CHAPTER 10

Lola felt fear wash through her. She looked to the knight and found him completely locked onto Russel. Suspicion was clearly evident in his eyes. His brow was furrowed as if he were concentrating on something, and the hand resting on the hilt of his sword clenched tightly. His posture stiffened and took on a wary cautiousness. The knight with him leaned forward and whispered something inaudible but judging from the confusion in the other knight’s eyes, she guessed the man was asking why he was pulling Russel out of the line. Suspicious Knight snapped something short at the inquisitive knight and the man backed off. Suspicious Knight pointed at a spot on the ground and gestured for Russel to stand there. With an air of unconcernedness and nonchalance, Russel did as he was instructed. “Is there some kind of problem?” he asked. Lola stepped out of the line herself and stood slightly behind Russel, doing her best to keep her eyes downcast and away from Suspicious Knight. “Where are you from?” the man asked. Russel would have been nervous being asked a question like that but, fortunately for him, he happened to know of at least one more human village other than the burned-down Gloucester. “The misses and I are from a small village called Howlton,” he said. “Is that so?” the knight asked, an ugly smile crossed his lips. “Wouldn’t you know it, I’ve been to Howlton many times. Funny thing though. I don’t remember ever seeing you or your wife there.” The man’s eyes became hard and the hand on his sword repositioned itself to give him better access when drawing it from its scabbard. The dark unyielding glare to his eyes became more intense and uncomfortable for Russel and Lola. “We’re what you’d call private people,” Russel replied, easily. He offered a cheery smile that the knight obviously didn’t care for. “We stay in the house most days after we get done with all the work that needs doing.” “I imagine Crueller is still overcharging for his bread, huh?” the knight asked, a righteous grin on his face. He was setting him up, hoping to catch him in a lie. “I’m afraid you might be talking about a different village,” Lola chimed in. The knight’s already intense gaze became even shrewder. “Gregori and his son, Brenner, are the only breadmakers we know of in Howlton. Ma Tomkins runs the local tavern. Norris and Carla Underwood have a farm close to us. They plant mostly potatoes and have three dairy cows. Will that suffice to move us past your little inquisition?” The knight stared hard at her, unhappy that she stepped in and answered for Russel. He gazed between the two of them, his eyes shifting back and forth steadily. Then the hand on the hilt of his sword loosened. He looked at Russel, still unhappy but satisfied with Lola’s answers. “My apologies, ma'am,” he said. “There have been disturbing reports and we have to be…thorough.” “Nothing to worry about, Sir Knight,” Russel said, refraining from the urge to slap the knight good-naturedly on the back. “We’ve heard things as well. I admire your diligence.” “My name is Sir Thomas Oliver,” he said, that iron sharpness to his tone again. It was clear by the look he continued to give Russel that he wanted him to remember that name. “Good day to you both and many good wishes upon your travels.” “Thank you,” Lola said, then forced Russel to get moving. Serk let out an irritated neigh, slammed one hoofed foot on the ground a bit harder than was necessary, and started to move forward as well. “Be cautious, miss,” Sir Thomas said, his gaze shifting for a minuscule second toward Russel. “Dangerous times.” You have no idea, she thought to herself. Then she realized that with all the knights and soldiers around, maybe he actually did. It was almost curious to her that King Harrison had been able to respond so quickly to word of werewolves in Alcroft. She wondered idly how that had been possible. It had been a month since Gloucester, maybe a month and a half. Already gangs of human militia were roaming everywhere. People were whispering about war and werewolves. Wrexon had a heavy military presence. