Prompt: 057: Lunch (The Werewolf Chronicles)
Title: Lunch for Three
Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 057: Lunch
Beta: rae_fa
Word Count: 6,372
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or on fictionpress.
Notes: Grade 12 = 17-18 year olds.
Summary: Conversations and observations reveal more than expected.
Chapter 22: Lunch for Three
The rest of Saturday was a gruelling experience. Both men hardly knew what to do: Alexander in the agony of professed love, and Michael trapped between the dark eddies of his thoughts and the confusing swirl of his emotions.
As a result Alexander and Michael went to great lengths to do every single odd job around the house, play with false cheer with the cats who quite frankly seemed to think them insane, and when they were unavoidably together they employed careful politeness.
In the meantime, Michael was forming a desperate resolution to investigate Alexander’s background and reputation on Monday, if only in an attempt to soothe his own fears, whilst trying not to stare at the beguiling red-head for too long at any given moment.
The werewolf was certain he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. His own emotions and senses were difficult enough, but the contradictory catalogue of pheromones released by Michael was entirely another thing. A pensive attitude, sometimes tinged with dread and anxiety, other times full of restrained desire - and occasionally something else Alexander could not name.
By Sunday evening Alexander was ready to leap out of his skin, and he rather not do so in front of Michael as a wolf suddenly running around the room would probably not go over well.
Yet, as it transpired Michael retired early for the night and was soon sleeping heavily, exhausted most likely from two days of constant tension.
Feeling as if he had just navigated thin layers of ice stretched across a chasm, Alexander waited until the night deepened to an inky blackness lit by only a few faint stars. A slender pale crescent of moon hung suspended in the sky, bravely poking out from behind the cloud cover. The moon was waning, and soon there would be no glimmer from Earth’s companion.
Inside his bedroom Alexander sat in darkness, watching the world outside his window. He was not looking forward to Monday for he feared that Figaro would drag the truth from him regarding his love for Michael, and his well-meaning friend would try even harder to bring the two of them together.
However, that was not the prime issue this night.
The werewolf was biding his time, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to strike. And now it had come.
Staring through the almost impenetrable darkness of his bedroom to his window, Alexander eyed the distant points of light one last time before fluidly rising and crossing to his door where he crouched.
Ever so slowly, Alexander eased the wood back, the oiled hinges not releasing even the tiniest squeak. Once there was a gap large enough for him to squeeze through Alexander paused, his sensitive ears straining to catch the slightest noise from Michael’s bedroom, filtering out all extraneous sounds.
Nothing. Nothing but steady deep breathing, which indicated that Michael wouldn’t be rising anytime soon.
Relieved but still cautious, the werewolf slipped out onto the landing, shutting the door with a softest noise only he could hear.
Crawling to the staircase, the werewolf gauged the distance and coiling his lithe frame Alexander jumped. A barely perceptible ‘thud’ and he was at the bottom, feet sinking into the carpet. Shock vibrated through his being. Had he really successfully jumped down a staircase with no damage or sound?
Burying his shock, the werewolf tilted his head and listened. No change, even his cats were dead to the world. Satisfied, the redheaded werewolf padded silently down the hallway until he reached the cellar. Michael’s scent, faded, almost two days old lingered on the door handle. Alexander frowned but dismissed his concern.
The Mountie hadn’t managed to enter and there was no suggestion that he was suspicious of the locked door, otherwise, Michael would have questioned him, no matter how distracted Michael had been the last two days.
Unlocking the heavy barrier Alexander stepped into the cellar, recalling vividly the night he had spent within the confines of these cool walls battling the Beast, and ultimately triumphing. Then of his sojourn outside the cellar.
Cosseted with the ghosts of the not so distant past, Alexander closed the door behind him and descended into unbroken blackness, clinging to the banister for even his werewolf eyes were troubled, for he was still mostly human - for the moment.
Striking a match Alexander winced at the bright solar flare that seared his eyeballs. Lighting one of the lanterns by the far wall the werewolf retrieved the pile of blankets that had been his temporary home during his last stay, and arranged them into a comfortable nest, then sank onto them.
Cross-legged Alexander was determined to scratch his itch and simultaneously gain further control over his condition. After all, he had little time.
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Orange-yellow bathed the left side of Alexander’s head, while shadows pressed on his right.
Light and dark, two sides of one being, touching each other at the dividing line.
Alexander was oblivious to all this, for his eyes were shut and his body relaxed yet held straight backed. His hands rested lightly on his knees as he drifted.
The werewolf - Alexander, for they were one - had emptied his mind of everything: of acknowledging the sensation of his clothing against his skin, of emotions, of thoughts; by doing this he would be able to hear the wolf inside.
With all these distractions vanished, not suppressed but successfully banished for the duration of his visit, Alexander could hear the wolf’s whisper. In the hush of the cellar, bereft of all distractions, he could in the sudden tranquillity of his mind, where the constant buzz of over simulated senses, consuming thoughts and boiling feelings had been terminated, find himself once more in the place where he had defeated the Beast - and won his soul.
Grass an intense shade of light green occupied the world under an obsidian heaven, dotted with stars that glittered like diamonds: hard and cold.
In the precise centre of the field sat the wolf cub on its haunches. It stared at him with sympathetic yellow eyes. The werewolf returned the gaze, understanding that the cub represented the wolf in him, helping him until becoming human or a wolf was as easy as pulling on one’s underwear.
The wolf cub seemed amused for some reason.
You found us? It whispered.
Us? Alexander was temporary thrown. Oh, yes, you are me, and I am you.
Indeed. Took you long enough to discover this place again.
I have been busy. And this is new to me.
Now you are driven here by danger and fear. Well, danger is a great motivator as is fear, but be careful otherwise that fear could consume us and in the end the Beast will have won.
I understand. You are to be my guide?
Until you no longer have any need for me, then there will only be ‘Alexander the werewolf’. Let’s work on control. See if you can gradually let the outside world leak in. What can you smell?
For an hour Alexander swam in the sensory pool that was a werewolf’s sight, taste, hearing, touch and smell. It was wonderful and surprisingly restful after the tumultuous weekend. There were so many things to sense.
The shift of cloth against sensitive skin, the pressure of the damp air against his body, the caress of the light and the smell of old wood and oil, burning wick and of a rodent or two.
The taste of the cellar tantalised his tongue, filling his mouth to the brim with his own scent and whatever else the space had to offer. His ear drums were brushed by the rustlings of animals, other subtle movements and the night breeze scratching the one low cellar window, too near to the ground to permit illumination on such a night.
And his sight! Ah, when he opened his eyes his irises were a medley of colour: grey-green whisking into amber yellow streaks. In the night touched by light, shadows leapt and danced in tune to the lantern’s flickering glow and he could peer into fascinating nooks and crannies, and observe the cold stone floor in fascinating detail.
Alexander knew he had partly transformed, he could not miss the curve of his fingers ending in extended nails/claws, nor could he ignore how his canines felt so good to be long and sharp, sliding over his lips. His frame was shifted towards becoming a wolf without actually submitting to the full Change as the wolf cub asked.
If you can learn to begin to control and limit aspects of the transformation, restraining from complete change, you will soon be able to summon the Change when you will it - and my task will be done.
So they practised.
Two more hours passed, at which point Alexander knew he could risk no longer without the chance of detection increasing substantially. He also required some sleep before the morning.
Rising stiffly, Alexander trotted over to the box, replacing his blankets and extinguishing the lantern, plunging the cellar into utter blackness. Maintaining his wolf vision so he could ascend the cellar stairs with no hindrance Alexander locked the door and retreated to his bedroom where he allowed his eyesight to bleed back to normal.
Then at last he slept.
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31st October, Monday
To Alexander’s great relief Michael did not appear for breakfast that Monday morning. He consequently managed to have a reasonably tranquil breakfast of hot tea with milk, cereal and to follow, a couple of raw pork fillets with a sprinkling of salt. Strange how something that had previously been unappealing and frankly disgusting, was now some of the best food to ever cross his lips.
Cleaning away all evidence Alexander said goodbye to his cats, (soundly asleep in their basket), and stepped outside and halted.
