Animals ✔

Chapter 13

The ink is smudged with tears, and the rest of the journal is blank. I close it slowly, trying to stop myself from feeling, at least for a moment. What did he do to you?

Someone clears their throat behind me and I shift in my seat, taking in Tiberius's tall frame by the entrance of the living room. His face looks as somber as I feel.

"You were right," I tell him. "Ira Hanlon is responsible for all of this. I just—I thought it would be more helpful. I thought she'd know what we need to do." My eyes cloud with tears and I look away from him, hugging the blanket tighter around myself.

It seems kind of silly now. That a woman I've never met could somehow have all the answers. In truth, she was even more lost than I am.

Tiberius sits next to me on the couch. "What did it say?"

"Not much." I bite my lip. "I think he was her friend. To start, at least. I—I think she might have been like me, though. She kept talking about how he'd caught her doing something... She was panicked."

I lean into his side and his arm comes around my shoulders.

"What if she was like me?" I pause. "Is that even possible? She didn't actually say it, but she did seem oddly fixated on gardening... but then wouldn't she have tried to fight him off in the woods?" I'm mumbling to myself at this point, and it isn't until Tiberius cuts in that I remember I'm not alone.

"It's not impossible. After all, you aren't exactly normal yourself; it has to come from somewhere. But," he stands, tugging me along with him. "I think we should eat. You can dwell on this later."

I narrow my eyes at him, but allow the blanket to fall to the ground as I follow him around the couch. I snatch the journal off the table and cradle it in my arms. I may not know what to make of her, but my great-grandmother's journal is my only connection to Charlie and I won't lose it.

"What are you proposing?"

"Dinner," he glances back at me, smirking. "And then we can go from there."

I nod, just noticing the empty pit in my stomach. "Dinner sounds good."

We leave the cabin and climb back into his jeep. I don't pay attention as he drives toward town. My mind is racing. I always knew Clarice died young. My grandfather never liked to talk about his mother, so everything I know comes from what little my father knew about her. But what I can't wrap my brain around is, why now? No matter how I frame it, I still don't understand what Ira wants with me. How is he even still alive?

"Tiberius?" He looks at me from the corner of his eye and I continue. "How long do werewolves live?"

He stiffens and I turn my full attention to him. Oh god. How old is Tiberius? I haven't really thought about it. I've hardly had the time to think about it.

"We have... an extended lifespan. We aren't immortal by any means, but if a wolf is powerful enough, it is conceivable that they might live for several centuries. Most chose to live a more human life, however. When wolves reach a certain age, they often refrain from changing forms and embrace their more... human selves. When this happens, aging increases significantly."

"And you? How old does that make you?"

He hesitates. "I'm almost thirty."

Breath I didn't even realize I was holding whooshes out of my chest as relief fills me. "That's it? From the way you were acting, I thought you had to be at least seventy."