Page 99 of Howlin’ For You

“How’s it lookin’?” Mr. Trembly asks, making his way into the room.

Mrs. Trembly wraps her arms around his waist and pecks him on the lips. She doesn’t say a word, but his shoulders visibly melt under her attentions.

I slide out from underneath his sink with a grunt and pack up my things. “It should work just fine now. Needed to replace an old part.”

I absolutely did not, but I gotta protect the old man’s pride.

We shake hands, and after only twenty minutes, I’m back in my truck driving along Main Street with music blaring—the louder, the better. I need it to quiet the thrumming in my head.

Normally, I’d pull into Tea Leaves, the local café-slash-bakery, and grab some coffee from my best friend Georgie, but I don’t have enough time before my appointment with Mayor Vale in his office at City Hall. I would have if I hadn’t gone to Mr. Trembly’s, but I don’t know how to say no, so here we are.

Mayor Cole Vale…despite this town being mostly werewolves, our mayor is an undisclosed shifter. And a recluse. Getting a call from him is rare enough that I cleared a few hours from my schedule to make sure we could meet.

Vale is calm, capable, and sure of himself. He puts this town and its needs first, even above his own. But he definitely could learn how to socialize properly.

Soon enough, I’m pulling up to the City Hall. I remember a younger, more foolhardy version of myself coming here after a high school football game and egging the place. Vale wasn’t the mayor at the time, of course, but his vampire uncle was.

Any time I see him—rare as it is—I swear Vale side-eyes me like I might try again. As if having a fully grown vampire chasing after me wasn’t enough of a deterrent.

I still have nightmares about the way his uncle’s fangs practically popped out of his head.

I push open the bland window-paned door, walk down the hallway, and step into the basic waiting room. Vale doesn’t have an assistant, so it’s just an empty desk and a bunch of chairs.

“Nicholas,” Vale says, opening the door to his actual office. His black hair slicked back, gray eyes assessing my general state of being. Even just for a simple meeting, he’s in a crisp button-down and black slacks. “Good of you to come.”

With a sweeping arm, he gestures for me to walk inside. A single painting hangs above his desk of his uncle—to which I have to suppress a full body shudder—and the rest is immaculately cleaned but bare.

I nod. “What’s up, Mayor?”

“We’re waiting on one more person, but, well…I’m in need of your services.” His eyebrows crease, as if he is annoyed that he has to interact with me. Considering he acts that way with everyone, I’m long past taking it personally. “More specifically, Lunamois is in need of your services.”

I ruffle a hand through my dark hair, trying to hide the smile on my face. I like knowing I’m the first one he thought of to help, that I’m useful. Needed. “You know I’m happy to help.”

“This year is the town’s seventy-fifth anniversary. Many people have told me that they’re expecting some sort of celebration, so I’ve decided to have an event in the park downtown.” He shivers, his shoulders riding up almost up to his ears as if completely repulsed. “I’ve hired an actual event planner—the person we’re waiting on—but I’ll need you to build a stage for the musical act.”

Has it really been seventy-five years? Sometimes it feels like this town has been around forever. Plenty of supernaturals happily live amongst humans, and humans on the whole don’t mind it either. But there’s something about being in a community that understands why you need to take a couple of days off work every month, or why you can’t be around Brenda in accounting, who wears too much perfume.

Hence, Lunamois. The town that accepts anyone with open arms, originally founded by Vale’s own family. Although my grandparents followed him only a year later, and my family has been here ever since.

A lance of pain shoots through my chest at the fact that I’m the only one left. After my parents died and my brother left…I rub at the spot, hoping to chase away the ache.

“Sounds fun. When do you need it?”

“Three weeks.”

My eyebrows jump into my hair. “Three weeks, huh? I guess I'd better get on that, then.”

I have no idea how I’m going to add this to my already intense schedule. At some point, something’s gotta give. I can tell I’m close to the tipping point—and it’s my sanity that’s going to break.

“And of course, you’ll assist anyone who needs help with their booth.”

“Right.”

“Or with electrical if they need it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Or with parking.”