I rattle off the name just as my laptop chimes, letting me know my chat request has been approved.

  “Oh! He’s online!” I type out my greeting, thanking him for accepting the chat.

  “If he’s online right now, I can probably track his location,” Atticus says already tapping away on his own computer.

  I turn slowly to look at him. I blink. Twice.

  His brows raise. “What? I might be technically dead, but I can still hack computers.”

  “You are a beautiful man!” I yell. “What do you need?”

  “Let me see your laptop,” he says.

  I jump up and sit on the couch next to him so he’s squished in a Viv and Harry sandwich.

  His fingers fly over my keyboard, opening applications and programs I didn’t even know I had. Then he hands me back my laptop and the typing begins on his own.

  “Keep him online,” he says, nodding to my laptop.

  “Right.”

  Harry725: Have you given any more thought to my request to meet? I know you value your privacy, and I’m not trying to intrude. I could just really use your help.

  PROF_JACE: Meeting is impossible, I’m afraid. Can you detail what the assistance is that you need?

  I sigh and mentally shake my professor. I can’t help but wonder if he would be willing to meet if he knew how into him I am. Or maybe that’s why he’s not willing to meet me.

  That’s a wince-inducing thought if there ever was one.

  Of course, there are plenty of people who just don’t do well in person. My brother, for example.

  Hoping I haven’t already scared off Professor Jace, I offer an olive branch.

  Harry725: I’m pretty sure I know why you’re in hiding and I get it.

  PROF_JACE: There’s no possible way you know why.

  Harry725: I have a brother who I believe is similar to you.

  PROF_JACE: Doubtful. Harry, please tell me what you need.

  Harry725: My brother is in trouble. Someone is claiming he stole their music, but he wouldn’t even know how to do that. He’s a savant, of sorts.

  Harry725:

  PROF_JACE: I’m familiar with his work. That’s your brother?

  Harry725: Yes.

  PROF_JACE: Someone as talented as your brother will be able to explain his creative choices.

  Harry725: But he shouldn’t have to. My brother is on the spectrum. He doesn’t have the skills to deal with the stress of the lawsuit and I’m worried.

  PROF_JACE: Is that what you meant when you said he was like me? You think I’m on the spectrum?

  Can you hear someone’s annoyance through a messaging app? Because I can totally hear Professor Jace’s biting tone in my mind.

  Which is just great. I need his help and now, apparently, I’ve offended him by implying that I think he’s on the spectrum.

  I take back everything I ever said or thought about wishing I could meet him just so I could flirt with him in person. Because if this is an indication of how that would go, I’m screwed.

  But … I do still need his help!

  After a second I start typing again.

  Harry725: I’m sorry if I over-stepped.

  PROF_JACE: It’s fine. But I am not on the spectrum.

  Harry725: I know how you understand music composition and structure. I think you could break down the issue and the lawsuit would be dismissed.

  PROF_JACE: Let me do some research. I’ll be back in touch.

  Then he disconnects.

  “Fuck.”

  “Holy shit,” Vivian says.

  I glance over at her. “What? Did I not keep him online long enough? Were you not able to track him?”

  Atticus blows out a slow breath. “I was able to track him.” He slowly turns his laptop to face me. The screen has a bunch of stuff I don’t recognize or understand. But then there’s a map with two blinking dots. Two dots that are surprisingly close together.

  “Harry, your professor is here,” Atticus says. “In Screaming Woods.”

  chapter four

  Harriet

  Since my bestie moved here permanently, I’ve been visiting regularly. So often that I’ve rented a room at the local hotel, The Sunnyside Motel, and I just keep it reserved and ready for me for whenever I come into town.

  A fact that I am extra grateful for now that I know Professor Jace is in town. What are the chances of that?

  My mind has been spinning a hundred miles an hour ever since Atticus worked his hacking magic last night and revealed that Professor Jace … my Professor Jace … lives in Screaming Woods.

  What does that mean?

  Does that mean he’s a monster?

  Probably? I don’t know.

  Most residents are “monsters” … normal humans who were affected by the accident that happened here all those years ago and were somehow transformed in the aftermath of that event.

  Most, but not all. And there’s been an influx of human residents in recent years. So it could be that the reason he keeps such a low profile is because he’s a “monster” or it could be that hiding out in a town full of monsters is the perfect hiding place for a recluse who doesn’t want to make excuses about why he’s a recluse.

  The weird thing is … I’m not actually that surprised.

  I’ve felt the lure of this town since the moment I learned about it. I’ve known in my gut that this was where I belonged. That this is where my destiny lay. That the great fortune cookie maker in the sky was guiding me here.

  So, yeah … it makes perfect sense to me that the man I’ve been drawn to since the moment I met him (online, via a video lecture, but still…) lives here in this town that I’ve also been drawn to.

  Is there a slight chance I’m letting my romantic fantasies get the better of me?

  Yep. Probably.

  That is a risk I’m willing to take.

