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When I have my mind on getting ready fast I can really make some moves. I’m like a Tasmanian devil in my bathroom—a blur of speed in and out of the shower, pulling on my dress, tights (backwards once, but then on correctly) and swiping smoky grey shadow over my eyes. A quick Perfect Hair Day Spell and swipe of lip gloss has me ready for my date by six-fifteen. A little late, but not bad considering I didn’t get home until quarter to six.
Max is waiting patiently in my living room, and after I say goodbye to Turkey and don my jacket, we walk hand in hand to the French Table.
Once we’re seated, I feel like I can finally catch my breath. We made it!
It takes me a while to settle down, but after we order and sit still for a little while, the atmosphere starts to affect me. In the dimly lit, romantic little dining room, marinating in acoustic guitar music and Max’s presence, I feel myself relax.
A candle flickers on the table between us. Max lifts a bottle of red wine and begins to pour it into a glass while I watch him dreamily.
I swear, half of the time I’m with Max, I’m just staring at him. I can’t help it. There’s something about him.
It’s not just the chemical cocktail that seems to flare up inside of me when I’m in his presence. It’s more than that.
The guy has a glow about him. When he’s in a room, my eyes are drawn to him and all else fades to the background.
Max is wearing a black button-up shirt and khakis. His tousled black hair is even more whirly-whippy than usual. His always-bronzed skin glows golden in the candle light. When he smiles at me, passing the wine glass across the table, I actually want to pinch myself.
I mean, I’ve got to be dreaming, right?
This can’t be my life.
Little old Penny Banks is surely not sitting here across from a handsome-as-heck vampire, in Hillcrest’s fanciest restaurant.
Until I inherited the book that’s teaching me witchcraft I was just your average girl.
Actually, though I hate to admit it, statistically speaking I might have been below average. I mean, I failed out of police academy. Emotionally I was closed off and needy, so my love life was a disaster zone. My PI business was a total flop. I was just sort of surviving—hoping to make it from one day to the next.
Then I started studying magic.
And everything changed.
I mean, not like snapping your fingers in the air or anything. It’s taken a lot of work. But slowly, steadily, I feel myself becoming more magical. My world is becoming more magical. What I see, daily, reflects the changes that happen inside of me.
Max seems to be proof of that.
“I love it when you slip into alpha,” he says softly, interrupting my thoughts. As he speaks I notice I haven’t yet accepted the wine glass he’s holding out to me. Mm... wine! I reach out for it.
“Hm?” I ask.
“Alpha brain waves,” Max says. “Most humans run around in beta... very fast electrical activity in the brain muscle. It makes them act like hamsters running round and round on a wheel. When you slip into alpha all of the electrical activity slows down. Your posture changes. I can also see it in your pupils. It’s very attractive.”
“My pupils are attractive?” I ask. I sip my wine.
He laughs. “And the way you smell. It’s all connected. I learned about it while I was living with the Zambi tribe, over two hundred years ago.”
“Tribes...” I murmur dreamily. I’m still gazing at him. Why is it so darn hard to think straight when I’m around Doctor Max Shire?
“Tribal life is fascinating,” Max says.
“How is the new book coming?” I ask, just as the bus girl delivers our starter salads. Max is working on a book called ‘What Tribes Know: The Seven Secret Keys to Living a Longer, Healthier Life’. In fact, he’s been working on it so much lately that I’ve barely seen him this past week. Maybe that’s why I was so excited about this date.
I reach for my salad fork as Max begins talking.
“I truly believe that the tribes I study have information that can help beings master longevity. It’s about so much more than just diet or nutrition—though that helps.” He sips his wine.
“Don’t some primitive people eat like bugs and roots and stuff? That sounds gross.” I spear a cherry tomato. I feel so out of my league talking about this with Max. But that’s a feeling I’ve gotten used to lately. I’ve been pushed out of my comfort zone more often than not.
Take this restaurant, for example. I used to think of it as kind of ‘off limits’. I thought I was a girl who didn’t eat at nice restaurants. I was a burgers at The Place kinda girl. Now here I am, all dressed up, using a salad fork. I mean really! It’s a little fork made especially for eating salad. Imagine that!
Max is still talking “... way of life. That’s why humans call it ‘primitive’, though it’s nothing of the sort. It’s actually much more advanced than the agricultural, hoarding ways of most so-called modern humans.”
Ooops. I’m pretty sure there was something there I’m supposed to respond to.