The path was clear of snow; only a light dusting remained with sporadic patches of treacherous ice.
Blinking in amazement Alexander realised that Michael must have risen early while he had been deeply asleep, exhausted from his practice, and shovelled the driveway so that Alexander had less hassle when he left for work.
His throat clogged and his eyes became wet. No one had shown such kindness and care to him since he had lived at home. It made gratefulness swell inside so that his chest was fit to bursting. No wonder Michael hadn’t appeared for breakfast, he must be catching up on a bit of rest.
Struggling to contain his emotions, Alexander carefully walked to his car, placing his briefcase and lunch on the back seat before opening the boot to retrieve the scraper so he could remove the ice and snow that lingered on the windows.
The light from the two lamps on either side the front door were Alexander’s only illumination bar his own eyesight, for it was still dark and very cold.
Breath condensing in the air Alexander was glad to slip into the car and turn on the car headlamps. Reversing slowly down the driveway - for even cleared it was dangerous - Alexander turned towards Storm, looking back at the house one last time, feeling thanks in his heart for Michael’s thoughtfulness.
By the time he arrived at Cougar School a faint grey light touched the heavens, suggesting that daylight was approaching. Hoping to get to the staff room so Figaro couldn’t interrogate him Alexander navigated the path to the main entrance with some urgency.
No school children filled the yard today, most would prefer the indoors anyway, but even so, while it was still so dark no teacher would permit excited children outside -accidents happened too easily in such murky conditions.
Reaching the relative safety of the hallway Alexander squeezed past a gaggle of students, nose wrinkled at the smell of wet coats drying in the heated air of the school.
/Yuck./
Unfortunately, Alexander never made it to the staff room, or even his own classroom, for materialising out of seemingly nowhere, Figaro was at his side, and gently gripping his elbow, successfully guided Alexander to Figaro’s classroom.
Shutting the door - a rare occasion - his friend grinned.
“So, how was your weekend?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” repeated Figaro sceptically. He helped Alexander out of his coat, hanging it temporarily on his spare wall hook. Alexander was anxious. He really did not want Figaro to know about his revelation, the burly man would be worse than he was already. He would consider it his duty to discover Michael’s feelings and figure out an even more complicated plot to bring them together as a couple.
However, Alexander was miserably aware of how pitiful he was at holding his tongue with Figaro. His friend possessed an almost magical talent for discovering Alexander’s emotions.
/Pathetic. How can I keep such a monumental fact that I am a werewolf secret, but have zero ability to remain silent on my love life?/
The friend in question was scrutinising Alexander. “Nothing happened? No kisses or embraces?”
“No! Honestly Figaro, you’re acting like a teenager.”
Figaro snorted. “My best friend is finally attracted to someone who obviously likes him back, in fact they were even kissing on his bedroom floor, but stopped because this Michael decided to be honourable at the wrong moment, and I’m expected to remain calm? Ha!”
Alexander smiled weakly. “Well, you know how it is. I say forget about it. After all, Michael will be gone soon. Why trouble yourself?”
“Because suddenly you are incapable of maintaining a long distance relationship? Nice try Alexander but I’m not that stupid … or gullible. But back to the weekend. You mean Michael didn’t try anything? Not even a smouldering glance?”
“I think you’ve been reading too many of the romance novels on the student’s reading list Figaro.”
“Changing the subject…interesting….”
“Pardon? I make an observation and that is changing the conversation?”
“Yes. That and you’re sweating.”
Alexander touched his forehead, then realised he had given himself away. /Brilliant./
“Okay, Michael did give me some intense looks occasionally,” - /Quite a lot actually,/ added Alexander quietly - “but nothing else.” He wilted at Figaro’s unwavering stare and raised eyebrow. /Damnations./ “It was a bit tense….”
“If that is all then why the evasion?”
“Um, what evasion?”
“Alexander, some people are good at lying, you however, wear your heart on your sleeve so to speak. So, let me see…”
Figaro’s bright blue eyes, which saw far too much, assessed his flustered state, then widened. “Oh no…Alexander you didn’t. Alexander? You’re in love with him aren’t you?”
Alexander opened his mouth to deny Figaro but knew it was useless. There was nothing he could say which would sound believable. So he simply nodded, miserable and happy simultaneously.
“My poor friend.” Alexander felt warm comforting arms wrap around him, resting reassuringly on his back. The rough cloth of Figaro’s jacket prickled his cheek and Alexander sighed. “Silly huh?” he murmured.
“No,” stated Figaro. “It isn’t. And I’ll prove that to you.”
Worry broke out like a rash over Alexander. “Um, what do you mean Figaro? You won’t do anything crazy right?”
Figaro pulled away, and in the flashing blue eyes Alexander saw the indomitable spirit of his friend rising to the occasion. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained my friend. As the British would say: Leave it to me old chap.”
Holding up a hand as Alexander prepared to argue, Figaro said cheerfully: “My turn to change gears. We better go to the staff room before our colleagues believe we aren’t in today.”
With that Alexander found himself swept out of the room and down the corridor, silently berating the fact that Figaro had pulled the truth from him as easily as ice-cream from a tub on a hot day, and rather dreading what on earth Figaro was contemplating in his rather twisted head.
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Michael was a grateful man when he rose from bed to discover that Alexander had already departed for work. Today would be hard enough without being befuddled by the lovely teacher first thing in the morning. And the stab of loss he felt when knew he wouldn’t see Alexander at breakfast? Just heartburn.
Wolfing down a large meal Michael made mental notes for what he had to do: check Alexander’s background and reputation. Do similar check on Ryan Fenway. Ask Fey about the stretch of Dempster Highway that Henry Boots had witnessed the werewolf on (without mentioning the werewolf part naturally).
Not anticipating the day ahead with any good feeling Michael polished off his breakfast, washed up and headed outside. A light breeze had developed and the cold struck his cheeks and stung his eyes causing them to water. Blinking to clear his vision Michael hurried about his task of preparing the car and left in haste.
When he arrived the sky was a dismal grey, pressing down on the white covered pavements and countryside. Thankfully the warmth and bright lights inside added cheer to the gloomy day.
Barely acknowledging his peers Michael strode into his temporary office eager to put things into motion. He ensured the door clicked shut behind him.
Dispensing with his coat, hat and gloves he opened the investigation file to the latest page and extracted a single sheet of paper, which held some essential details on Alexander Finch and Ryan Fenway.
Too edgy to sit on the chair, Michael perched on the desk and slid the phone over towards himself. He had a friend in Whitehorse who dealt with background checks, in the meantime he would casually ask a few acquaintances of the two gentlemen for their views.
The phone rang only twice before it was answered.
“Hello, Paul, it’s Michael.”
“Hey Mike, how are you? Any joy up in Storm?”
“Matters are under control.”
“That badly eh?”
Ignoring the jibe Michael said, “Listen Paul, I have a request.”
“Yes?”
“I need a background check on a Doctor Alexander Finch and a Ryan Fenway. The first is a history teacher in Cougar School in Storm, and the latter is a Tracker.”
“Sure, how urgent is it?”
“I would appreciate receiving the information as soon as possible.”
“Suspects?”
“More that I have regular contact with them during my investigation so it would be nice to not have to constantly watch my back.”
“Okay Mike, I’ll be back with the information by tomorrow evening with any luck.”
“Brilliant. Thank you Paul.”
“No trouble for a friend. Keep safe Mike.”
“You too. Bye.”
Hanging up Michael sighed and checked his wristwatch. It was far too early to start asking questions about Alexander and Ryan. Well, if Fey was available he could get a jump-start on inquiring about the location of Henry’s sighting-cum-encounter.
Later he would browse the library, shops and even the church for information on Alexander, and closer to lunch he decided he would head to Cougar School, where - using the excuse of taking Alexander out to lunch - he would first have a chat with Figaro.
Having lunch with Alexander was simply an agreeable bonus, and Michael allowed himself to experience the pleasure that such a thought brought before sternly pulling his mind back to the task at hand.
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For the werewolf the morning was painfully slow. The clock hands crawled, whilst some of his students twitched in their seats as if they had developed an interesting disease.
