Grandma's Little Secret

"I'm not the new Keeper! I don't even know exactly what that means!"

The wolf man's smile widened. I didn't appreciate that.

"No," I repeated, because apparently the first one hadn't been sufficiently clear. "I'm not."

The invisible whatever-it-was holding both men in place vanished. The Huntsman stumbled backward. The wolf released his coat and caught himself against the kitchen table. For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then the Huntsman lowered his sword. "You're in denial."

I stared at him. "I'm sorry?"

"It's understandable."

"Oh, good. Thank you."

His expression tightened. I pointed at the door.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

The wolf laughed. I swung my finger toward him. "You too."

His laughter stopped.

"Both of you. Out."

The Huntsman looked toward the windows. "That isn't a good idea."

"You know what else wasn't a good idea? Breaking into my grandmother's cottage and sitting at my kitchen table with a sword and reading my just-finished manuscript!"

"I told you—"

"And then telling me she was murdered."

His jaw tightened.

"And then," I continued, "the naked man who chased me through the woods showed up."

"I'm not naked and I did not chase you through the woods."

I looked at the wolf. He was still wearing jeans.

"Fine. Mostly naked."

His mouth twitched. I pointed at the door again.

"Out."

Neither moved. Something hot stirred under my skin. It wasn't anger exactly. Or maybe it was — I had never had anger make the kitchen cabinets shake before. Both men noticed. The wolf looked at the cabinet behind me. The Huntsman looked at me. Then he sheathed his sword.

"We should go."

The wolf raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"You crossed the boundary."

"So did you."

"Yes, you've mentioned that."

"And neither of you has explained what the boundary is," I said.

Silence.

"Fantastic."

The wolf moved toward the door. I stepped aside. He stopped beside me. Up close, he smelled like cold air and pine and something metallic that I was trying very hard not to identify as blood. His gold eyes settled on mine.

"You should ask why the agreement ended."

I frowned. "What agreement?"

But he was already walking away.

"Hey."

He didn't stop.

"You can't say something ominous and then leave."

Apparently he could. He disappeared into the darkness beyond the porch. I looked at the Huntsman.

"Is that a werewolf thing, or is he personally annoying?"

For the first time, I thought the Huntsman might actually smile. He didn't.

"Lock the door."

"You people are really committed to not answering questions."

He stepped onto the porch.

"Wait."

He stopped. I folded my arms.

"You have been in my house for approximately an hour and somehow neglected to tell me your name."

He studied me for a moment. "Ezekiel."

I blinked. "Zeke?"

"No."

"Ezekiel is a lot of name."

His expression suggested he had already begun regretting giving it to me.

"Lock the door, Alora."

My hand dropped. He turned away.

"How the fuck do you know my name?"

He kept walking. I stepped onto the porch.

"Ezekiel!" Nothing. "Zeke?" Nothing. "HELLO? THAT WAS A QUESTION."

He disappeared between the trees. I stared after him. Then I went inside and locked the fucking door. Not because he told me to, but because it seemed prudent. Then I checked it twice. Then the windows. Then the back door.

I stood in the middle of Grandma's kitchen and tried to decide what part of tonight I was supposed to process first. Werewolves existed, and some of them were sexy. That seemed significant. My grandmother might have been murdered by them, which seemed more significant. There was apparently some kind of agreement between werewolves and men who wandered around with swords calling themselves Huntsmen. Also significant. And I had just yelled at two grown men so hard that something invisible had stopped them in the middle of trying to kill each other.

I looked at the cabinets. One was still slightly open.

"No."

The cottage didn't respond. Good.

"I am not a Keeper."

Still nothing.

"Glad we agree."

I closed the cabinet. My laptop was still sitting on the table where Zeke had left it. The screen had gone dark. I touched the trackpad and my manuscript appeared. For one horrifying second, I remembered him reading it and closed the laptop. There were emergencies I could deal with tonight and emergencies that would have to wait until morning. A stranger reading my unfinished novel belonged firmly in the second category.

I looked around the kitchen. I had spent summers in this cottage as a child. I knew the chipped blue tile beside the sink. I knew the third stair squeaked. I knew Grandma kept tea in the tin marked FLOUR because she thought burglars were apparently very interested in Earl Grey. I knew she hated squirrels. I knew she cheated at cards. I knew she made banana bread whenever she was worried about something and denied being worried if anyone asked. I knew exactly how she took her coffee. I had never heard her say the word Keeper. Not once.

I went to the small desk in the living room. Grandma had kept everything. Receipts from twenty years ago, birthday cards, instruction manuals for appliances she no longer owned. If she had been maintaining a supernatural peace agreement between werewolves and Huntsmen, there was a decent chance she had filed it alphabetically.

The first drawer contained pens, stamps, three pairs of reading glasses, and a stack of coupons that had expired in 2019. The second was worse. I sat cross-legged on the floor and started pulling things out. Property taxes. Electric bills. A warranty for the refrigerator. A handwritten recipe for peach cobbler. Nothing about werewolves. Nothing about Huntsmen. Nothing about Keepers.

I was halfway through the bottom drawer when my fingers hit wood. I stopped. The drawer was deeper than the space inside it. I pulled everything out and ran my hand along the bottom. There was a narrow groove near the back.

"Oh, Grandma."

I hooked my fingernail into it and lifted. The false bottom came free. Underneath it was a book. Not an ancient leather tome. Not something covered in mysterious symbols. A red spiral notebook.

I stared at it. "Seriously?"

Grandma had bought them in packs of six from the grocery store. There were probably five identical ones somewhere containing recipes and complaints about the electric company. I lifted it out. Nothing was written on the cover. I opened it. The first page was blank. So was the second. On the third, Grandma's handwriting crossed the paper in dark blue ink. I knew it immediately. My chest tightened. There were only four words.

Rules for the Keeper.

I sat very still.

"No."

I turned the page. A numbered list began beneath a date from twelve years ago. The first rule had been underlined twice.

The Keeper belongs to neither side.

I read it again. Then a third time. Outside, somewhere deep in the woods, a wolf howled. I looked toward the window. Then back at Grandma's notebook.

"Fuck."