  Which is why I’m going to stay in Screaming Woods until I can track down Professor Jace. And, why I’ve come to the town coffee shop to do a little discrete sleuthing.

  Besides, I really do need Jace’s help with my brother’s lawsuit! So it’s not like I’m sleuthing just for my own selfish reasons.

  Lucky Beans is the local coffee place. Roan, the owner, is an invisible man. Aside from the fact that you can’t see him, he's pretty awesome.

  And, you know, somehow he found his happily ever after with a human. Did I mention that he's invisible?

  Lucky Beans is the de facto center of town gossip, and also, Melinda, the porcupine lady that works the counter, makes a mean matcha tea latte.

  “Harry, your tea is up,” Melinda says.

  I walk up to the counter to grab it.

  Before she can get back to work, I say, “I have a question.”

  “Sure.” She grins, completely unafraid to show off overly long rodent teeth.

  “I have a friend on-line who I think might live in town.”

  “Hmmm.” She makes a non-committal noise.

  “He’s a professor. My favorite professor, actually. Music theory. And we chat sometimes. And …” I keep hoping she’ll jump in with Oh, yeah, I know just who you mean. But she doesn’t. Instead, her normally friendly expression grows distant. “Anyway, something he said in a chat made me think he might live here. And maybe you’d—”

  “He said he lives here?” Her tone is suspicious.

  “Well, it was more something he said made me think maybe he does.”

  Melinda quirks one of her unusually spikey eyebrows.

  I wonder if porcupines have a heightened sense of smell. And if that translates into heightened bullshit detection, because I swear she can hear the truth in my voice. That my line about “something he said” was code for I’m just shy of cyber-stalking him.

  I clear my throat and try again. “So, do any college professors live in town?”

  “What’s this professor’s name?”

  “Professor Jace. I could really use his expertise. At least I assume Jace is his last name. That’s how he’s always—” I cut myself off when I realize that she’s bristling.

  I mean … she’s covered in quills and they are literally vibrating and … well, bristling. And that’s in addition to her crossing her arms over her chest and her mouth pinching into a frown.

  And isn’t that interesting?

  She clearly knows something.

  I give her my friendliest smile and lean forward. “So, do you know who I mean?”

  “Nope,” she snaps, her teeth making an audible click.

  “Are you sure? Because you seem to have some idea and—”

  She leans forward, her gaze narrow, and I swear her quills stick straight out. “Look, you seem nice enough for a human, but you don’t know what you’re meddling with. Jace is …” She snaps her mouth closed again, like she didn’t mean to reveal that she actually knows him. “None of us need nosy human’s sniffing around looking for cheap thrills just to satisfy their curiosity about his expertise.”

  “That’s not what—”

  But she doesn’t even give me a chance to finish my sentence and turns her back to me.

  “And what did you mean satisfy my curiosity? I just need to talk to him about music theory!”

  She ignores me and starts frothing some milk with the cappuccino machine.

  I cross my arms over my chest and tap my toe. Because I can wait.

  But she doesn’t turn back around.

  There’s no one in line behind me, but by the time she makes her third cappuccino, I take the hint and leave, more than a little annoyed that I’m walking out with more questions than I came in with.

  It's a strange town. I'm not gonna lie to you. Between the porcupine barista and the snake-man who owns the motel, not to mention Viv’s zombie, there’s no shortage of odd characters. I even had a coffee date with Chris, the … I don’t know … saber-toothed tiger man.

  He's a bi-ped like a human, but he's furry and striped, like a cat and then has these sort of like saber-toothed tiger tusk-things, which frankly, is kind of terrifying. I mean how are you supposed to kiss without getting your entire face slashed to pieces?

  The coffee date didn’t go well, partly because he kept insisting it was our second date, just because the first time we met was at the Lucky Beans and we happened to be sitting at the same over-sized table.

  Sitting three chairs away from someone while they drink matcha is not a date. I’d say you can’t blame a guy for trying if his tendency to leer at me every time I run into him in town wasn’t borderline creepy.

  You know who I haven’t seen in town, despite all the time I’ve spent here?

  The hot guy I saw by the side of the road that first night. I can’t get him out of my head either. Maybe it’s because catching someone in the middle of such an intimate act was stunningly, breathtakingly erotic. Maybe because he was the first monster I saw in the … um, no pun intended … in the flesh.

  I head back to the motel—I can’t drink my tea in the coffee shop because I don’t want to run into Chris again for a “third” date. As I walk back, sipping my tea, I think about what Melinda said.

  What did she mean about humans sniffing around for cheap thrills? Because that is the last thing I want from Professor Jace.

  If all I wanted were cheap thrills, I’d be asking about the man I saw by the side of the road on my way into town.

  chapter five

  Jace

  Xander, the griffin, is downstairs in my music room doing his best to fix the mess I made three days ago when the last fever hit. When you’ve got a constant erection with no relief, it can be frustrating.

  In that state, I can be destructive.

  I step into the room to see that he’s nearly got the drywall completely patched.