It wasn’t until period two when Grade 12 materialised gossiping at his door that Alexander realised what the steady thrum of commotion was about.
/Halloween. How could I forget? It’s the thirty-first …/
Alexander checked his diary to make sure and sighed. /Not that I need to dress in costumes of the supernatural, I am the real thing. I wonder what the students would think if they knew a real live werewolf was sitting in front of them, schooling them in history?/ The werewolf smiled at the irony of it.
From the murmurs it appeared that most had had parties on the weekend due to the ‘celebration’ being on a school day, but a few still had plans of some sort. Blotting out the slightly disturbing yet in a small way, amusing conversations, Alexander decided to save his sanity by starting the lesson.
Recalling how he had been revitalised upon his return to work after his ‘illness’, Alexander absorbed the smells and sounds of a classroom, within minutes becoming lost in their soothing, familiar embrace.
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“Sir, there is someone to see you.”
Surprised, Figaro turned to examine the nervous thirteen-year-old that had delivered the message.
The poor girl licked her lips and stared up at him with wide eyes. Figaro felt pity for her and tried to look less threatening, which wasn’t easy for the burly man, as he asked: “Who wishes to see me? And who sent you dear?”
“The receptionist sent me sir. I was delivering some papers and she asked me to tell you that there’s a man waiting for you.”
“Yes,” encouraged Figaro, a kind smile wreathing his face. “A…a…” the girl’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember the man’s name. “Oh,” her face brightened in relief. “Inspector Michael Neil!”
Figaro’s reaction was mixed. The name sent a jolt of eagerness through him at knowing the man whom his friend was in love with was present in the school, while intense curiosity flared as to why the Inspector was here - not to mention concern at why Michael desired to see him, and not Alexander.
Realising that the messenger was waiting anxiously for his response Figaro said, “And does he wish to see me now?”
“Yes, straight away.”
“Where dear?”
The girl hesitated. “Reception?” she ventured.
Nodding Figaro said, “Thank you for the message.” Heading to his desk, Figaro grabbed a slip of paper and a pen. “What is your name?”
“Sally White.”
Figaro wrote on the slip then handed it to Sally. “Give this to your teacher. It explains why you are late. You may go now.”
Sally barely got out a ‘thank you’ before fleeing out of the room.
Chuckling internally, Figaro quickly addressed his class. “It appears that I must leave you. It’s unlikely I’ll return before the lesson ends so simply finish your current set of notes and I trust you’ll be behave if I release you so you can an have early start for lunch?”
A flourish of eager nods met his query. “Yes sir!”
“Very well, now back to your notes.”
Propping the door so it opened fully Figaro tidied a few papers and documents into his satchel, pulling the strap over his head so the bag rested on his right hip and left, hoping that the bunch of sixteen and seventeen years would not disappoint him.
Walking to reception Figaro reflected on the reasons why the Inspector might visit him. While negativism wasn’t in his nature, Figaro was worried that perhaps Inspector Neil was upset about something Alexander had or hadn’t done, or was regretting kissing the redhead and was here to ask for advice in how to reject Alexander without unduly hurting him.
/Idiot, why borrow trouble? Patience and we’ll discover the reason for this Mountie’s visit./
Calming his unusual bout of doubt, Figaro entered the reception with his normal jovial grin and greeting. “Welcome to Cougar School, Inspector! A pleasure to have you here.”
The tall Mountie unfolded his frame from the plastic chair and shook hands. “Thanks for the warm welcome. I assure you, it is a pleasure to see the school for myself, I’ve heard a lot about it from Alexander.”
Inspector Neil had a firm grasp, as Figaro had noticed before when they had last met, when he was picking up the Mountie from Alexander’s house for a ‘getting to know’ gathering at Figaro’s.
“To what do I owe this honour Inspector?”
“Michael, after all, we’re not strangers.”
“Figaro at your service then.”
Michael’s dark eyes conveyed the humour he felt at hearing Figaro’s proclamation. “Can we chat privately?”
Figaro’s anxiety deepened, but he kept the sudden knot of unease from showing,
“Of course, there is a free classroom about somewhere.” /And you can just vanish you pesky ball of doubt,/ he added silently.
Without further ado Figaro led the way down a few corridors, taking some twists and turns until they reached a set of classrooms. Selecting a vacant one Figaro gestured for Michael to enter, closing the door as he followed.
“Unless you speak loudly or shout no-one will overhear our conversation. Now Michel, what have you to say that requires secrecy?”
The Mountie sat on a chair by the window; face carefully blank as if he was debating on how best to phrase his reply.
“It’s to do with my investigation…I was curious as to whether you had any opinions on the matter? Perhaps witnessed anything extraordinary or even apparently ordinary. You’d be astonished at how something ordinary can sometimes be very important.”
Figaro was wary. Why should he be singled out to form a hypothesis? “No, I can’t offer anything beyond what has been postulated in the media. Is there a reason why I ought to have an opinion? Am I a suspect?”
“Ah, no, it was more a shot in the dark. I considered that since Alexander is your friend and you have a tendency to visit him, you might have seen something on your travels, due to the location of Alexander’s house. I have already questioned Alexander but received a negative.”
“In that case, as I now understand the line of your questioning I can honestly answer ‘no’. I haven’t seen or heard anything unnatural and beyond regaling you with the ordinary factors of time, weather and scenery I can’t offer much if anything at all worthwhile.”
Figaro expected disappointment at his words, but Michael didn’t appear to be bothered which confused him. Why ask questions if the result garnered almost no response? Unless Michael was used to dead ends by now in his investigation?
After a moment’s silence Michael spoke. “As I’m here I might as well take Alexander to lunch. He is free right?”
Figaro blinked; amazed at the sudden direction the conversation had taken. “Er…yes.”
Then an ingenious thought occurred. “Well, we were going to lunch together…”
Michael snapped the bait, relief warring with reluctance in the twist of his mouth. “Then join us.”
“Thank you.”
An uncomfortable pause dragged on until Michael began conversing again, chatting mostly about Alexander.
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To say that he was startled when Figaro appeared at his door with Michael would be an understatement. Alexander Finch was stunned, momentarily losing the ability to speak or think clearly. The werewolf had been praying for a quiet lunch hour, hoping to use the time for a much-needed reprieve from close proximity to Michael and probing questions from Figaro.
Now his best friend, the traitor, was standing in front of him with the object of his affections, leaving Alexander struggling to deal with the opposing emotions that caused. Mercifully, ere he made a fool of himself Figaro spoke.
“Alexander, Michael was---”
“-hoping that you would come to lunch,” interrupted Michael who appeared annoyed at Figaro’s intrusion. No, was annoyed, Alexander could not only smell the sharp tang of his irritation but he could detect the minute tightening at the corners of Michael’s eyes and mouth.
Slightly baffled, and not having the time to fully register what such annoyance signalled, Alexander’s mind tripped straight to the invitation. “You want to take me out for food?”
Alexander winced. He had made it sound like a date. /Damn./
Michael, however, didn’t seem to notice or possibly care.
/Foolish hope,/ Alexander reprimanded.
“Yes,” he replied. “Figaro said you two had already made plans so I invited him as well. Are you alright with that?”
/With Figaro weaselling himself into our lunch…wait, Michael just wanted to invite me?/ A bit dazed at the sudden fuel his desperate flutter of hope had received Alexander stammered his response without fully contemplating how an hour in Michael’s company - with his interfering friend - would be like.
“Yes, I’ll just grab my coat.”
Pivoting, the werewolf dashed to his desk, hastily arranged the books and papers, and darted to the peg to retrieve his coat and hat, shrugging on the long garment quickly. Still afire with his nerves Alexander picked up his briefcase and returned to the door where Michael and Figaro were watching.
Raising his eyes to meet Michael’s he smiled, though he feared his smile was wonky at best. Alexander almost raised his hand to gently push the Mountie back but halted, the mere thought of how that would feel - the rough fabric of Michael’s uniform peeking through his open coat, and the motion of Michael chest as he breathed - almost undid the werewolf.
