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ELIZABETH
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THE MORNING DAWNED sunny and calm. The snow was already melting.
Save for Khalid, the rest of the household was around the table when I came down to the kitchen. Zana complimented me on my shoes, Lily asked me if it was okay to remove the protective sheets around the rose bushes and Jason poured me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Khalid wasn’t there. I guessed he was on his morning stroll.
We almost finished breakfast when he came in. He gave me a light kiss and sat beside me.
“I see you’re ready for work,” he said.
“That I am.”
“If you don’t need my help,” Khalid said, “I’ll go through the list of contractors you proposed for each phase of the Baker Block renovations. Later you and I will decide who we’re going to hire.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said and stood up.
“I can help you, Elizabeth,” Zana said.
“That would be great, Zana,” I said.
Zana walked to me and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go, Elizabeth. We have lots to do ... What are we doing?”
I smiled. “You can clean and wrap some of the porcelain figurines. We’ll place them in the wooden boxes and have them ready for the auction. How about that?”
“Super!”
“And if you break a piece or two, Zana, don’t fret,” Khalid said and winked at her. “Accidents happen.”
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TWO HOURS OF DUSTING, packing and chatting later, Zana said she’d like to help Harriet with baking.
I closed and sealed the last box with the decorative porcelain my little helper and I had wrapped with great care, then turned my attention to a Rococo rosewood lady’s desk from seventeenth-century Venice.
After the preliminary assessment, I started pulling out the drawers one by one to check the dovetails. Often, they were good indicators of the age of furniture.
In one of the drawers, I found a thirty-year-old telephone directory of Copper Ridge and Red Cliffs and opened it.
The residents of both towns were listed together, with a CR or RC on the end of each name as an indicator of where the person lived. I’d never heard of such a telephone book, but then, the phone book was as old as I was. Perhaps they had made them long ago for small towns in the same area.
I was looking under “N” but couldn’t find a single Nouri among the residents of Copper Ridge or Red Cliffs. There were two Canagan entries for Red Cliffs—Brian and Eve, and John William—as well as two Mohegans—James and Hal.
I returned to the “A’s” and skimmed through the columns of names. Abelard, Abner, Alton. And then Amwolf, Ardolf, Amoux.
I skipped to the “B’s.” After a few Banks’s and Baldwins, I saw Bardolf and Bardou. I kept going. Fella. Farkas. Leikos. Lopes. Lupescu. Kurt ...
I knew enough languages, alive and dead ones alike, to recognize that all of them had the same meaning: wolf.
I shoved the phone book aside as if it was burning and immersed myself in my job.
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“YOU NEED TO SIGN THIS, Khalid,” Jason said as he joined us in the kitchen for dinner, a stack of papers in his hands. “The dealership just faxed the contract. They say they can deliver the bike within a week.”
“I bought a Ducati,” Khalid said to me since it didn’t seem like news to anyone else. He stood up and walked to the kitchen counter. “Give them to me, Jason.”
I watched him from under my lashes as he went through the papers, twirling the pen between his fingers. When he finished reading, he placed them on the countertop, braced himself on his elbow and clicked on the top of the pen.
My eyes followed the movement of his hand as he signed the document: down, curve around, curve around. Capital B, followed by a period.
Curve around for the capital C.
Then three letters, a-n-a.
Then around, down and curve for a g.
Two more letters—an a and an n.
Well, nice to meet you, Brian Canagan.
Oddly enough, my breathing was calm, my heart didn’t stutter. Was my mind at last ready for the big revelation or was the shock just delayed until the truth sank in?
I only felt I needed to be alone.
I helped clean the table and announced I’d be upstairs in my office finishing the porcelain collection paperwork.
I expected Khalid to protest, but he only nodded. I left the kitchen followed by a bunch of amused and somewhat worried gazes. On my way upstairs, I grabbed the bizarre telephone book and took it with me.
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AT FIRST, I TRIED TO work, I really did. After about fifteen minutes I gave up and logged off of my laptop.
I still had a puzzle to solve.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Okay, what had I learned so far?
So, Khalid Nouri was Brian Canagan.
Why he was using a different name was unknown.
I’d already figured out that he had been something to Eve Mohegan. Ex-husband? Likely. But he wasn’t Jack’s father. Eve looked as if she was nearing her fifties, but Brian wasn’t even forty. He couldn’t be Jack’s father. Jack was simply too old to be his son.
