Making the Fur Fly

Seven | Trae

"I feel lucky for being able to do what I do," she said. "I've always wanted to write, but I didn't want to be a fiction writer. I wanted to write about real life. The research that goes into writing a story is half the fun. I'm fascinated by the world and the creatures that inhabit it; all the wonders and horrors."

"Do you like history too, then?" I asked.

"Of course. Especially myths and legends."

"Why? Wouldn't that be fiction?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Not necessarily. Life is rife with unexplained phenomena. I like to believe anything that hasn't been disproven could be true—might be true. Who's to say a part of our soul doesn't stick around when our body can't hold it any longer? We don't have proof of an afterlife, but there is no evidence that it doesn't exist either."

I found myself leaning closer. "So you believe everything is real until proven otherwise?"

"Well . . ." She gave me a sobering look. "Everything within reason."

"What counts as 'within reason?'"

She took a sip from her glass. "Anything observed by multiple witnesses or with a logical explanation. Extraterrestrial life, for example. It's unlikely that earth is the only inhabited planet in the universe."

I nodded slowly.

There was a nervous flutter in my stomach. I could tell her. I could tell her right now. If she believed in aliens and ghosts, why not werewolves? I even had proof. But was it a risk worth taking?

"Trae?"

"Hm?"

"You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" she asked.

"What? Oh." I laughed. I was thinking of telling her I was a werewolf, and she was worried I'd think she was the crazy one? Go figure. "No, of course not. I . . ."

She put her glass down and looked up at me.

"What if I told you werewolves are real? Would you believe that?"

"Werewolves?"

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I nodded.

"I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe. You'd have to show me."

"A werewolf?"

She huffed a laugh. "No, just . . . a sign that they're real."

"I can show you. I can show you a werewolf."

"You have one running around in the backyard?" she asked, cutting her food with a small smile. I couldn't tell if that smile was a good one or a bad one. I looked for signs that she was uncomfortable, but she wordlessly continued moving her knife across her plate as if I'd said I could show her my dog.

"Well . . . yeah, kind of. Two, actually."

That's when her smile fell. There was no mistaking the expression on her face now. Every visible part of her was tense. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

My eyes widened. "No! I'm not making fun of you."

She glared at me.

"I wouldn't lie to you," I assured her.

"Don't say that, Trae," she said, voice low. "Everyone lies."

Fuck. This was a mistake. I should have waited. I should have at least waited until we were home or somewhere outside so I could immediately show her my proof. I clenched my fists below the table and said, "Look, I . . . I can explain, but . . . promise me you won't laugh. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm not crazy."