“Um, you need to step back. I have to lock the door.”
“Ah, right.”
Michael retreated a couple of steps not breaking eye contact. It was Figaro’s coughing fit that shattered their focus. Mortified at how obvious he was being, Alexander locked his classroom without looking any further at Michael and fell into pace beside Figaro, with Michael safely on the other side of his friend.
Alexander also ensured that he sat in the back in Michael’s car even though Michael appeared to wish otherwise. The entire journey of ten minutes was accomplished by Figaro giving Michael directions while Alexander offered only a word here and there.
By the time they parked at the café Alexander was a bundle of jitters, and so it was with welcome relief that he emerged into the frigid conditions outside. As he walked to the entrance the werewolf savoured the refreshing cold breeze, which brushed away the torment wrought on his highly attuned senses by sitting in a car infused with Michael’s presence.
Twisting the doorknob Alexander slipped inside the café, carefully holding it open for his companions, ensuring as little warm air escaped as possible.
Clare’s Café wasn’t Alexander’s favoured spot for eating, the minimal lighting in the place always made Alexander feel as if eyesight would be ruined by constantly straining to read the damn menu. However, today the lighting didn’t bother him at all. His eyesight threw everything into sharp relief, and perhaps the extra illumination the owners had been forced to provide on such a bleak day even aggravated his sensitive eyes.
Yet, after a moment Alexander felt better and knew that his eyes had adjusted. And to be fair, his biggest problem today wasn’t his vision, but maintaining his demeanour in front of both Michael and Figaro.
“Where do you want to sit?” asked Michael stopping by his left shoulder. He had already hung his coat and hat on one of the pegs by the entrance.
Alexander glanced around and chuckled dryly, “Hmmm….spoilt for choice aren’t we?”
The café was in fact empty. Vacant wooden chairs were tucked under tables laden only with cutlery and menu cards.
Still musing over Michael’s question Alexander reminded himself most humans liked bright areas. /Which spot has the best illumination for humans…?/
“How about near the middle? It appears to have the most lightening.”
“Great.”
Striding over to the table Alexander had selected Michael pulled a chair back, glancing over at him as he was still dressed in his outdoor clothing. Waving a hand at Michael, Alexander walked to the entrance, yanking off his gloves and stuffing them in his coat pocket. Figaro passed him with a conspiratorial wink.
“Wretch,” hissed Alexander.
His best friend, the monster, just sniggered.
Shaking his head to revive his hair, Alexander purposefully batted away his anger at his friend; it wasn’t hard as he really wasn’t angry, more terribly anxious about how this outing was going to develop.
As it transpired it was the single most agonising experience of his life - not as scary or painful as being bitten by a bloodthirsty werewolf admittedly - but still providing moments where he balanced on the fine cliff edge of terror of discovery: of his love for Michael, of his being a werewolf, and his desire for the man.
Yet, there were instances that Alexander also enjoyed. On occasions he revealed in the thought that maybe, just maybe, Michael didn’t regret Wednesday night and was perhaps staging the way for another attempt sometime in the future.
They swiftly decided on their individual meals: Alexander toasted sandwiches with chicken, bacon and cheese, and both Figaro and Michael steak and chips, and summoned the waitress who had been watching them intently.
Once the waitress had departed with their order, silence fell - the type of hush normally associated with people trying extremely hard not to make any noise, which might cause an avalanche. The atmosphere enveloping the trio possessed that type of tension, as if each were too afraid to speak lest what was said might not simply shatter the silence but the company beyond repair.
Even bouncy cheerful Figaro was quiet, observing them both. Alexander had the sensation that his friend was evaluating his and Michael’s conduct around each other and what this embargo on speech really meant.
Alexander attempted to ignore Figaro’s scrutiny, and to avoid eye contact with Michael who smelled anxious and frustrated. This close he could easily discern the various threads of Michael’s shirt, and savour the taste of his masculine scent.
/Much tastier than Figaro’s scent,/ Alexander mentally sighed. Then realising he was yet again becoming lost in the man opposite him Alexander desperately cast around for a distraction with his werewolf senses, at last focusing on the tinkling noise of china in the café kitchen.
Quickly he drowned in the drama of lunch being prepared. Therefore, when Figaro did speak it came as a shock to the werewolf who had become deaf to his immediate surroundings, ears full of ladles being stirred, people walking and talking in low murmurs and the clatter of dishes.
Jumping a bit, Alexander dragged in a breath trying to cover his alarm with an embarrassed smile at Michael who was staring at him in concern.
“So Michael, what do you think of this café?” reiterated Figaro, who simply raised an eyebrow at his friend’s odd behaviour.
Forced to look at the burly man and answer his question Michael transferred his gaze to Figaro. “Er…it’s fine. Nice décor.”
“Really?”
Alexander frowned at the amusement in his friend’s voice. He understood though. The interior design was mismatched, not in a cute manner, but more as if the owners had just flung whatever they could find at the poor building. But Alexander couldn’t deny the people running the café had hearts of gold and if he could have withstood the low levels of lightening before (not an issue now he was a werewolf), he would have visited this place outside excursions with staff, just to chat with the happy owners.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’d like Carter then. Sports teacher,” added Figaro for Michael’s benefit. “He loves the décor in Clare’s Café. Comes here quite often. Moving on however, are you and Alexander doing anything for dinner?”
Alexander opened his mouth to reply and was shocked to see Michael knock his fork to the floor with the speed he sat up and blurted, “Yes! Ah, I mean, Alexander and I need to fix a broken windowsill and then we wanted to just chat and relax.”
Alexander’s mind was a storm. /Pardon? Broken windowsill? Did Michael just lie to Figaro so he wouldn’t have to spend the evening with him?/ Hurt washed through Alexander. /How can he not like Figaro? Unless…unless he wants to be alone with me…/
Happiness with a tinge of shyness curled through Alexander. Michael interrupted his euphoria. “Isn’t that true Alexander?”
“Oh, yes….”
“Alexander is undertaking D.I.Y? That will be entertaining. Okay then.”
At this point their food thankfully arrived and all three dove into their meals, two men in particular relieved to have the spotlight on them temporarily lifted.
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Five minutes before classes resumed Michael dropped off Figaro and Alexander at Cougar School.
This time Alexander had sat in the front - Michael hadn’t given him much of choice. The dashing Mountie had discreetly caught Alexander’s elbow, and manoeuvred him gently to the front passenger door.
Alexander could hear the muffled laughter of his friend and knew that Figaro was having a field day; he must have collected an entire arsenal of information to use in his plotting.
Climbing out of the car Alexander was reminded of this morning when he caught sight of the piles of snow pushed to the sides of the yard.
He was embarrassed and conscious of Figaro hanging around but it had to be done, and while his courage was high. Bending down and resting his arm on the handle Alexander whispered, “Thanks for sweeping the driveway. I…it…you can’t imagine how it made me feel. I know, silly but, your action was so kind, and I really appreciate it.”
Briefly meeting intense dark brown eyes with his own grey-green, Alexander prayed his eyes showed what he couldn’t say, how he had choked up with emotion at the knowledge of someone caring for him. Then, before Michael could speak Alexander withdrew, slamming the door and stumbling backwards.
Figaro’s hand on his shoulder disrupted his disarrayed thoughts and Alexander glanced at his friend, wary at what he might see and hear.
However, Figaro was unusually serious, examining him carefully, flicking his eyes in the direction taken by Michael’s car. “You forgot to mention that incident to me when we talked earlier Alexander.”
Figaro tilted his head to the sky with an expression of contemplation and was quiet. After a minute he fixed his gaze once more on Alexander. “That simply adds to my observations and confirms my deductions.”
He guided Alexander to the school entrance and into the hallway where he stopped and clapped him on the shoulder. Alexander knew he wouldn’t ever forget Figaro’s parting words.
“He may not be in love with you yet, or may not even know it himself, but he is attracted to you and does care for you. I can assure you there is affection on his part.” He grinned, blue eyes warm and kind, gently reassuring his dearest friend.
Alexander swallowed, eyes brimming suddenly with tears. That flutter of hope had transformed into a massive claw that pierced his heart.
