If the Devil were real, I would have sold my soul to him. If signing a dotted line meant he would have taken me away, even if it were to Hell, I would have gone.
A way out. That's all I had wanted.
In the beginning I had wanted to be like them—my family, my friends, and everyone who had ever come near me because they were all the same. They were all werewolves.
When I never turned out to be like them, I stopped yearning to be what I'm not and began desiring to know what I am. When no one had the answer, when everyone began asking more questions the older I grew—why hasn't she shifted? where are her canines? why are her fingernails so rounded? has she grown any fur... like anywhere?—I gave up on hoping for an answer and wished they would do the same.
I wanted our differences ignored. I wanted to be a family no matter the genetic mystery.
I didn't get those things.
So in the end, I only wanted out.
It wasn't the Devil who helped me away when I was sixteen, nor was Hell the place I absconded to. In fact, I ended up somewhere quite the opposite.
I took money from the family vault. I bounced from cheap apartment to cheap apartment, working odd jobs while I awaited approval for the proper paperwork. Since I had been born into a werewolf pack, it was their job to educate me and not any American state's, therefore no authority cared when I neglected to attend any school. Rather than school, I focused on saving money until my applications were approved and my flight was booked.
After nearly six months, an airplane carried me over the Atlantic and landed me in Germany. I found my way to a rural little place named Heisenbühl, where a lovely, quaint two story home had been put up for rent by the owner's sister and grand-niece after her death.
Esmerelda, the sister, and Lattie, the grand-niece and Esmerelda's granddaughter, became the family mine couldn't be.
Now, I'm glad I didn't meet the Devil or run away to Hell. Because if I had, I wouldn't have met saints instead or stumbled to a place quite like Heaven.
~~~
Sunday
October 1st
"What do you think of this coffee?" Lattie asks, swirling it around with a stirring straw in the same manner and wearing the same expression as one would when poking the unknown organ of a dissected frog. "I don't like it."
"Mine was okay," I answer.
"Really?" Her posture straightens and she reaches across our booth's table to grab my half-drank coffee. After taking a sip, she smacks her pink lips softly for a moment before shaking her head dismissively. "No," she finalizes her decision, "Not good."
She hands it back with her bottom lip's signature marked on the white cup in delicate, lilac pink. I set the coffee aside without much interest and return to the article lit up on my phone.
"The latte I would call 'okay.' Nothing to sing carols about, though. The cappuccino was a step below that, and everything else... I think is going to make me sick later."
With the pure, unadulterated amount of coffee-derived caffeine Lattie takes in on a daily basis, for any cup of it to make her sick is a reasonable cause for a level three hazard, at least.
"That bad?" I ask, only half paying attention.
Lattie and her grandmother own the highest quality cafe in all of Heisenbühl and its surrounding provinces—and the two like to keep it that way. If word gets out about any new cafe opening or a change being made to the recipes of an old one, Lattie and I have our butts in their seats faster than the family physician can scold Lattie for her caffeine intake.
Lattie grimaces as she gathers our mass of over a dozen to-go cups into an abundance at the edge of the table. Nobody looks twice at us when we come into these places, but by the time Lattie has ordered one, sometimes two, of every beverage on the menu we get more than a handful of odd looks.
"I think we can confidently report to Nanni that this place isn't competition for drinks." She groans softly, closing her eyes for a spell. "We'll have to do the desserts later. Maybe tomorrow. Does that work for you?"
Goosebumps have risen all over my forearms beneath my jacket. Despite having taste-tested every single drink with Lattie, my mouth has a texture like that of cotton. Behind the counter, in the kitchen of the café, someone drops a glass that shatters on the floor and makes me jerk in my seat.
Our little town of Heisenbühl is the most peaceful, picturesque place on Earth. Noise pollution doesn't exist there. An unkind word is never said in public, hardly ever even behind closed doors. The streets are free of potholes and the buildings are as beautiful as they were when they were built centuries ago. Hell, I've never even seen a piece of litter lying on the ground.
All of these things, and everything else I know of this place, makes the bolded headline printed on my phone screen seem even more impossible.
Horror in Heisenbühl: A Body Found in Germany's Sleepiest Village
In the early hours of October 1st, approximately 6:23 AM, a deceased human body was discovered beneath the Heisenbühl bridge. The discovery was made by a couple taking their dog for a morning walk. Upon nearing the bridge, the couple reports the dog beginning to act out, pulling at the leash and whining incessantly, which the couple had found unusual. After initially attempting to soothe the animal and failing, the couple gave in and allowed the dog to pull them down a narrow path which led to the stream below the bridge. There, the three discovered a body lying face down in a shallow puddle directly beneath the structure. The couple called out audibly, and after minutes of receiving no response, returned home immediately in order to contact authorities. The police have identified the body as that of Sophie Schwarz, 17, of Heisenbühl. Although the investigation remains ongoing, the police presently believe Miss Schwarz's death to be the result of a homicide.
"Leila," Lattie gets my attention by waving her hand in front of me. She's looking quite green by now. "What are you looking at?"
"We need to go."
"Why? You never answered my question."
I dig out my wallet and count out the appropriate bills and coins before sliding out of the booth. "Uh, tomorrow? I don't know, we'll see. Just come on. Let's go."
Lattie, with her already pale face, looks at me with gentle confusion. "What's wrong?"
Standing at the edge of the table, I pause when she doesn't instantly jump up. I let out a breath. "Someone was murdered last night. In Heisenbühl. Under the bridge."
Lattie and her grandmother live a stone's throw away from that goddamn bridge. We knew Sophie Schwarz—she would come into the café every Friday either with a date or without. She reminded me of Lattie at a glance: small body, fair hair, porcelain complexion, typically styled in one pastel or another. Though their similarities ended at the surface, this doesn't comfort me. I think of all the serial killers who had a type, who hunted based solely on appearance, and suddenly Lattie isn't the only one who is sick anymore.
"Let's go," I prompt her again once her eyes seem to have gone blank. When she struggles to snap out of it, I take her gently by the arm.
"Nanni is home alone," she blurts. I petrify.
"She didn't go to the café?"
Lattie shakes her head. "It's Sunday."
Shit. McNamara's Café: open Monday thru Saturday. I need to start keeping track of time.
I leave the paid bill amid our dozens of cups and a girl behind the counter bids us guten Tag as we leave through the front door.
In the parking lot, Lattie still looks sick, in addition to shaken. We came here in her car, and her fingers seem to be struggling to open the zipper to the pocket of her pants.
"Here," I extend my hand to her, "I can drive."
She extracts the keys from her pocket and deposits them in the cradle of my palm. We pile into the front seats of her white Audi and hit the road. My foot is far heavier on the pedal than it should be.
🍂 Author's Note: Yay, a new story, finally! I'm attending university so life is busy now but my plan is to hopefully update at least once a week.
Thanks for reading! 🍂