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought the king had known werewolves would be attacking soon. “We need to get off the streets as soon as possible,” Russel whispered as they headed into the city. People, horses, cows, and soldiers bustled about everywhere. There were so many, Russel’s senses were being overloaded. Not only that, but he really didn’t like the interaction with Sir Thomas. Something about him made Russel extremely nervous. It was the look in his eyes mostly, like he knew or thought he knew Russel was a werewolf. “Why don’t we find lodging and stay here for a night or two? I don’t want to give Sir Thomas any reason to doubt our story,” Lola said. “We can find a room, get off the streets, and maybe find a local restaurant. Then we can spend the morning tomorrow searching for shops to buy supplies that will last us until we get into Oclan.” “You, dear wife, are full of great ideas,” he replied, still trying to sound as if the interaction with Sir Thomas hadn’t affected him nearly as badly as it actually did. Lola knew he was teasing by calling her his wife but nonetheless, a small part of her had liked hearing him say that. The pair spent their first hour inside Wrexon looking for a suitable stable for Serk to stay in while they were in the city. There were a few close to the entrance but most of those were booked solid. Eventually, they found one with decent pricing and left Serk to rest up and get some food and water. They needed some food and water themselves so they decided to put off the search for lodging in favor of finding a decent restaurant. There were a lot of choices here as well but again, most of the ones near the entrance of Wrexon were packed with people. They ended up having to walk quite far until they found a place to eat that wouldn’t take several hours for them to actually get some food. It was a cozy, quaint place called The Midnight Oil. It was sandwiched right in between a print shop and an apartment building. She liked the name immediately. She had always been more of a night person so she appreciated its reference. As soon as they walked inside, they were greeted by a host dressed in a white button-up shirt, a bow tie, and black slacks. His polished shoes shone so brightly from the sunlight coming in through the windows that they nearly blinded them. “Welcome to The Midnight Oil.” He bowed slightly. “If you come with me, I can show you to your seats.” He gestured for them to follow and then made his way over to a table by the window that seated two people. Once Lola and Russel were sitting, he went over the restaurant's specials. “We have a rustic and pleasant corn chowder with cornbread to start with,” he said. “Then we follow that with a nice entree of sizzling ribeye steaks, garlic-roasted mashed potatoes, soy-glazed carrots, and buttered rolls. The dessert course is a shareable plate of fine pastries prepared by our master pastry chef, Luc Renard. Would you care for a glass of our house wine while you await your first course? Or perhaps some water?” “Wine will be great,” Russel said and Lola agreed. It might help dull the sting she still felt whenever she thought about Gloucester. “Excellent,” the host said. He bowed again and then disappeared into the kitchen to have the cook staff prepare their meal. “Fancy place,” Lola remarked, looking around. The interior was well-kept, clean, and full of gleaming black wood, posh seats, intricate centerpieces, and exquisite decor ranging from hand-carved glassware to beautiful oil paintings hanging on the walls. “Humans do have a certain flare for interior design,” Russel admitted. “Werewolf establishments tend to favor more…rustic…decorations.” “Sounds like…well…something,” she told him, smiling lightly. They spent their time in the restaurant talking, getting to know each other, and even laughing. Lola realized more and more that Russel was different than what she imagined a werewolf would be. In her mind, mostly taught to her by the people she grew up around, werewolves were savage killers who didn’t care about anything but murdering humans. While Drake certainly lived up to that reputation, Russel was the complete opposite. In fact, he felt more human than some humans she’d known in her life. “Thank you,” she whispered at one point. She couldn’t help but start to cry when she said it. “For saving me. And training me. I don’t even know if I said that yet.” “You’re welcome,” Russel told her, feeling much the same way she did but instead of werewolves having a bad reputation, it was humans that had always been talked about with such disdain around him. Lola wasn’t a weak, petty creature full of hate and prejudice the way his father had told him all humans were. She was dazzling. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. “But you don’t need to thank me. Not for saving your life anyway. I would’ve been quite the shithead to not help a beautiful girl in distress.” “I suppose so,” Lola laughed. “But I am glad you were there.” Then a question occurred to her. One she hadn’t thought to ask until then. With all the running and terror and wholesale slaughter from Drake and his crew, it had completely slipped her mind. “Why exactly were you there?”