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Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 057: Lunch
Beta: rae_fa
Word Count: 6,372
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or on fictionpress.
Notes: Grade 12 = 17-18 year olds.
Summary: Conversations and observations reveal more than expected.
Chapter 22: Lunch for Three
The rest of Saturday was a gruelling experience. Both men hardly knew what to do: Alexander in the agony of professed love, and Michael trapped between the dark eddies of his thoughts and the confusing swirl of his emotions.
As a result Alexander and Michael went to great lengths to do every single odd job around the house, play with false cheer with the cats who quite frankly seemed to think them insane, and when they were unavoidably together they employed careful politeness.
In the meantime, Michael was forming a desperate resolution to investigate Alexander’s background and reputation on Monday, if only in an attempt to soothe his own fears, whilst trying not to stare at the beguiling red-head for too long at any given moment.
The werewolf was certain he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. His own emotions and senses were difficult enough, but the contradictory catalogue of pheromones released by Michael was entirely another thing. A pensive attitude, sometimes tinged with dread and anxiety, other times full of restrained desire - and occasionally something else Alexander could not name.
By Sunday evening Alexander was ready to leap out of his skin, and he rather not do so in front of Michael as a wolf suddenly running around the room would probably not go over well.
Yet, as it transpired Michael retired early for the night and was soon sleeping heavily, exhausted most likely from two days of constant tension.
Feeling as if he had just navigated thin layers of ice stretched across a chasm, Alexander waited until the night deepened to an inky blackness lit by only a few faint stars. A slender pale crescent of moon hung suspended in the sky, bravely poking out from behind the cloud cover. The moon was waning, and soon there would be no glimmer from Earth’s companion.
Inside his bedroom Alexander sat in darkness, watching the world outside his window. He was not looking forward to Monday for he feared that Figaro would drag the truth from him regarding his love for Michael, and his well-meaning friend would try even harder to bring the two of them together.
However, that was not the prime issue this night.
The werewolf was biding his time, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to strike. And now it had come.
Staring through the almost impenetrable darkness of his bedroom to his window, Alexander eyed the distant points of light one last time before fluidly rising and crossing to his door where he crouched.
Ever so slowly, Alexander eased the wood back, the oiled hinges not releasing even the tiniest squeak. Once there was a gap large enough for him to squeeze through Alexander paused, his sensitive ears straining to catch the slightest noise from Michael’s bedroom, filtering out all extraneous sounds.
Nothing. Nothing but steady deep breathing, which indicated that Michael wouldn’t be rising anytime soon.
Relieved but still cautious, the werewolf slipped out onto the landing, shutting the door with a softest noise only he could hear.
Crawling to the staircase, the werewolf gauged the distance and coiling his lithe frame Alexander jumped. A barely perceptible ‘thud’ and he was at the bottom, feet sinking into the carpet. Shock vibrated through his being. Had he really successfully jumped down a staircase with no damage or sound?
Burying his shock, the werewolf tilted his head and listened. No change, even his cats were dead to the world. Satisfied, the redheaded werewolf padded silently down the hallway until he reached the cellar. Michael’s scent, faded, almost two days old lingered on the door handle. Alexander frowned but dismissed his concern.
The Mountie hadn’t managed to enter and there was no suggestion that he was suspicious of the locked door, otherwise, Michael would have questioned him, no matter how distracted Michael had been the last two days.
Unlocking the heavy barrier Alexander stepped into the cellar, recalling vividly the night he had spent within the confines of these cool walls battling the Beast, and ultimately triumphing. Then of his sojourn outside the cellar.
Cosseted with the ghosts of the not so distant past, Alexander closed the door behind him and descended into unbroken blackness, clinging to the banister for even his werewolf eyes were troubled, for he was still mostly human - for the moment.
Striking a match Alexander winced at the bright solar flare that seared his eyeballs. Lighting one of the lanterns by the far wall the werewolf retrieved the pile of blankets that had been his temporary home during his last stay, and arranged them into a comfortable nest, then sank onto them.
Cross-legged Alexander was determined to scratch his itch and simultaneously gain further control over his condition. After all, he had little time.
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Orange-yellow bathed the left side of Alexander’s head, while shadows pressed on his right.
Light and dark, two sides of one being, touching each other at the dividing line.
Alexander was oblivious to all this, for his eyes were shut and his body relaxed yet held straight backed. His hands rested lightly on his knees as he drifted.
The werewolf - Alexander, for they were one - had emptied his mind of everything: of acknowledging the sensation of his clothing against his skin, of emotions, of thoughts; by doing this he would be able to hear the wolf inside.
With all these distractions vanished, not suppressed but successfully banished for the duration of his visit, Alexander could hear the wolf’s whisper. In the hush of the cellar, bereft of all distractions, he could in the sudden tranquillity of his mind, where the constant buzz of over simulated senses, consuming thoughts and boiling feelings had been terminated, find himself once more in the place where he had defeated the Beast - and won his soul.
Grass an intense shade of light green occupied the world under an obsidian heaven, dotted with stars that glittered like diamonds: hard and cold.
In the precise centre of the field sat the wolf cub on its haunches. It stared at him with sympathetic yellow eyes. The werewolf returned the gaze, understanding that the cub represented the wolf in him, helping him until becoming human or a wolf was as easy as pulling on one’s underwear.
The wolf cub seemed amused for some reason.
You found us? It whispered.
Us? Alexander was temporary thrown. Oh, yes, you are me, and I am you.
Indeed. Took you long enough to discover this place again.
I have been busy. And this is new to me.
Now you are driven here by danger and fear. Well, danger is a great motivator as is fear, but be careful otherwise that fear could consume us and in the end the Beast will have won.
I understand. You are to be my guide?
Until you no longer have any need for me, then there will only be ‘Alexander the werewolf’. Let’s work on control. See if you can gradually let the outside world leak in. What can you smell?
For an hour Alexander swam in the sensory pool that was a werewolf’s sight, taste, hearing, touch and smell. It was wonderful and surprisingly restful after the tumultuous weekend. There were so many things to sense.
The shift of cloth against sensitive skin, the pressure of the damp air against his body, the caress of the light and the smell of old wood and oil, burning wick and of a rodent or two.
The taste of the cellar tantalised his tongue, filling his mouth to the brim with his own scent and whatever else the space had to offer. His ear drums were brushed by the rustlings of animals, other subtle movements and the night breeze scratching the one low cellar window, too near to the ground to permit illumination on such a night.
And his sight! Ah, when he opened his eyes his irises were a medley of colour: grey-green whisking into amber yellow streaks. In the night touched by light, shadows leapt and danced in tune to the lantern’s flickering glow and he could peer into fascinating nooks and crannies, and observe the cold stone floor in fascinating detail.
Alexander knew he had partly transformed, he could not miss the curve of his fingers ending in extended nails/claws, nor could he ignore how his canines felt so good to be long and sharp, sliding over his lips. His frame was shifted towards becoming a wolf without actually submitting to the full Change as the wolf cub asked.
If you can learn to begin to control and limit aspects of the transformation, restraining from complete change, you will soon be able to summon the Change when you will it - and my task will be done.
So they practised.
Two more hours passed, at which point Alexander knew he could risk no longer without the chance of detection increasing substantially. He also required some sleep before the morning.
Rising stiffly, Alexander trotted over to the box, replacing his blankets and extinguishing the lantern, plunging the cellar into utter blackness. Maintaining his wolf vision so he could ascend the cellar stairs with no hindrance Alexander locked the door and retreated to his bedroom where he allowed his eyesight to bleed back to normal.
Then at last he slept.
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31st October, Monday
To Alexander’s great relief Michael did not appear for breakfast that Monday morning. He consequently managed to have a reasonably tranquil breakfast of hot tea with milk, cereal and to follow, a couple of raw pork fillets with a sprinkling of salt. Strange how something that had previously been unappealing and frankly disgusting, was now some of the best food to ever cross his lips.
Cleaning away all evidence Alexander said goodbye to his cats, (soundly asleep in their basket), and stepped outside and halted.
