I now had a stolen painting under my bed, a stolen bell in my clothes dryer, and a stolen motion machine in my laundry basket. Not a comfortable situation.
I returned to the kitchen, ate a strawberry yogurt, and chugged down a cup of coffee. I zipped myself into a hooded sweatshirt, grabbed my bag, and quietly let myself out. The rest of the houses o
n my street were dark. It was too early for even the early risers. The air felt frosty, and there was a sliver of moon in the black sky.
I walked the short distance to my car, was about to unlock it, and realized that Wulf was standing very close to me, partially hidden by shadow. My heart stuttered in my chest, and it took a moment for me to regain control.
“I thought you weren’t a morning person,” I said to him.
“My morning begins at sunrise.”
“You aren’t a vampire, are you?”
“No,” Wulf said, “but I have some similar tastes.”
I thought about Diesel, still asleep in my bed, and my line of vision moved from Wulf to my second-story bedroom window.
“If my intent was to take you, we’d be gone by now,” Wulf said.
“He’d track you down.”
“No doubt.”
“So you’re here why?” I asked him.
“I was following Anarchy. She tried to recruit Hatchet and failed. He’s a fool, but he’s loyal. She’ll attack you next, and you’ll be more vulnerable than Hatchet. I doubt your pain threshold is as high as his.”
“Where is she now?”
Wulf went still for a beat, as if he was testing the air. “I’ve lost her, but I suspect she’s not far away. She’ll stick close to you, waiting for her moment.”
“Why were you following her?”
“She needs to be stopped. My semi-law-abiding cousin isn’t sanctioned to destroy her, but I answer to no one.”
A light blinked on in an upstairs room across the street. Wulf stepped back into the shadows and silently disappeared.
I thought about going into the house and waking Diesel, but I was running late, and what was the point. I didn’t want Diesel attached to me 24/7. And I didn’t know what to think about Wulf and Anarchy duking it out.
I got into my car, locked the doors, and drove off, trying to push thoughts of Anarchy out of my head. Much better to think about cupcakes. Plus, it was Sunday, so we would be making apple-cinnamon doughnuts. Okay, so afterward I’d have to clean out the fryer, but it was worth it, because we produced happiness at the bakery. And that was a lot better than destroying people. What the heck did that even mean? Was that like a step beyond killing, where you killed someone and then ran over that person with a steamroller or forced them into a paper shredder?
I crossed the bridge into Salem, making the trip in record time. No traffic at this hour on a Sunday. I parked in the lot and hurried into the bakery.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said to Clara. “It was one of those mornings.”
“No problem,” Clara said, adjusting the dough hook on the big mixer. “Everything’s on schedule here. I just turned the fryer on, and the dough’s rising nicely.”
“Does Anarchy mean anything to you?” I asked her.
“Political disorder?”
“This Anarchy is a person. I ran into Wulf when I was leaving the house. He’s after a woman named Anarchy.”
“I didn’t know you and Wulf were so chummy. Isn’t Diesel living with you?”
“He isn’t living with me. He’s temporarily camped out in my house. Anyway, he was upstairs asleep, and Wulf was outside by my car.”
“Holy cow.”