But what?
Think, Penny. Think.
Boy do I wish I was wearing my fake glasses. They make me feel so intellectual. Like the kind of woman who would say something smashingly brilliant right now. I left them on the bathroom sink. Why, oh why did I leave them on the bathroom sink?
What should I say?
I’m drawing a blank.
Max watches me.
Seeing that I’m at a loss for words, he speaks again.
“I don’t want you to feel bad that you thought they were primitive.” His tone is gentle, as if he can tell I’m uncomfortable. “That’s part of your conditioning.”
“Darn conditioner,” I say.
Max grins.
It’s encouraging to see him smile. “So what is the point of the book?” I ask. “If living longer is not about diet and nutrition then what is it about?”
“It goes so much deeper than just the food we eat or the activities of the day. Living longer is about how you feel about the world and the other beings in it. Are you all on one team? Or are you at war with your surroundings and cohabiters? The hunter gatherer tribes I’ve been living with all have one thing in common. They live with the world around them, not against it.”
“Cooperation,” I say. “I get that.”
“Exactly. Cooperation instead of competition. Tribes cooperate with the earth and animals. I really think that tribal living is essential for living longer,” Max says. “I’m planning to include the book as required reading in my curriculum for humans that are transitioning into vampirism. In fact, I’ve been working on a theory.”
I swallow. “Oh yeah?” I say, before taking another bite. This salad sure is good. The raspberry vinaigrette drizzled over it is sweet, and the veggies are all super fresh. If I could make salads like this at home, I might eat them more often.
Max continues. “I’m starting to see that werewolves are really onto something with their social structures.”
“You mean because they have an alpha wolf that takes on a leadership role and all that?” I say.
“That... and the fact that they live in packs.”
“That is pretty cool.” I say.
“More than ‘cool’... Penny. It’s... it’s... how can I say this? It’s vital. It’s a version of tribal living.”
“I guess living in a tribe would feel really different,” I say, trying to imagine it. All I can conjure up is sitting around a bonfire while someone beats on a bongo drum. Would everyone have to wear loincloths? I feel kind of embarrassed just thinking about it.
“Tribes are powerful,” Max says. “In fact, I’d like to adopt that practice. My theory, actually, is that magical beings of the future will be a sort of hybrid.”
“A hybrid of what?” I ask. “Werewolf and vampire?”
He nods. “And witch. I’m thinking of labeling these new hybrid beings—” He pauses dramatically, and then mimes a cascade of letters in the air in front of him as he says, “Wi-vam Wolves”
The wine I just sipped threatens to squirt out between my lips, or out of my nose. I’m not sure which would be worse. I cover my mouth and a snorting sound emits from somewhere deep inside of me.
Did I just snort out loud? Crap. How embarrassing!
But seriously... wi-vam wolves?
I manage to swallow, and then I laugh out loud. “Really Max?” I ask.
“What... you don’t like it?” He chuckles a little too.
“Wi-vam wolves...” I say slowly, trying it out. “It sounds like some sort of Disney movie... or a game show. Wi-VAM!”
“What about Wi-vamp wolves,” he says. “Maybe the ‘p’ would give it a little weight.”
“How about Were Vitches?” I ask. Then I giggle some more.
Max laughs too. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “The theory is still in the works. I need to finish this tribal living book first, before I can devote time to it.”
“Understandable,” I say. “One world-revolutionizing project at a time.”
“Think of it, Penny. A hybrid being would adopt the pack mentality that wolves enjoy. They could live extremely long lives, like vampires, and cast spells as witches do. It’s the natural progression of things. An evolution of sorts. The genetics of it are irrelevant. So what if a hybrid being wouldn’t actually sprout fur or have fangs? It’s the lifestyle and mindset I’m driving at here.”
“Wi-vam wolves...” I say slowly. I sip my wine. “I guess it does make sense.”
“A new magical being...” Max says. “And if I pioneer this work, you and I could be the first of a long line of them.”
“A long... line?” I say. My voice comes out all wobbly. A long line of beings...? Is Max talking about having children?
He grins. “Just planting the seed,” he says slyly.
I can feel my cheeks start to heat up; I’m starting to freak out. I really am crazy about Max. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk about our far-away future together. Or kids. I lift my hand and start fanning my face. “I’m not really in a gardening mood,” I say.
