Rhett Salem

Havermouth, Present Time

There was no point to hiding out in her house, Aislen decided, the Triquetra knew that she was there, after all. They had probably been expecting her since her father’s death.

Her father only had the cheapest brand of instant coffee in his cupboard, which was the equivalent of drinking bath water, in her opinion. She fixed her hair and her face, popped on a pair of sunglasses, and opened her black lace parasol, before picking her way across the gravel and strolling up the street to the town centre in search of a decent coffee.

Her appearance drew attention as she strolled up the main street and she grimaced. In the city, her clothing and appearance drew no attention whatsoever. City street fashion was wide and varied, and of all the fashion-sights to behold, a woman in black was unremarkable. In Havermouth, however, amongst the pastel flowers, plaid, and denim, she might as well wear a flashing neon sign.

“Why is she dressed like that, mummy?” A little girl in the queue at the coffee shop tugged on her embarrassed mother’s top.

“Shh.”

“But…”

“Because,” Aislen said with a smile at the girl. “I like pretty dresses and lacey things, but they get so dirty if you wear them every day. Black means the dirt is not as visible.”

“Sorry,” the mother apologised.

“It’s fine,” Aislen replied, turning to take her turn at the counter. “A long, long coffee as black as my soul,” she told the clerk.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk looked appalled. Aislen recognized her as one of Lillian’s fellow cheerleaders, another werewolf, Diana Boyston. It was the family business, Aislen remembered. “Your money is no good here.”

“What the f-k do you mean?” Aislen arched an eyebrow. “Money is money.”

“You are not welcome here,” the clerk repeated. “We will not serve you.”

Aislen met and held the other woman’s eyes until she looked away. Diana was a lower ranked werewolf, Aislen thought, as a higher ranked she-wolf would not have looked away. The no-service order would have come from higher up the pack. “Fine,” she said through her teeth, tucking her card away in her purse. “If they’re going to play it this way. Just. Fine.”

She walked outside and put up her parasol, glaring defiantly in order to hide that she shook. No, she thought, no, she wasn’t eighteen anymore and she wouldn’t be bullied. She turned on her heel and walked smartly back into the café, her heels clacking on the wooden floorboards as she pushed between the tables and to the front of the queue.

“Excuse me,” she said to the woman and her daughter who were ordering. “This won’t take a moment. Diana, isn’t it?” She lowered her sunglasses and raked her eyes over the clerk.

“Yeah, I remember, Diana Boyston. Write this down. Quick, quick, now, you’re not going to remember it verbatim, and I won’t be repeating myself,” Aislen tapped her fingernails onto the countertop. “Oakridge road, three trees to the left, twelve steps to the right, dig, dig, dig, and Grandpa Boyston’s dirty secrets will be revealed.

“Did everyone get that?” She swept her eyes around the café, seeing the flare of iridescent light in many of the eyes that met hers. “I know where Havermouth hides its secrets. All the dirty, nasty secrets that you hide from the light. I’m here for my father’s funeral and then until I sell my father’s house for a good profit,” her sneer was slow and hard. “F-k with me, and I won’t hesitate to share everything that I know. Every, filthy little thing. Make me an offer I like, and I’ll scurry off on my way and leave y’all in peace. Ta-ta now. Have fun digging,” she added to Diana.

She took her time strolling down the street, deliberately peering into each window so as not to appear in a hurry. They will not intimidate me, she told herself. She had kept their secrets for far too long.

“Miss! Miss!” The little girl from the coffee shop ran up to her, her pretty sun dress flapping around her coltish legs, panting a little and her pigtails bouncing.

“Oh, sweetie,” Aislen’s eyes flicked up the street. She could see the girl’s mother following, holding a take-away tray heavy with drinks. “You shouldn’t run ahead of your mother.”

“She told me to,” the little girl said. “She said to catch you before you crossed the road, as then we’d never catch up.”

“Is that so?” Puzzled Aislen decided to wait for the woman. “What is your name?” She asked the little girl.

“Jessica. I like your dress,” the girl added. “It is pretty.”

“Thank you,” Aislen posed for her, twirling her parasol. “I like yours too.”

