Chapter 38—Wolfshead I got through the rainy weekend with the help of Ivanhoe and the telly in the canteen. Because Liam and Davey were staying away from Brenda’s wrath at the Merry Miller, they were eating in, and I was happy to cook and clean in exchange for food. And drink. Way too much of the latter. Half the food and liquor had probably been shoplifted, but I was learning to turn off the part of my brain that was bothered by such things. I was an outlaw now, living illegally in a warehouse that might be foreclosed on at any moment. On Sunday night, after another attempt at quelling panic with neat whiskey, I woke feeling as if my head had been battered by brigands with quarterstaffs. I heard odd noises in the warehouse outside. Footsteps. I froze as I heard—could it be? The scratch of claws. The smell of wet fur. Something was out there. Something not human. My head pounded, but I couldn’t move. Something rustled right outside my curtain/door. I thought I could see the skinny nose of a big dog—or was it a coyote?—pushing through the curtain.
What do You think about Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd.?
