On one such occasion when the fever hit, I was walking in the woods near the city limits. And there was a car driving slowly. I don’t normally masturbate on the side of the road. I’m not a pervert, despite how things might look. Still, the woman driving the car looked out the window and we locked eyes for a moment. Something happened.

  I don't even know how to explain it. I just know that there was something more in that moment when our eyes connected. I felt her. Her curiosity, her passion, as if I knew her.

  Sadly, I know better than to put my fate in the hands of a human. Their emotions are fickle and waning. I don't want to get my hopes up. Not again. I certainly don't want to hurt anyone.

  The truth is, I never know when the fever will hit. But I do know that it is getting worse, stronger, and a lot harder to ignore.

  chapter six

  Harriet

  I can’t sleep. Again. I don’t know if it’s the town or something else.

  The something else being that I haven’t gotten any closer to finding my professor and he’s no longer responding to my message requests online. Or at least he hasn’t been online. I’m not sure which. But it could also be the fact that Chris, the prehistorical cat boy, actually came by the motel today and left a message for me at the front desk.

  He’s getting a little aggressive for my tastes. Especially since I’m not the least bit attracted to him. Nor have I given him any encouragement to pursue me.

  So yeah, insomnia.

  I’ve already tried all of my go-to methods: drinking a cup of chamomile tea, reading from one of my beloved mythology textbooks, a tiny bit of yoga. Nothing is working and I feel even more alert now than when I tried to go to bed.

  Maybe if I go for a walk, that will help. Get some fresh air. Once I’m dressed in some yoga pants, an aging Scooby-Doo t-shirt and my sneakers, I’m ready to go. I grab my bracelet-sized keyring which has my keys, but also a panic whistle and pepper spray. What can I say? I like to be prepared. Especially in a town with legit monsters.

  Though, ever since day one, every single one I’ve met has been at the very least cordial. Not always friendly, but people aren’t always friendly either.

  I leave my hotel room and walk around to the back of The Sunnyside Motel. Everything here is so neat and tidy, it’s just perfectly charming. I walk past the tightly clipped lawn to the wooded area behind. The entire town is surrounded by the woods.

  I suppose some might think it all to be creepy, but I find it beautiful. I love the scent of the damp earth. The lack of big city lights means the stars shine even brighter. As I leave the lit area of town and enter deeper into the forest, everything inside of me stills.

  It’s so peaceful out here.

  My family is stupid wealthy. Basically, my dad wrote a couple of super catchy songs and we’re still living off the royalties. It’s kind of ridiculous. But it’s definitely made aspects of my life easier.

  For one, I love to learn. Especially about ancient cultures and myths, that’s my guilty pleasure, and then anything musical, for Steven. Having access to a seemingly unending supply of funds, I’ve been able to be a perpetual student. It also allows me to travel to see some of the places I study about.

  Last year I went to Scotland to Loch Ness, and while I didn’t see the beastie, I feel certain something is lurking beneath that dark peat-stained water.

  Before that I went for a tour in the swamps of Louisiana looking for Big Foot. I will tell you I saw some big alligator feet, but that was about it. I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in fried shrimp and gumbo. They definitely know how to eat down there.

  The further into the woods I walk, the softer the ground becomes. As if I’m walking more on moss than solid earth. The canopy of trees overhead makes me feel as if I’m in a cocoon of branches and pine needles. Despite the occasional howls and yips I hear in the distance, I feel safe.

  And then another sound reaches me. I pause, trying to determine which direction it’s in. Off to my left. Deeper into the woods. It’s music. Sounds classical, maybe. I do know it’s definitely a piano.

  Finally, I make it through a chunk of thick woods into somewhat of a clearing. Before me stands an old rock building. The music is definitely coming from there. I creep closer until I touch the hard, rough surface of the rock exterior.

  I stand outside of the dilapidated rock wall. I think this might have been a church at some point if judging from the stained glass windows—though they’re mostly broken now. Though I didn’t see a steeple of any sort. Whatever the building’s original purpose, it's long since been taken back by the woods.

  Vines cling to the sides, crawling this way and that, nearly suffocating the building. But inside, inside I hear the music.

  Astounding, beautiful music that makes me stop and feel. My eyes flutter closed and I inhale slowly. Why does it feel as if I could be playing the song? A ridiculous notion considering I can barely play my car stereo.

  Like, you know how a lot of cars come with satellite radio? Yeah, can't ever make that work. So I'm forced to either listen to terrible radio stations or the same old stuff I’ve had downloaded to my phone since before college.

  I mean after all my music classes, I can now read music and fumble around a piano. But it’s so clunky I refuse to call it playing.

  In any case. I stand here outside the window like a creeper listening. I know I won’t just stand here for much longer because I'm compelled. Compelled to find a way inside the building and see who's playing the music. I want to meet them, talk to them. I want them to play more songs. Meeting them—speaking to them—feels of upmost importance.