Perhaps he was Jack’s stepfather? That made more sense. Only, why would he lie about having Jack in his teenage years?
Brian wasn’t Ahmed’s cousin, either, at least not from his father’s side of the family. He’d been in an accident some time ago and had spent a number of years in Winston. Was his accident somehow the reason why he’d changed his name?
What else did I know about Brian Canagan?
I was certain he was an architect and that he owned the urban development company called ArtePolis.
He possessed exceptional physical strength and uncanny mental abilities.
He was smart, intelligent and educated, yet there were gaps in his knowledge about modern technology, pop culture references, things and events.
He was an honest and honorable man. He had a sense of humor. He was a passionate, skilled and generous lover, with a high sex drive. All good.
Certain body parts looked normal, but they felt different. In the best way.
We did share some sort of a connection, which even he couldn’t explain.
I took another deep breath.
Here we are.
He changed into someone or something else during the night.
I reached for the phone book and leafed through the second half. Ylva. Otsoko. Randall. Tunstall. Ulfur. Ulv. Var. Volkov. Vuk. Vukovic. Ze’eb ...
I logged into my laptop and typed “Canagan meaning” into the Google search box and pressed enter. The top result was a link to the article “Animal and mythological given names and surnames around the world.” I scrolled through a long list until I hit Canagan. It read: “One of the old Celtic words for wolf cub; son of a wolf.”
I shut the laptop off. Unplugged it from the wall. Opened the desk drawer and buried it under a stash of paper.
“It could have been worse,” I said aloud, needing to hear my voice.
He could’ve been an alien or a time traveler and disappeared to a realm that I didn’t have access to. Or a vampire, even though they surely didn’t exist.
“It could have been much worse.”
What about the rest of Copper Ridge and Red Cliffs? Were they all the same kind of creatures? Was Lottie one of them? How much did she know? And how on earth had I ended up here? Was I a vardanni, whatever that meant? Or an ellida? I’d searched for that word many times since I heard it the first time but always came up empty. Khalid—I still couldn’t call him Brian—had made it clear he wanted me to stay here. People in Copper Ridge showed me affection that went beyond small town hospitality, generosity and curiosity. A silly notion, but more than once I’d felt as if they were in some way proud and honored I’d come here.
Would I be able to leave Copper Ridge of my own free will?
My stomach rolled; bile rose in my throat. The room swayed in front of my eyes.
I bent forward, put my head between my knees and breathed slowly.
In and out ... In and out.
When the worst had passed, I faltered to my bedroom.
I had two options, I thought as I lay on my bed: to run away or to follow Khalid tonight, to see my beloved Beast with my own eyes.
Beast.
I’m losing my mind.
Werewolves and other mythical creatures were called mythical because they didn’t exist, it was still possible that none of this was actually happening.
Werewolves?
No. My lover’s name is Khalid Nouri. He’s British with an American accent and Welsh and Turkish origins. He has beautiful sea green eyes. He’s divorced, he has a son. He is an architect; he lives in a lovely house in Copper Ridge. He is the best lover I’ve ever had and I’m so crazy in love with him that I only want to marry him, become a wonderful stepmother to his son, and have his children, at least three or four.
I closed my eyes and fell into an unsettling, shallow slumber. Sometime later, I heard a knock on my door and Khalid—no, Brian—entered. He scooped me up and carried me to his room. We took a shower together and made love. He was quiet; I didn’t feel like talking either.
I fell asleep again.
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IT WASN’T A SOUND THAT woke me up, but rather the feeling of being alone in bed.
Khalid emerged from the bathroom, dressed, and sat beside me. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”
“You okay?” I asked and braced myself on my elbow.
He leaned toward me and planted a soft kiss on my lips. “I’m going for a quick walk.”
I yawned. “What time is it?”
“Quarter past five,” he said and kissed me once more. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later.”
After he’d left, I lay in his bed, staring into the darkness.
When the pale morning light started filling the room, I got up, did my morning bathroom routine and put on my riding suit.
Only Luna was awake when I came down to the parlor. She made a short, happy bark, anticipating some fun time ahead. “You stay here, pretty girl,” I said and stroked her head. “I’ll be back in no time.”
At least I hoped.