The Wolf Came on Christmas (Johanna and Alexander) novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Claim

I could swear that grimace in which he showed all his teeth was a smile-or meant to be one. And now that I think about it, it was a pleasant smile.

The werewolf returned some fifteen minutes later, with a sheet of paper between his fingers. In the meantime, I got rid of the other trash bag and thought I should burn all that fur, as an efficient way of making it disappear, just in case. Suddenly, I didn’t want anyone catching me with all that in the garbage bin.

Alexander held the paper out to me, but when he saw that I wasn’t approaching to take it, he set it down on the table-our inert intermediary par excellence. He lifted his muzzle with dignity and gestured toward what he had brought, as if it were some kind of treasure.

“We’re square now. I hope,” he said, with a serious growl.

“I already told you that you didn’t have to-”

“The transaction is untraceable, and as long as you’re discreet with its use, I don’t think you’ll have

any problems with the tax authorities,” he interrupted, with that seriousness that seemed so

characteristic of him. “Good. I think now we’re finally in a position to talk, Johanna.”

I casually picked up the sheet and glanced over it.

But when I saw the number at the bottom of the page, my eyes went wide and I went back to read

very carefully what that document was. I almost screamed, but clapped a hand over my mouth to

stop myself:

It was confirmation of a bank transfer to be completed within the next twenty-four hours-for eight

million dollars.

I was already halfway convinced it wasn’t a hallucination.

All right, it could still all be a product of my imagination, but it would be the best product my mind had produced in years. I’ve never been particularly a fan of werewolves, but this was turning out to be a truly evangelizing experience. I wanted to believe it was real, and I felt as though I were floating on a cloud that at times infected me with euphoria, like when I was on an exceptionally fruitful writing streak. Those strange creatures in my house, and so much money all at once-who wouldn’t want to escape reality by believing they’d been abducted by aliens and were aboard a spaceship undergoing some bizarre psychological probing procedure? It was too good to be true.

Eight million… for keeping my mouth shut?

It was far (far) more than I would earn in years writing supernatural novellas for teenagers, that

was for sure.

I stared impassively at my account summary on the laptop screen: there was a record of a transfer

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Chapter 15

from another account listed as “anonymous,” pending confirmation, and by noon the next day I would be eight million eight hundred and fifty dollars richer. The eight hundred and something were what I’d spent on groceries and clothes-had Alexander found my shopping receipts?

Claim

I don’t know. What I do know is that I found another pile of fur in my living room-this time dry.

“Now we can discuss the terms of this arrangement. It’s simple, really: the money I’ve just transferred is on account of the days I need to shelter my family. I’ll try to keep them as few as possible,” he explained in a passive tone. His voice in human form was several tones less gravelly than in his animal form, though it still sounded hard and deep-a very masculine voice with great presence. “Everything will depend on how quickly my contacts mobilize. You already did something very important for us by giving us clothes, so I won’t need to ask you for any additional favors-just a place to sleep and food for the children.”

He paused, while I continued staring at the screen. was a little out of it, I admit.

“If it’s too much to ask and you think you can’t do it I’ll take my children and go to a hotel in the city,

“Alexander added; there was hesitation in his voice that time.

I lifted my eyes from the laptop screen and looked at him.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you agree, Johanna? Or do you want us to leave? You’ve already done a lot for us, anyway.”

Did I want them to go?

I looked at Andre. He was sitting on the rug in front of the sofa, with one arm around the portable crib where his little sister was sleeping again, after another half bottle and a necessary diaper change. Alexander hadn’t allowed me to do it that time; he’d taken care of it himself. The boy

watched me with the same blue eyes as his father, waiting for my answer with almost as much-or

more-anxiety than him. But I thought I detected more sadness in the child’s gaze, a sadness that found a mirror inside me that I couldn’t ignore.

No-that is… I didn’t want them far away. They didn’t bother me. Not much.

“You can stay,” I agreed, more calmly. “It would be easier for you, wouldn’t it, Alexander? You’ll need

someone to look after the children while you contact your associates and make your arrangements, as you said earlier. I can do that. I don’t have anything planned.”

I never had anything planned, truth be told. My life boiled down to getting up at a decent hour, going for a walk, having breakfast, writing on schedules forged by habit, cooking and writing again. Sometimes, when I got tired of writing, I’d watch a movie or my regular series, listen to music or manage my finances, talk to my editor, go for another walk, or crawl into bed to read or sleep. Every now and then, I liked to play video games on the laptop-a vice I’ve had since childhood.

I was alone, and technically had nothing to do. Suddenly, the idea of feeling useful to them struck me as impossible to refuse; I don’t know why. I was clear that I didn’t want or need to keep getting

involved in their affairs, but…

He looked at me for a long moment, evaluating my offer.

“Only if it isn’t a burden to you,” he agreed, with a long sigh.

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