Gran glanced at me seven times in the car before talking. "Are you okay? You never get angry like that."
"I'm fine," I promised. "I- maybe I ate something weird."
I knew that wasn't true. That anger, that weird superhuman strength was more like a power coursing through me, something I couldn't control. It scared me to death, but I couldn't let it show.
"You haven't been called Sorrell in ages," he pointed out. "I almost forgot about it."
"I know. It's such a strange name, I guess, so I just stopped using it. But they had to name me Sorrell because some ancestor of mine consulted a seer and that's what they said to do. I guess that means the prophecy's probably true," I noted dejectedly.
"Does that freak you out? Because I'm a little freaked out," Gran noted.
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my palm. "I just don't have time for a Doomsday prophecy on top of everything else."
"You shouldn't have pissed him off," Gran scolded.
"What did I do?"
"Hm, let's review." Gran took one hand off the steering wheel and tapped his chin. "You picked him up by his collar and yelled at him? You didn't negotiate properly? You embarrassed him?"
I sunk down into the seat of the car. "Okay, fine. I was rude. I'm sorry."
"Well, I know just how you'll make it up to me," Gran grinned.
I turned to look at him. "How?"
"You're going to catch our werewolf friend," he sang.
I sat upright. "Really? But- that's not really-"
"Oh, but you're doing it my way," Gran said ominously.
"But-"
"I mean, I'm Operations Manager, so you would have had to do it my way anyway, but you know, now you can't complain."
"Gran..." I began, my voice warning.
He ignored me. "Remember what you were wearing the first time you ran into a werewolf?"
"Gran Vega, you wouldn't," I gasped.
"Oh," he smiled evilly, "I really would."
"Graydan!"
"What, I thought you looked cute in that outfit." His eyes twinkled mischievously. He smirked, the satisfaction on his face making me angrier.
"I nearly got murdered! I nearly got freaking murdered in that outfit."
"Yeah, and we're hoping for that today, too. Werewolves can't resist the hood," he explained.
"I know that," I snapped, ignoring him for the rest of the ride.
Back at the precinct in wardrobe, Gran outfitted me in a short black skirt, a low-cut white blouse, a pair of hiking boots, and a bloodred cape.
Goldie was behind him, sniggering. "Still want to play with the big girls, Red?" she asked. "This is what you get for pretending to be a detective."
"Actually," Gran began, "for the purpose of this, I'm making Red a temporary detective, just so the arrest goes smoothly."
I smirked at Goldie. "Hear that? I'm a detective. What were you again?"
Goldie huffed and walked out. She hated being reminded that her criminal record kept her from getting past the receptionist job.
I turned to Gran. "I bet you're loving this."
He smirked at me. "Not going to lie, it's pretty hot."
"No kidding." I shifted. "This thing absorbs heat like mad- oh. You pig!" I exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder.
Gran snorted and ducked away, grabbing a basket on the table. "Here's any weaponry you should need, pepper spray and things, and your badge," he explained. "Oh. And a fruitcake."
I tugged the skirt down lower. "Fruitcake?" I knocked his glasses off his head. "How much does this thing weigh?"
Gran sneered at me and snatched his glasses out of my hand. "You can carry it."
"Okay, here's what we know so far," Ginger began, entering the room. He raised his eyebrow when he saw my outfit. "Please tell me you're not wearing that willingly."
"I'm really not," I said coldly, glaring at Gran. He smiled, unfazed.
"Anyway," Ginger continued, "the target's name is Arreus Clawman. He's a natural born werewolf- medical records indicate that his great-grandfather was turned- and he's one of the strongest. He's got all the werewolf abilities, super strength, super speed, heightened smell, sight, and hearing, transformation into a wolf, ability to swallow a person of about 250 pounds in one bite, and voice mimicking. He's got a personal vendetta against the princesses- they've all fired him at one time or another from being their fashion designer for various events, not because he's not the best but because of the stigma against werewolves. He's been arrested several times for digestion of a live human, but nobody's ever made anything stick. He usually goes for the elderly. So, what's the cover?" He turned to Gran.
"Simple," Gran said. "You're going to go visit your grandmother who lives in the woods."
"And we know he's in the woods because..."
"He hasn't been seen since yesterday. Werewolves are amazing at evading police. We'll need to trap him."
"Which is my job, I assume." I blew a strand of hair off my face. "Let's get this over with."
They dropped me off in front of the woods and, like the stars of most horror movies, I began to venture in alone.
The woods always made my skin crawl. I could feel the shadows leering at me, could hear the hungry murmurs of the wolves and witches and fae. As long as I stayed on the path, I'd be okay. Off the path, there were fairy rings and wolves' dens and witch-cottages galore. It was near impossible to make it out alive.
And yet, I had, all those years ago. I'd sworn I'd never talk about it again, even to Gran, and I'd kept that promise all these years with hopes that my silence would keep the memories away.
But back in the filtered light with the smell of moss filling my nose, they came flooding back.
My parents only wanted four children. Two boys and two girls. Thus, they had my older brothers Jasper and Radley, and my older sisters Rowan and Flannery.
And then I was born.
At first, I thought they were annoyed because I'd upset the balance- there were three girls to feed now instead of two- but I quickly learned that wasn't the case.
A seer had foreseen my birth. A seer had insisted I be named Sorrell. And when a seer predicts something, only misery follows.
Like the Piglingtons down the street. A seer had foreseen that two out of the three would be lazy and killed by a werewolf because of this, and by the time they were nineteen they were gone.
Or Ella Muffet, to whom a seer decreed, "Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and way. Along came a spider, sat down beside her, and frightened Miss Muffet away."
Ella had lived her whole life in fear of the prophecy, and when it came true and a spider scared her, she died of fright.
My parents didn't like having a child foreseen by a seer. So they often sent me into the woods for long periods of time to stay with my grandmother.
My grandmother actually loved me and cared for me as if I were her own. But she always made me swear up and down to never be in the woods in the morning and to never wear red when visiting her.
Still, one day my mother insisted I wear a red hood. She later said she didn't know what she was doing, but she knew. Killing me off was the only way to keep her family safe.
So she sent me into the woods with a cape and a fruitcake, the wolf's favourite food.
Of course I was approached and followed home. And my grandmother died because of it. She was dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
It was too much, all these memories. I turned on my heels and bolted, my legs and arms pumping faster than they ever had before. I was out of the forest in what seemed like seconds, heaving.
Gran ran over to me, his eyes creased in concern. "Are you okay?"
"I can't," I gasped. "My grandmother..."
Gran nodded solomnly. "Of course. I'll get Goldie to-"
"No," I gasped, shaking my head. "No. I'll be better tomorrow."
"But-"
"No!" I stunned myself, the way I shouted. Something sparked inside me. "I am the only one here who's made it there and back alive. I'll go find the wolf."
Before he could protest, I was gone again.