  The haunting melody keeps me locked in place until finally the notes end. I walk around to what I'm assuming is the front of the building just as another song begins. Still, I enter the building. Off to the left is an upright piano that has seen better days. Behind it is the man I’ve been looking for.

  “It’s you,” I say.

  His fingers bang on the keys as he jerks his head in my direction.

  “I’m sorry I startled you. Sorry I interrupted. You play beautifully,” I tell him.

  He nods and a grumbled “thanks,” comes out.

  I slowly move further into the building, walking closer to the piano. He’s watching me, a scowl weighing down his brow.

  “I think we met, sorta, once before,” I say. Then I wince. “Well, not really met, but I think I saw you when I first drove into town. Do you remember me?” I point at my wilting ponytail. “Blond with the pink streaks?”

  “Don’t come any closer,” he growls.

  I stop moving and stare into his face. There’s nothing about him that’s frightening. Quite the contrary, he’s beautiful. His long, light brown hair hangs past his shoulders. Bare shoulders that are like round mountains atop a masterpiece of a chest. I can’t see anything past his pecs.

  The small horns that curve away from his head are short and goat-like. The dark slashes of his eyebrows off-set his eyes. Eyes unlike any I’ve ever seen. They’re yellow. A golden topaz that follow my every breath.

  “You're a faun, right? Like Mr. Tumnus?”

  His lip curls in a snarl. “I’m not a fucking faun. I’m a satyr.”

  I know the word immediately and I recall reading about them once or twice, but I don’t remember. Then something registers. “Oh, right. Like Pan? Except you play piano and not a flute?” I ask.

  I swear a smile tugs at his lips. “You’re more or less correct.”

  “Do you play the flute?” I ask.

  He snarls again. “Not if I can help it.”

  I take a careful step towards him. “I’m Harriet, but my friends call me Harry,” I say.

  “Will you tell me your name?”

  He just stares at me. “Are you the one who has been asking about me around town?”

  So there is a gossip train in this town. I chuckle. “Guilty.” Then I realize what he’s said. The only one I’ve asked about is my professor. “Wait. Professor Jace?”

  “What do you want?”

  I swallow. “I just wanted to meet you.”

  chapter seven

  Jace

  I stare at the pretty human across the room. She’s plump and round, curvy in all the best ways. Her pale—almost white—blond hair is piled on top of her head. Bright pink streaks scattered through the strands. Despite the overall dimness in the room, I can clearly see how vivid blue her eyes are.

  “Professor Jace?” she asks.

  My skin feels like it’s tightening, choking me. How does she know me? “What do you want?” I demand.

  “I just wanted to meet you,” she says, her voice a little breathless.

  I nod. “You’ve met me now.” But something about her gives me pause. “Wait, did you say your name is Harriet?”

  “Yes,” she says, but her tone rises like she’s asking a question.

  My tail whips around my feet. I want to stand and get the fuck out of here, but I’m torn because if I stand up, she’ll see everything.

  Then her eyes drop to the piano and recognition lights her gaze. “I hadn’t realized that was you. That you were—”

  “A monster? Yeah, well, I am. Now you know. As you can clearly see, I can’t go wherever and testify in a damned courtroom. Our secret is making its way out of Screaming Woods, but for the most part, we do try to keep things protected here.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” I ask her.

  She frowns. “The one on my phone.”

  “Good.” Then I flip the switch on the wall behind the piano and douse the chapel into darkness. I can still see, at least more than she can see me. I don’t have great night vision, but definitely better than a human’s.

  “Goodbye, Harriet,” I say. Then I hoof it out of there.

  I run the entire way to my house, hoping the exertion will stave off an attack of the fever. But being close to a beautiful woman has my senses on alert so I can definitely feel the beginnings of that endless craving.

  I go directly to my study, staying clear of my music room since Xander is still repairing that one. We locked up my baby grand piano after the first fever sent me on a rampage. It’s why I restored the one at the church. Xander rigged something and added that LED lighting for me so I can go at night and play.

  The music helps with my sanity. So does teaching.

  Which brings me back to Harriet. She’s my student.

  WAS my student. She took at least three separate classes from me, all in the last couple of years. I remember several things about her. She’s not a brilliant musician, but she fumbles her way through the assignments, acing the concept if not the execution. She told me once that she was a perpetual student and that she was taking my classes to learn about music to better communicate with someone special.

  Obviously she meant her brother, if her story from the chat a month or so ago is true. I’ve watched everything on his YouTube and he is miraculously gifted.

  She must love her brother so much to take classes just to be able to better communicate with him.

  No one has ever loved me that much.

  Not my parents. Not my ex-fiancée. No one.

  I may have only met Harriet Chambers, but I’ve seen her heart. And fuck me if it doesn’t make me want even a fraction of the affection she’s clearly capable of.

  She could be the one to break my damn curse.

  My heart keeps repeating that thought. Whispering it into my very soul so that it feels as if it’s the only logical answer. She’s the one.