The path was clear of snow; only a light dusting remained with sporadic patches of treacherous ice.
Blinking in amazement Alexander realised that Michael must have risen early while he had been deeply asleep, exhausted from his practice, and shovelled the driveway so that Alexander had less hassle when he left for work.
His throat clogged and his eyes became wet. No one had shown such kindness and care to him since he had lived at home. It made gratefulness swell inside so that his chest was fit to bursting. No wonder Michael hadn’t appeared for breakfast, he must be catching up on a bit of rest.
Struggling to contain his emotions, Alexander carefully walked to his car, placing his briefcase and lunch on the back seat before opening the boot to retrieve the scraper so he could remove the ice and snow that lingered on the windows.
The light from the two lamps on either side the front door were Alexander’s only illumination bar his own eyesight, for it was still dark and very cold.
Breath condensing in the air Alexander was glad to slip into the car and turn on the car headlamps. Reversing slowly down the driveway - for even cleared it was dangerous - Alexander turned towards Storm, looking back at the house one last time, feeling thanks in his heart for Michael’s thoughtfulness.
By the time he arrived at Cougar School a faint grey light touched the heavens, suggesting that daylight was approaching. Hoping to get to the staff room so Figaro couldn’t interrogate him Alexander navigated the path to the main entrance with some urgency.
No school children filled the yard today, most would prefer the indoors anyway, but even so, while it was still so dark no teacher would permit excited children outside -accidents happened too easily in such murky conditions.
Reaching the relative safety of the hallway Alexander squeezed past a gaggle of students, nose wrinkled at the smell of wet coats drying in the heated air of the school.
/Yuck./
Unfortunately, Alexander never made it to the staff room, or even his own classroom, for materialising out of seemingly nowhere, Figaro was at his side, and gently gripping his elbow, successfully guided Alexander to Figaro’s classroom.
Shutting the door - a rare occasion - his friend grinned.
“So, how was your weekend?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” repeated Figaro sceptically. He helped Alexander out of his coat, hanging it temporarily on his spare wall hook. Alexander was anxious. He really did not want Figaro to know about his revelation, the burly man would be worse than he was already. He would consider it his duty to discover Michael’s feelings and figure out an even more complicated plot to bring them together as a couple.
However, Alexander was miserably aware of how pitiful he was at holding his tongue with Figaro. His friend possessed an almost magical talent for discovering Alexander’s emotions.
/Pathetic. How can I keep such a monumental fact that I am a werewolf secret, but have zero ability to remain silent on my love life?/
The friend in question was scrutinising Alexander. “Nothing happened? No kisses or embraces?”
“No! Honestly Figaro, you’re acting like a teenager.”
Figaro snorted. “My best friend is finally attracted to someone who obviously likes him back, in fact they were even kissing on his bedroom floor, but stopped because this Michael decided to be honourable at the wrong moment, and I’m expected to remain calm? Ha!”
Alexander smiled weakly. “Well, you know how it is. I say forget about it. After all, Michael will be gone soon. Why trouble yourself?”
“Because suddenly you are incapable of maintaining a long distance relationship? Nice try Alexander but I’m not that stupid … or gullible. But back to the weekend. You mean Michael didn’t try anything? Not even a smouldering glance?”
“I think you’ve been reading too many of the romance novels on the student’s reading list Figaro.”
“Changing the subject…interesting….”
“Pardon? I make an observation and that is changing the conversation?”
“Yes. That and you’re sweating.”
Alexander touched his forehead, then realised he had given himself away. /Brilliant./
“Okay, Michael did give me some intense looks occasionally,” - /Quite a lot actually,/ added Alexander quietly - “but nothing else.” He wilted at Figaro’s unwavering stare and raised eyebrow. /Damnations./ “It was a bit tense….”
“If that is all then why the evasion?”
“Um, what evasion?”
“Alexander, some people are good at lying, you however, wear your heart on your sleeve so to speak. So, let me see…”
Figaro’s bright blue eyes, which saw far too much, assessed his flustered state, then widened. “Oh no…Alexander you didn’t. Alexander? You’re in love with him aren’t you?”
Alexander opened his mouth to deny Figaro but knew it was useless. There was nothing he could say which would sound believable. So he simply nodded, miserable and happy simultaneously.
“My poor friend.” Alexander felt warm comforting arms wrap around him, resting reassuringly on his back. The rough cloth of Figaro’s jacket prickled his cheek and Alexander sighed. “Silly huh?” he murmured.
“No,” stated Figaro. “It isn’t. And I’ll prove that to you.”
Worry broke out like a rash over Alexander. “Um, what do you mean Figaro? You won’t do anything crazy right?”
Figaro pulled away, and in the flashing blue eyes Alexander saw the indomitable spirit of his friend rising to the occasion. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained my friend. As the British would say: Leave it to me old chap.”
Holding up a hand as Alexander prepared to argue, Figaro said cheerfully: “My turn to change gears. We better go to the staff room before our colleagues believe we aren’t in today.”
With that Alexander found himself swept out of the room and down the corridor, silently berating the fact that Figaro had pulled the truth from him as easily as ice-cream from a tub on a hot day, and rather dreading what on earth Figaro was contemplating in his rather twisted head.
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Michael was a grateful man when he rose from bed to discover that Alexander had already departed for work. Today would be hard enough without being befuddled by the lovely teacher first thing in the morning. And the stab of loss he felt when knew he wouldn’t see Alexander at breakfast? Just heartburn.
Wolfing down a large meal Michael made mental notes for what he had to do: check Alexander’s background and reputation. Do similar check on Ryan Fenway. Ask Fey about the stretch of Dempster Highway that Henry Boots had witnessed the werewolf on (without mentioning the werewolf part naturally).
Not anticipating the day ahead with any good feeling Michael polished off his breakfast, washed up and headed outside. A light breeze had developed and the cold struck his cheeks and stung his eyes causing them to water. Blinking to clear his vision Michael hurried about his task of preparing the car and left in haste.
When he arrived the sky was a dismal grey, pressing down on the white covered pavements and countryside. Thankfully the warmth and bright lights inside added cheer to the gloomy day.
Barely acknowledging his peers Michael strode into his temporary office eager to put things into motion. He ensured the door clicked shut behind him.
Dispensing with his coat, hat and gloves he opened the investigation file to the latest page and extracted a single sheet of paper, which held some essential details on Alexander Finch and Ryan Fenway.
Too edgy to sit on the chair, Michael perched on the desk and slid the phone over towards himself. He had a friend in Whitehorse who dealt with background checks, in the meantime he would casually ask a few acquaintances of the two gentlemen for their views.
The phone rang only twice before it was answered.
“Hello, Paul, it’s Michael.”
“Hey Mike, how are you? Any joy up in Storm?”
“Matters are under control.”
“That badly eh?”
Ignoring the jibe Michael said, “Listen Paul, I have a request.”
“Yes?”
“I need a background check on a Doctor Alexander Finch and a Ryan Fenway. The first is a history teacher in Cougar School in Storm, and the latter is a Tracker.”
“Sure, how urgent is it?”
“I would appreciate receiving the information as soon as possible.”
“Suspects?”
“More that I have regular contact with them during my investigation so it would be nice to not have to constantly watch my back.”
“Okay Mike, I’ll be back with the information by tomorrow evening with any luck.”
“Brilliant. Thank you Paul.”
“No trouble for a friend. Keep safe Mike.”
“You too. Bye.”
Hanging up Michael sighed and checked his wristwatch. It was far too early to start asking questions about Alexander and Ryan. Well, if Fey was available he could get a jump-start on inquiring about the location of Henry’s sighting-cum-encounter.
Later he would browse the library, shops and even the church for information on Alexander, and closer to lunch he decided he would head to Cougar School, where - using the excuse of taking Alexander out to lunch - he would first have a chat with Figaro.
Having lunch with Alexander was simply an agreeable bonus, and Michael allowed himself to experience the pleasure that such a thought brought before sternly pulling his mind back to the task at hand.
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For the werewolf the morning was painfully slow. The clock hands crawled, whilst some of his students twitched in their seats as if they had developed an interesting disease.
