Little Dead Red

PROLOGUEOnce upon a time, long long ago, somewhere before her second divorce, Marie had smiled. She had simply been Marie then, and occasionally even Happy Marie, and that was a kind and gracious thing. Marie knew of the dangers of the world, but Marie also knew of love and laughter. Marie knew of her tiny little girl, Aleta, who used to hop around on one foot to see if she could keep her balance, and stuck her naughty fingers into Marie’s jam, and would ask for a bedtime story even when it was nowhere near bedtime.“It doesn’t have to be a bedtime story, dear,” Marie would say, and her eyes would twinkle. Smiling Marie. Happy Marie. “A story told at any other time is simply a story.”Aleta, who had dark eyes like her mother, and dark hair like her mother, and it refused to be tamed and combed, also like her mother’s, would say, “But bedtime stories are the best. Won’t you please tell me one, Mama?” Marie often had things to do. There were dishes to be put away and dinner to be c

CHAPTER TWOMarie did, indeed, take a bath. Such a luxury, time spent on herself when she should have been cleaning, or catching up on that night’s batch of work, or taking the soup to her mother with Aleta. But she didn’t. She did neither of those things. She pinned her dark hair up. It was thick and streaked with gray, but sometimes it still managed beauty. She liked to think so, anyway, when she caught unexpected glimpses of herself in mirrors and store windows.“I don’t look half bad,” she sometimes mused, and very nearly tossed her head. If she did so, perhaps her hair would fall over one eye. Perhaps it would hide the heavy circles under it, the weariness that peered out of her irises. Perhaps somebody’s eyes would be drawn to that rather foppish section of hair instead of the worry lines around her mouth.Worry lines. Not laugh lines. Grim Marie knew this, knew there was a difference. She knew she wore her station and her sorrows on her face like other ladies wore fine hats

CHAPTER FOURThat night seemed unusually cold. If Grim Marie had friends, they could have come to stay with her while she worried and fretted over Aleta’s disappearance. They would have discussed how the thermos came out of her pack. Was it torn open? Did she open it herself? Was she perhaps willing to share the soup, which meant that perhaps the person was kindly? Was this just a misunderstanding? Perhaps she took the wrong bus. Or got off and wandered away to something a little more exciting than a sick grandmother. Maybe there was a boy.Marie desperately, desperately hoped there was a boy.The friends she didn’t have would have surrounded her and offered their assurances. “It’ll be fine,” they would have said. “She’ll come home. Oh, how you’ll tan her hide when she does!”But there were no friends. Nobody to help and comfort, guide and muse. Nobody to tuck Marie in when it became too much. Nobody to brush her hair and make sure she took something to calm her nerves. Nobody to

CHAPTER SIXThey held a funeral for the bits and pieces of Aleta they could find. It wasn’t much. Marie chose to have her cremated and then there was even less.She kept her in a jar in the living room. She had always believed in burial, but had dreams of wolves digging Aleta’s bones up at night, gnawing on them and taking them away off to some dark magical forest. Night after night. So in the jar she went, and the jar was placed high, and when her mother died she cremated her as well and set them side-by-side.“Hello, family,” she greeted them once, and then she was unable to get out of bed for three days straight.“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said again, once she was standing in front of the jars again. “You died because I wanted the selfish luxury of a bath.”She was in bed for six days after that, unable to move or speak or sit, and when the young second officer couldn’t get a hold of her, he managed to break down her door.“We don’t need all of you lined up in a neat little row

CHAPTER EIGHTTo find The Wolf, one must think like a Wolf. Wolflet Marie looked in her mirror one dark night for the last time. She was saying goodbye.Goodbye, dark hair. Goodbye, soft eyes. Goodbye, lips that quivered and trembled and did everything but speak and eat. Goodbye gentle, hard-working hands.Her smoothly curled ears grew sharp and hard, pointed at the ends. Her nose elongated into a snout. Her teeth sharpened, her eyes darted and watched and threw back light in the darkest of the night. Fur ran across her mother’s skin, tufted at her collar. Her hands grew, stretched, and were tipped with claws. Wolflet Marie howled and shattered the mirror. She didn’t want to chance seeing weak Human Marie in there ever again.She stayed up late doing batches of work. She smiled at the cashier when she picked up her few groceries. She donned her sunglasses and looked like any other woman when she traveled to and fro on the bus line. Deceptions. A wolf in human skin. She was on the p