Max laughs. “Alright. I don’t mean to put any pressure on you. I know that thinking about the future tends to make you uncomfortable. But Penny... having a vision of the future is so important. Without painting a picture in your mind of how you want things to be one day, you’ll keep living reactively.”
“Oh—I’m pretty good at that,” I say. In fact, every time I see Max I feel myself react. My palms sweat, my cheeks flush, my heart beats faster, and I feel the flutter of butterflies in my stomach.
Max is chewing his salad, so I continue, taking the opportunity to change the topic of conversation to one that feels a little more solid beneath my feet.
“I’m sorry I was running late this evening. I tried to get home earlier to get ready but Rebecca popped into my office right before I could leave for the day, and I couldn’t just kick her out.”
“That’s right,” Max says. “You were saying you had a visitor.”
I nod. “The town librarian. Rebecca Brown. She’s in her forties... average height, on the thin side. Short brown hair. I’m sure you’ve seen her around. She’s usually scowling about something or other.”
I make a scowl.
Max grins. “Yes. I do believe I know just the woman you’re talking about.”
I relax my expression.
“What did she want?” Max asks.
“My help,” I say.
“Yes, that’s clear,” Max says. “But with what matter?”
I sigh. “Nothing too interesting. Just some paperwork that she came across. You know how Marley lives up at the old mine?”
Max nods.
“That mine used to belong to Marley’s grandfather, Felix Greene. He was killed in a tragic mining accident—they were doing some work in a tunnel, and one of the sides collapsed. Felix had to fight his way out, dragging one of his employees along with him. Felix saved the guy, but ended up dying from a head wound he received in the accident.”
“That’s terrible,” Max says.
I nod. “It was a really big deal,” I say. “It happened before Marley and I were born, so it’s not like I remember it or anything, but everyone knows the story. That mine was never very profitable, but at least we all got a heroic story out of it. Anyways, Rebecca was going through some historical documents at the library, and she came across his will. She noticed that the signature on it looked forged.”
“Interesting,” Max says. “Do you agree with her? Did the signature look forged to you?”
I nod. “Definitely. I’ll have to verify it by looking at his signature on other documents, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure that Rebecca’s right. Whoever signed that will was not Felix himself.”
“And what does that mean?” Max asks.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. But I told Rebecca I’d look into it. I’ll probably have to dig through some old Hillcrest Crier articles or something. It’s not the most exciting work, but at least it’s something. I think I’ll also visit Rich Dempsey.”
“And who is Rich Dempsey?” Max asks.
I see the bus girl hovering. I still have half a salad left, so I shovel a forkful of greens into my mouth, chew and swallow before answering Max.
I pat raspberry vinaigrette from my lips with a white linen napkin as I say, “He’s the guy Felix saved. Rich worked up at the mine, for Felix. He’s in his nineties now. Lives over on Juniper Street with his wife Victoria. When Felix died, he left the Hillcrest Mine to Rich. Even though the mine shut down for good in the eighties, Rich still owns all the property. He’s really nice. He lets Marley park her van up there even though it’s private property.”
“And you think he’ll know something about the forged signature?” Max asks.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I’d rather talk to an actual person than shuffle through old newspapers, so I think it’s a good place to start. This case isn’t going to be easy for me. I’ve always found history kind of boring. I mean, I know some people love it—it’s just not my thing.”
I chew while thinking over the way I used to barely scrape by in history classes in high school. I had a lot of trouble with history because I had a hard time believing it. I mean, sure—we were learning a version of events. But that version was written by the victors! I wanted to know the other side of things. Yep. History and I don’t have a very good relationship.
Despite that, this Sunday evening I’m going to have to spend hours at an event dedicated to history.
Max is quiet so I continue. “Ug. That reminds me. I got roped into volunteering on Night of Hillcrest History this Sunday.”
By the time I’m done complaining about my volunteering duties, our salads have been cleared and the main course is served.
Max ordered a rare steak, while I opted for the fish. I wanted angel hair pasta with clam sauce, but Max has a strange vendetta against white pasta, so I stayed away. Even delicious pasta wasn’t worth listening to him go on about how terrible refined flour is.
After our meal we travel via broomstick (I drive, and Max sits behind me) to the Stinky Socks Hot Springs. The night is chilly, the air is crisp, and the water is steaming hot. Any remaining stresses from the day melt away, and by the time I return to my apartment and lie down in bed, Felix Greene’s signature is the last thing on my mind.