It wasn’t until period two when Grade 12 materialised gossiping at his door that Alexander realised what the steady thrum of commotion was about.
/Halloween. How could I forget? It’s the thirty-first …/
Alexander checked his diary to make sure and sighed. /Not that I need to dress in costumes of the supernatural, I am the real thing. I wonder what the students would think if they knew a real live werewolf was sitting in front of them, schooling them in history?/ The werewolf smiled at the irony of it.
From the murmurs it appeared that most had had parties on the weekend due to the ‘celebration’ being on a school day, but a few still had plans of some sort. Blotting out the slightly disturbing yet in a small way, amusing conversations, Alexander decided to save his sanity by starting the lesson.
Recalling how he had been revitalised upon his return to work after his ‘illness’, Alexander absorbed the smells and sounds of a classroom, within minutes becoming lost in their soothing, familiar embrace.
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“Sir, there is someone to see you.”
Surprised, Figaro turned to examine the nervous thirteen-year-old that had delivered the message.
The poor girl licked her lips and stared up at him with wide eyes. Figaro felt pity for her and tried to look less threatening, which wasn’t easy for the burly man, as he asked: “Who wishes to see me? And who sent you dear?”
“The receptionist sent me sir. I was delivering some papers and she asked me to tell you that there’s a man waiting for you.”
“Yes,” encouraged Figaro, a kind smile wreathing his face. “A…a…” the girl’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember the man’s name. “Oh,” her face brightened in relief. “Inspector Michael Neil!”
Figaro’s reaction was mixed. The name sent a jolt of eagerness through him at knowing the man whom his friend was in love with was present in the school, while intense curiosity flared as to why the Inspector was here - not to mention concern at why Michael desired to see him, and not Alexander.
Realising that the messenger was waiting anxiously for his response Figaro said, “And does he wish to see me now?”
“Yes, straight away.”
“Where dear?”
The girl hesitated. “Reception?” she ventured.
Nodding Figaro said, “Thank you for the message.” Heading to his desk, Figaro grabbed a slip of paper and a pen. “What is your name?”
“Sally White.”
Figaro wrote on the slip then handed it to Sally. “Give this to your teacher. It explains why you are late. You may go now.”
Sally barely got out a ‘thank you’ before fleeing out of the room.
Chuckling internally, Figaro quickly addressed his class. “It appears that I must leave you. It’s unlikely I’ll return before the lesson ends so simply finish your current set of notes and I trust you’ll be behave if I release you so you can an have early start for lunch?”
A flourish of eager nods met his query. “Yes sir!”
“Very well, now back to your notes.”
Propping the door so it opened fully Figaro tidied a few papers and documents into his satchel, pulling the strap over his head so the bag rested on his right hip and left, hoping that the bunch of sixteen and seventeen years would not disappoint him.
Walking to reception Figaro reflected on the reasons why the Inspector might visit him. While negativism wasn’t in his nature, Figaro was worried that perhaps Inspector Neil was upset about something Alexander had or hadn’t done, or was regretting kissing the redhead and was here to ask for advice in how to reject Alexander without unduly hurting him.
/Idiot, why borrow trouble? Patience and we’ll discover the reason for this Mountie’s visit./
Calming his unusual bout of doubt, Figaro entered the reception with his normal jovial grin and greeting. “Welcome to Cougar School, Inspector! A pleasure to have you here.”
The tall Mountie unfolded his frame from the plastic chair and shook hands. “Thanks for the warm welcome. I assure you, it is a pleasure to see the school for myself, I’ve heard a lot about it from Alexander.”
Inspector Neil had a firm grasp, as Figaro had noticed before when they had last met, when he was picking up the Mountie from Alexander’s house for a ‘getting to know’ gathering at Figaro’s.
“To what do I owe this honour Inspector?”
“Michael, after all, we’re not strangers.”
“Figaro at your service then.”
Michael’s dark eyes conveyed the humour he felt at hearing Figaro’s proclamation. “Can we chat privately?”
Figaro’s anxiety deepened, but he kept the sudden knot of unease from showing,
“Of course, there is a free classroom about somewhere.” /And you can just vanish you pesky ball of doubt,/ he added silently.
Without further ado Figaro led the way down a few corridors, taking some twists and turns until they reached a set of classrooms. Selecting a vacant one Figaro gestured for Michael to enter, closing the door as he followed.
“Unless you speak loudly or shout no-one will overhear our conversation. Now Michel, what have you to say that requires secrecy?”
The Mountie sat on a chair by the window; face carefully blank as if he was debating on how best to phrase his reply.
“It’s to do with my investigation…I was curious as to whether you had any opinions on the matter? Perhaps witnessed anything extraordinary or even apparently ordinary. You’d be astonished at how something ordinary can sometimes be very important.”
Figaro was wary. Why should he be singled out to form a hypothesis? “No, I can’t offer anything beyond what has been postulated in the media. Is there a reason why I ought to have an opinion? Am I a suspect?”
“Ah, no, it was more a shot in the dark. I considered that since Alexander is your friend and you have a tendency to visit him, you might have seen something on your travels, due to the location of Alexander’s house. I have already questioned Alexander but received a negative.”
“In that case, as I now understand the line of your questioning I can honestly answer ‘no’. I haven’t seen or heard anything unnatural and beyond regaling you with the ordinary factors of time, weather and scenery I can’t offer much if anything at all worthwhile.”
Figaro expected disappointment at his words, but Michael didn’t appear to be bothered which confused him. Why ask questions if the result garnered almost no response? Unless Michael was used to dead ends by now in his investigation?
After a moment’s silence Michael spoke. “As I’m here I might as well take Alexander to lunch. He is free right?”
Figaro blinked; amazed at the sudden direction the conversation had taken. “Er…yes.”
Then an ingenious thought occurred. “Well, we were going to lunch together…”
Michael snapped the bait, relief warring with reluctance in the twist of his mouth. “Then join us.”
“Thank you.”
An uncomfortable pause dragged on until Michael began conversing again, chatting mostly about Alexander.
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To say that he was startled when Figaro appeared at his door with Michael would be an understatement. Alexander Finch was stunned, momentarily losing the ability to speak or think clearly. The werewolf had been praying for a quiet lunch hour, hoping to use the time for a much-needed reprieve from close proximity to Michael and probing questions from Figaro.
Now his best friend, the traitor, was standing in front of him with the object of his affections, leaving Alexander struggling to deal with the opposing emotions that caused. Mercifully, ere he made a fool of himself Figaro spoke.
“Alexander, Michael was---”
“-hoping that you would come to lunch,” interrupted Michael who appeared annoyed at Figaro’s intrusion. No, was annoyed, Alexander could not only smell the sharp tang of his irritation but he could detect the minute tightening at the corners of Michael’s eyes and mouth.
Slightly baffled, and not having the time to fully register what such annoyance signalled, Alexander’s mind tripped straight to the invitation. “You want to take me out for food?”
Alexander winced. He had made it sound like a date. /Damn./
Michael, however, didn’t seem to notice or possibly care.
/Foolish hope,/ Alexander reprimanded.
“Yes,” he replied. “Figaro said you two had already made plans so I invited him as well. Are you alright with that?”
/With Figaro weaselling himself into our lunch…wait, Michael just wanted to invite me?/ A bit dazed at the sudden fuel his desperate flutter of hope had received Alexander stammered his response without fully contemplating how an hour in Michael’s company - with his interfering friend - would be like.
“Yes, I’ll just grab my coat.”
Pivoting, the werewolf dashed to his desk, hastily arranged the books and papers, and darted to the peg to retrieve his coat and hat, shrugging on the long garment quickly. Still afire with his nerves Alexander picked up his briefcase and returned to the door where Michael and Figaro were watching.
Raising his eyes to meet Michael’s he smiled, though he feared his smile was wonky at best. Alexander almost raised his hand to gently push the Mountie back but halted, the mere thought of how that would feel - the rough fabric of Michael’s uniform peeking through his open coat, and the motion of Michael chest as he breathed - almost undid the werewolf.
“Um, you need to step back. I have to lock the door.”