The girl’s mother caught up. “Oh, thank goodness,” she was breathless from walking fast. “Here,” she plucked a tall take away coffee from the tray and handed it to Aislen. “I don’t know what’s buried near Oakridge road, but I’ve never seen anyone shit themselves like Diana did. There are people in this town who are just snobs,” she took the little girl’s hand. “It’s just not right the way they treat people around here. Diana’s not normally so bad, but what she did to you was just rude.”

“Thank you,” Aislen did not have to guess that the cup contained a long black coffee.

“Lauren,” the woman supplied.

“Aislen,” it would only cause confusion to use her legal name when Havermouth knew her as Aislen. “It’s nice to meet you, Lauren.” Lauren was a few years older, Aislen judged, and had probably left High School before Aislen had been there.

“You too, Aislen. Well,” she took the little girl’s hand. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was possibly the best cup of coffee she’d ever tasted because it came with a sweet side of up yours, Aislen thought as she continued her walk towards one of the three Zeus Forest Works public gardens around the main streets of the town. This one held an old war monument, a statue of a man in uniform, one hand raised to shield his eyes as he stared off into the future.

She strolled along the winding path and stood looking up at the man. “To those we have lost, for the moon shines even on the darkest night,” she read out and tsked. “Not hiding who we are very hard, are we?”

“Talking to oneself is often said to be the first sign of madness,” Rhett said from behind her.

She turned and lowered her sunglasses. F-k, she thought, the man aged like fine wine with a spicey serve of rebellion. He had a piercing through his eyebrow to match the one in his lip and had replaced the drawn-on tattoos with real ones. His black t-shirt stretched over a leanly muscled body, and his long legs were encased in torn, black denim. He had grown his hair long, scraping his shoulder blades, and he wore it pulled back into a low ponytail.

“Hmm,” she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Long black, indeed. She took a sip of her coffee. "We passed first signs years ago,” she turned back to the monument. “I wondered when I’d see you. I bumped into Heath yesterday, and Cameron came trotting past my father’s house last night.”

“I heard.”

“I must admit, I was surprised that Heath had gone into law,” she commented. “I would have thought he’d have gone into politics.”

“Oh, he’s planning on doing that too. He’s running for mayor in the election in two weeks.”

“Of course, he is,” she snorted. “Havermouth is f-ked up enough that he will probably win.” She began to follow the path towards the shade.

“It’s definitely a strong possibility,” he followed, reaching out to catch her elbow, sending a flash of herself, the fine black lace of her dress on her arms like tattoos, her breasts straining the laces of the bodice, and his hands sliding under the lacey layers of her skirt to the tops of her thigh highs and releasing the suspender ribbons that held them up…

“How do you know that I’m wearing thigh highs?” She demanded.

“How do you know what I am thinking?” He replied lifting her sunglasses off her face and tucking then into the back pocket of his jeans. “I like you like this,” he breathed pulling her against him. “We like you like this,” he bowed his head and brushed his lips over hers. “Very sexy.”

His c-ck throbbed against her as he threaded his fingers into her hair, the palm of his hand against her cheek as he hovered the kiss, their breath mingling, mouths open, the heat between them ferocious, and then he closed the distance, stroking his tongue against hers so that she could feel that he had pierced that too.

Her mind flooded with images of him peeling the lace from her, revealing the corset that he could feel beneath it, and laying her down onto the sun-warmed grass, the contrast of the green against the black of the dress and the white of her thighs as he made room for himself between them, sinking his c-ck into her…

She slid her hand down his back and hooked her sunglasses out of his back pocket before stepping back and out of his hold. He held air for a moment before slowly lowering his hands and putting them into his pockets. He swallowed hard. She could see his c-ck straining against the tightness of his jeans, evidence of the fire between them.

She slipped the sunglasses back on. “I guess, in whatever f-ked up game the three of you are playing, that’s a point?” She speculated. “Well, enjoy it. I’m not playing this time.” She turned and walked away. As she stepped back out of the park, she saw how it was that he had found her – the building facing the park had been renovated into a rather glossy looking tattoo and piercing studio.

Good on him for achieving his dream, she thought trying to ignore the ache in her heart. She finished her coffee and dropped the cup into a trash can.

She spied a real estate agent’s office. “Ah, perfect.”