  She would be perfect. That thick, round body of hers is solid; she looks strong. Strong enough to handle me and my rutting urges. But if she didn’t break the spell, if she didn’t love me, then I would eventually destroy her. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.

  Knowing it’s a bad idea, I open my student files on my computer. I find her name immediately, as if my eyes know right where she is.

  Harriet Chambers.

  I open the file and there are her assignments. Papers she’s written. Videos sent in. I open one of the videos.

  “Bear with me,” her recorded voice says, her lovely face beams into the camera, “I am not a great musician.” Then she places her phone so it’s angled, facing her torso and the piano keys. She proceeds to move through the assignment, talking as she goes.

  Like a fucking pervert, I lose interest in watching her fingers fumble on the keys and zero in on her ample cleavage.

  How had I never noticed her before?

  She was a student. That’s how. Students are asexual beings that exist out in the world, but in a dimension other than mine. At least that’s how my brain categorizes them. Students are always off limits. So, I’ve never once looked at one and thought anything unprofessional.

  Now, though, all of those rules cease to exist in my mind.

  Harry725: I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position. Your friend, who told me where you’d be—you as in my former professor—said you’d be happy to see me.

  PROF_JACE: Which friend would that be?

  Harry725: Uh… I guess he’s a griffin?

  PROF_JACE: Figures.

  PROF_JACE: And yes, he’s a griffin.

  I shoot a text to Xander telling him he can fuck right off.

  He texts back immediately with a laughing emoji, then a, “you’re welcome.”

  “Fucker,” I mutter.

  PROF_JACE: I’m sorry if I was rude.

  Harry725: You were ambushed. That’s my fault.

  Harry725: You really do play beautifully.

  PROF_JACE: Thank you.

  Harry725: I mean I knew that from your lectures and class presentations. But hearing it in person is astounding.

  Harry725: I’ll leave you alone.

  I don’t respond because I don’t know what I should say. Nope, that’s not true. I should tell her yes, that she should definitely leave me alone. I should tell her to get her gorgeous ass out of this fucked up town before she gets hurt. Instead, I say nothing and leave the door open for her to find me again.

  chapter eight

  Harriet

  I’m not even going to pretend to stay away. I know I told him I’d leave him alone. But he didn’t respond to that, and it feels like there are things left unsaid.

  Besides that, I know there’s something between us, even if Jace is being stubborn about it.

  It goes beyond Steven’s lawsuit. Do I still want Jace’s help? Of course, but that is not a contingency I’m willing to put on whatever is developing between us.

  This time he must be expecting me to arrive because when I breach the opening in the woods where the church sits, the music stops. I step into the stone building and he nods.

  “Harriet,” he says.

  “You don’t seem surprised that I’m back.”

  A ghost of a smile plays across his lips. “You’re persistent so I figured the odds were good you’d return.”

  “I’m not here about my brother or the lawsuit or whatever.”

  “Then why are you here?” he asks. He’s still sitting behind the piano.

  “Because I like you and I think you like me too. I just want to spend some time together.”

  “You like me?”

  I smile at him. “Surely you noticed that I took three of your classes and then audited another two.”

  He releases a tight chuckle. “But all you ever saw were my hands.”

  “And heard your voice.” I bite down on my bottom lip. “Maybe it’s inappropriate for me to say since you were once my professor, but it was your voice that made me keep coming back for more. After the initial music theory class, I understood enough to have better comprehension when talking to my brother. I didn’t need the additional classes.”

  “But you wanted to hear my voice?”

  “Yes, but also, just be near you. If that makes any sense.” I can’t tell how he’s taking any of these revelations so I chuckle and try to hedge my bets. “I’m sure plenty of your students have had crushes on you.”

  I move closer, but he doesn’t demand I stay away.

  Those golden eyes of his widen as I get close enough to put my hand on the top of the piano. The old wood isn’t as smooth as it once was, there are initials and designs carved into the piano’s exterior. I follow one such indentation with my thumbnail, sliding into the groove.

  “Harriet, I should tell you something,” he says.

  I stare into his face. “Is this about your dick?”

  The shock in his expression is priceless. Especially because his adorable goat ears lift, then wiggle. “You know?”

  I shrug. “Of course, I’ve heard. People in this town are extremely protective of you. Which is as adorable as it is admirable.”

  He blows out a breath and his hand scrapes across his trimmed beard. “Things got out of hand for a while after we all initially changed. It caused some issues and I pretty much just went into hiding. It makes everyone more comfortable that way.”

  “They miss you,” I tell him. “I heard that the piano at Down the Rabbit Hole hasn’t been touched since the last time you played.”

  He smiles wistfully and it makes me sad that he’s forced himself into exile.

  “You know, if we’re going to be friends, then I’m going to have to see it sooner or later,” I say.

  “Is that what we’re doing? Becoming friends?” he asks.

  “I hope so. I mean I already feel like I know you.” I slowly skirt my way around the piano. But I keep my eyes on his face. “I know your voice and your hands and your mind.” I take a seat on the bench next to him.

 

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