Scarlett Wrappley's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Scarlett Wrappley wanted to drink like a human, and that meant she had to study them without them screaming. She needed to know what people poured down their throats at night, so she could copy it in her plastic bag and pass as one of them. Blood alone made her a monster. A perfect fake drink made her a neighbor. So she sat in the corner of the shabby bar, hood up, watching the regulars nurse their glasses. The trouble was her teeth. An old man on the far stool kept staring. He had a gray beard, mud-crusted boots, and a hunter's flat gaze. Ezekiel Crowe. He had spotted her fangs two nights ago, when she'd laughed too wide at a spilled beer. Now he came every night. He watched her mouth, not her eyes. She could not lean close to anyone's cup while he counted her teeth like coins. Tonight he nodded at her, slow and sure. His hand rested near a knife on his belt. Scarlett understood the message. Stay, and he'd have proof by morning. She could not study drinks with a hunter marking her every move. So she stopped trying to watch, and went to the one creature who could watch for her. The barman stood behind the taps, drying a glass. Garrison Howle looked human at a glance. But his ears twitched wrong, and pale fur crept past his rolled sleeves. A werewolf in an apron. Scarlett had paid him well already, coins pressed into his palm two weeks back, and he still owed her. "He's going to skin me," she whispered, tilting her head at the old man. "I can't collect samples with him here." Garrison glanced at Ezekiel, then back at her. His yellow eyes narrowed. "You leave. I pour." He set down the glass. "I serve every drink in this room. I know what goes in each one. You can't do this job. I can." It was a hard trade. She wanted to taste the drinks herself, to feel what humans craved. But she wanted to keep her skin more. "Do it," she said. "Slip out the back with me first. Let him think I'm gone for good." They went through the storeroom together. On a shelf sat a red bottle, glowing faint from within, its stopper cut like a jewel. Garrison saw her stare. "Owner's prize. Tequila, they say. Something enchanted." Scarlett took it. If a strange drink could pass among humans, this one might teach her something no ordinary beer could. She slid it into her plastic bag. "Bring me a cup of whatever each regular drinks," she said. "I'll test them all." Garrison nodded and returned to the taps. Scarlett stepped into the night, safe from the hunter's eyes. But behind her, Ezekiel rose from his stool. He did not chase her. He crossed to the bar and leaned toward Garrison, sniffing the air. His nose caught the wolf. Now the hunter had two monsters to hunt, and one of them poured the drinks Scarlett needed.