“Ah, right.”
Michael retreated a couple of steps not breaking eye contact. It was Figaro’s coughing fit that shattered their focus. Mortified at how obvious he was being, Alexander locked his classroom without looking any further at Michael and fell into pace beside Figaro, with Michael safely on the other side of his friend.
Alexander also ensured that he sat in the back in Michael’s car even though Michael appeared to wish otherwise. The entire journey of ten minutes was accomplished by Figaro giving Michael directions while Alexander offered only a word here and there.
By the time they parked at the café Alexander was a bundle of jitters, and so it was with welcome relief that he emerged into the frigid conditions outside. As he walked to the entrance the werewolf savoured the refreshing cold breeze, which brushed away the torment wrought on his highly attuned senses by sitting in a car infused with Michael’s presence.
Twisting the doorknob Alexander slipped inside the café, carefully holding it open for his companions, ensuring as little warm air escaped as possible.
Clare’s Café wasn’t Alexander’s favoured spot for eating, the minimal lighting in the place always made Alexander feel as if eyesight would be ruined by constantly straining to read the damn menu. However, today the lighting didn’t bother him at all. His eyesight threw everything into sharp relief, and perhaps the extra illumination the owners had been forced to provide on such a bleak day even aggravated his sensitive eyes.
Yet, after a moment Alexander felt better and knew that his eyes had adjusted. And to be fair, his biggest problem today wasn’t his vision, but maintaining his demeanour in front of both Michael and Figaro.
“Where do you want to sit?” asked Michael stopping by his left shoulder. He had already hung his coat and hat on one of the pegs by the entrance.
Alexander glanced around and chuckled dryly, “Hmmm….spoilt for choice aren’t we?”
The café was in fact empty. Vacant wooden chairs were tucked under tables laden only with cutlery and menu cards.
Still musing over Michael’s question Alexander reminded himself most humans liked bright areas. /Which spot has the best illumination for humans…?/
“How about near the middle? It appears to have the most lightening.”
“Great.”
Striding over to the table Alexander had selected Michael pulled a chair back, glancing over at him as he was still dressed in his outdoor clothing. Waving a hand at Michael, Alexander walked to the entrance, yanking off his gloves and stuffing them in his coat pocket. Figaro passed him with a conspiratorial wink.
“Wretch,” hissed Alexander.
His best friend, the monster, just sniggered.
Shaking his head to revive his hair, Alexander purposefully batted away his anger at his friend; it wasn’t hard as he really wasn’t angry, more terribly anxious about how this outing was going to develop.
As it transpired it was the single most agonising experience of his life - not as scary or painful as being bitten by a bloodthirsty werewolf admittedly - but still providing moments where he balanced on the fine cliff edge of terror of discovery: of his love for Michael, of his being a werewolf, and his desire for the man.
Yet, there were instances that Alexander also enjoyed. On occasions he revealed in the thought that maybe, just maybe, Michael didn’t regret Wednesday night and was perhaps staging the way for another attempt sometime in the future.
They swiftly decided on their individual meals: Alexander toasted sandwiches with chicken, bacon and cheese, and both Figaro and Michael steak and chips, and summoned the waitress who had been watching them intently.
Once the waitress had departed with their order, silence fell - the type of hush normally associated with people trying extremely hard not to make any noise, which might cause an avalanche. The atmosphere enveloping the trio possessed that type of tension, as if each were too afraid to speak lest what was said might not simply shatter the silence but the company beyond repair.
Even bouncy cheerful Figaro was quiet, observing them both. Alexander had the sensation that his friend was evaluating his and Michael’s conduct around each other and what this embargo on speech really meant.
Alexander attempted to ignore Figaro’s scrutiny, and to avoid eye contact with Michael who smelled anxious and frustrated. This close he could easily discern the various threads of Michael’s shirt, and savour the taste of his masculine scent.
/Much tastier than Figaro’s scent,/ Alexander mentally sighed. Then realising he was yet again becoming lost in the man opposite him Alexander desperately cast around for a distraction with his werewolf senses, at last focusing on the tinkling noise of china in the café kitchen.
Quickly he drowned in the drama of lunch being prepared. Therefore, when Figaro did speak it came as a shock to the werewolf who had become deaf to his immediate surroundings, ears full of ladles being stirred, people walking and talking in low murmurs and the clatter of dishes.
Jumping a bit, Alexander dragged in a breath trying to cover his alarm with an embarrassed smile at Michael who was staring at him in concern.
“So Michael, what do you think of this café?” reiterated Figaro, who simply raised an eyebrow at his friend’s odd behaviour.
Forced to look at the burly man and answer his question Michael transferred his gaze to Figaro. “Er…it’s fine. Nice décor.”
“Really?”
Alexander frowned at the amusement in his friend’s voice. He understood though. The interior design was mismatched, not in a cute manner, but more as if the owners had just flung whatever they could find at the poor building. But Alexander couldn’t deny the people running the café had hearts of gold and if he could have withstood the low levels of lightening before (not an issue now he was a werewolf), he would have visited this place outside excursions with staff, just to chat with the happy owners.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’d like Carter then. Sports teacher,” added Figaro for Michael’s benefit. “He loves the décor in Clare’s Café. Comes here quite often. Moving on however, are you and Alexander doing anything for dinner?”
Alexander opened his mouth to reply and was shocked to see Michael knock his fork to the floor with the speed he sat up and blurted, “Yes! Ah, I mean, Alexander and I need to fix a broken windowsill and then we wanted to just chat and relax.”
Alexander’s mind was a storm. /Pardon? Broken windowsill? Did Michael just lie to Figaro so he wouldn’t have to spend the evening with him?/ Hurt washed through Alexander. /How can he not like Figaro? Unless…unless he wants to be alone with me…/
Happiness with a tinge of shyness curled through Alexander. Michael interrupted his euphoria. “Isn’t that true Alexander?”
“Oh, yes….”
“Alexander is undertaking D.I.Y? That will be entertaining. Okay then.”
At this point their food thankfully arrived and all three dove into their meals, two men in particular relieved to have the spotlight on them temporarily lifted.
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Five minutes before classes resumed Michael dropped off Figaro and Alexander at Cougar School.
This time Alexander had sat in the front - Michael hadn’t given him much of choice. The dashing Mountie had discreetly caught Alexander’s elbow, and manoeuvred him gently to the front passenger door.
Alexander could hear the muffled laughter of his friend and knew that Figaro was having a field day; he must have collected an entire arsenal of information to use in his plotting.
Climbing out of the car Alexander was reminded of this morning when he caught sight of the piles of snow pushed to the sides of the yard.
He was embarrassed and conscious of Figaro hanging around but it had to be done, and while his courage was high. Bending down and resting his arm on the handle Alexander whispered, “Thanks for sweeping the driveway. I…it…you can’t imagine how it made me feel. I know, silly but, your action was so kind, and I really appreciate it.”
Briefly meeting intense dark brown eyes with his own grey-green, Alexander prayed his eyes showed what he couldn’t say, how he had choked up with emotion at the knowledge of someone caring for him. Then, before Michael could speak Alexander withdrew, slamming the door and stumbling backwards.
Figaro’s hand on his shoulder disrupted his disarrayed thoughts and Alexander glanced at his friend, wary at what he might see and hear.
However, Figaro was unusually serious, examining him carefully, flicking his eyes in the direction taken by Michael’s car. “You forgot to mention that incident to me when we talked earlier Alexander.”
Figaro tilted his head to the sky with an expression of contemplation and was quiet. After a minute he fixed his gaze once more on Alexander. “That simply adds to my observations and confirms my deductions.”
He guided Alexander to the school entrance and into the hallway where he stopped and clapped him on the shoulder. Alexander knew he wouldn’t ever forget Figaro’s parting words.
“He may not be in love with you yet, or may not even know it himself, but he is attracted to you and does care for you. I can assure you there is affection on his part.” He grinned, blue eyes warm and kind, gently reassuring his dearest friend.
Alexander swallowed, eyes brimming suddenly with tears. That flutter of hope had transformed into a massive claw that pierced his heart.
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