

They stood in a row, beaks clacking as they looked from him to Charlie. “Oh, hi there, Charlie,” one of them said.

“Hi, Amanda, Alice, Josie,” Charlie replied, then turned to Max. “These guys are in their final year of Motham College. They’re triplets.”

“Not obvious, right?” One of the three giggled. “Professor, could you sign my journal?”

“And mine.”

“And mine, pretty please.”

They all scrabbled in their sparkly purses and presented him with glittery little books and pens with feathered tops.

Dutifully, Max signed, his fingers stiff and awkward as they gripped the pen. His autograph came out as its usual squiggle, but the magpies didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they barely looked, just stuffed their journals back in their purses.

In unison they turned to Charlie and one of them piped up, “Are you coming to the quiz night this week?”

“You must come,” twittered the second. “Our team always won when you were on it.”

“Maybe you could come too, Professor Hunt?” The third bird in the row cocked its head.

Quiz nights were his absolute worst nightmare. Max held up his hands and shook his head. “Not my jam.” Wasn’t that the word these gen Z-ers used?

They turned back to Charlie with renewed enthusiasm.

Unable to take any more of it, Max muttered to Charlie, “I’ll wait over by the notices. No rush. Finish your conversation.” Then he stalked to the other side of the foyer and stood perusing the posters advertising events around Motham.

It was the usual offering of concerts, art gallery openings, and plays that any large city had. A country and western singer at the POD, a fae from Selig called Grilka Grey. He’d never heard of them.

His gaze scanned down to a poster promoting a film premiere. A slushy romance, by the look of the title. He stood staring at the very familiar blue eyes and blonde hair of the lead, before realizing that it was his ex-girlfriend, the elf actress. Bloody hell. Couldn’t he get away from his past even in Motham?

And then his eyes caught on the striking design of another poster. A forest, some swirling shapes almost like intertwined bodies. Very artistic, Max thought.

He peered closer, adjusting his glasses.

Wait a minute, those swirling shapes were… naked bodies and a… silhouette of a wolf’s head against a full moon.

His eyes widened as he read the words on the poster.

The Winter Solstice Rut.

December 21 st

Tickets now on sale.

Solsticerut.com

What—the—fuck.

Why the hell was Motham Library allowing the solstice ruts to be advertised here? On the noticeboard in full view of everyone. Had they lost their minds? What about decent upstanding moral values? Gods above, this was a community space. Old people, children, heck— everyone looked at this board.

Or had Motham City become so liberal, so licentious, so anything-goes that it was considered fine to advertise a rut… a rut of all things, within the hallowed walls of an educational facility?

How had his pack even got their act together to get this poster displayed?

Max had a good mind to tear the thing off the board, screw it into a ball, and hurl it in the nearest trash can.

With super-human effort, he stopped himself. Drawing attention to the poster might link him to the event. Especially with the name Hunt displayed at the bottom.

Grinding his molars, he strode back to Charlie and said as politely as he could muster, “I’m sorry, I do need to get back now, Charlie.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry guys, gotta run.” She hugged her friends, amid coos of “must catch up soon” and “Love you babe.”

Feeling old and boring amid this flurry of youthful affection, Max turned on his heels and stalked off.

He was aware of her feet hurrying to catch up with him and slowed his pace.

She must think he was a bad-tempered prick, the way he walked off without waiting for her all the time.

Yep, no denying it, he was going to win the prize for the world’s grouchiest boss.

And he couldn’t even tell Charlie why.