  He glances up at me. He’s pretty much my only friend.

  “There’s a human woman asking about you in town.” Xander tells me.

  I step out from behind the tree I’ve been standing partially behind. “Who is she?” I ask.

  “For fuck’s sake, Jace.” He tilts his head back to stare at my ceiling. “Can’t you wear a kilt or something? Must you have your dick out all the time?”

  I wince. This is why I only have the one friend. My perpetual erection. It makes people uncomfortable. Who can blame them? It’s like a third arm extending upward.

  Hello, nice to meet you. Would you like to stroke me?

  I exhale slowly. “I’ve tried kilts and codpieces and everything else I can think of. I even special ordered some things from Etsy that claimed to be made from the softest yarn imaginable. Any kind of texture is irritating to my skin.”

  He looks back at me but keeps his focus on my face. His lips are twitching as he obviously fights a smile. “Was it like a hand knitted dick hat or something? A little tutu for your cock?”

  “Fuck off.” But damn him if the image of my junk wearing a little crocheted dress isn’t fucking hilarious. I move back to the tree to angle my crotch away from him.

  “It’s not like I don’t know it’s distracting for other people. It’s why I only come out at night. That and I got tired of random women—mostly the humans who visit—propositioning me all the time.”

  “That shit was annoying for the whole fucking town,” Xander says.

  “If you think it’s a burden for you to have to look at, trust me that it feels immensely worse for me.”

  The griffin grimaces. “If I were you, I’d fuck any female that came near me on the off chance she was the one to break the spell,” Xander says.

  “I doubt that. And it doesn’t work that way, you know that,” I say. I try to swallow my curiosity about the woman in town, but I can’t manage it. “So, who is she, do you know?”

  “I think she’s a friend of the zombie’s human girl.” He shrugs and his wings rise with the movement. Then he shakes them out, the feathers fluttering, then falling back into place. “Fuck if I know, man. People know we talk so they informed me.”

  “More than one people?” I ask.

  He snorts. “That’s generally what ‘people’ means.”

  “You’re such a cranky bastard,” I say.

  “You’re no fucking ray of sunshine yourself.”

  “What else do you know about this human woman? I mean why has she been asking about me?”

  Xander chuckles. “She’s probably heard you’re hard and ready all the time. You remember what it was like to be human? I thought I had stamina, but nothing like I do now.”

  My dick aches. It aches all the fucking time, but especially if I think about burying myself inside a warm, willing woman.

  I’m not completely sure I do remember what it’s like to be human. “The whole crux of the curse is that there has to be love,” I say.

  “I remember. It’s why we stopped answering inquiries about you. But it’s been several years since you went into hiding. Several years since you’ve been celibate.” He stares at me for a minute, then continues.“ Maybe you should make yourself more visible. This girl could very well be the one you’ve been looking for.”

  “I’m not looking for anyone,” I mumble. “I gave up on that a long time ago.”

  “Because of your fiancée?” He shakes his head. He pats the wall once, then starts packing up his tools. “Not worth it, man. You’ve got to try again if for no other reason than I’m tired of looking at your junk. It’s all red and angry.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  “I mean if there has to be love, that’s not going to happen if you don’t spend time with her, right?” He picks up his metal tool chest and walks towards me. “Gotta let all of that dry. Then I’ll be back to paint it. Try not to have another episode or whatever the fuck you call them in the meantime.”

  I release a slow breath. “I’d never touch it again if I could help it.”

  He braces a hand on my shoulder.

  “If you hear anything else about her, will you let me know?” I ask. Because I’m unable not to. I’m dying for more information. How did she even learn about me? I’m pretty sure the townspeople squashed rumors of the randy—always ready—satyr in the monster town.

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll let your name slip. Your address. That creepy building where you play piano at night.”

  I roll my eyes. Xander’s one to talk. He spends far too much time in a creepy building himself–the abandoned inn at the edge of town. It belonged to brother and sister, Gregor and Galina, before Gregor was transformed into an Ogre and Galina disappeared. Apparently, Xander has been dreaming and hallucinating about Galina where she’s trying to tell him something. And he thinks I’m a weirdo with my perpetually perky penis.

  “Thanks, Xander,” I say.

  He raises a hand, already walking away. “Anytime.”

  I can’t help but wonder if the woman asking about me is the one I saw several months ago.

  Sometimes when the fever hits—that's what I call it when I just feel as if I can't control my urges anymore. It’s in those moments I know that I'm more monster than I am man. I hate that but I can't do anything about it. So even though I know that it won't help and that it won't make it better and it definitely won't make it go away, when the fever hits, I still have to grab my dick. I stroke and stroke and stroke and plead just make it go away. It never does.

  Sometimes the fever leads to the episodes Xander mentioned where I just lose my shit and break stuff. I’m not proud of it. If there’s one thing this whole ordeal has taught me, it’s that in my before life, I was very much in control. Of everything. My life was orderly and predictable. Here, in this after, I have no control over anything. I fucking hate it.

 

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