Howl for Me - Cecilia Lane Page 0,3

roller skating was the right mode of transportation. She could almost feel her thirteen-year-old self frowning in disapproval as she clung to the walls of the skating rink.

Two turns later and down a tree-lined street, Zelda nearly drove past the address she’d wheedled out of one of her mother’s friends.

The house was… artsy. The little bungalow was painted blue with white trim, and had a bright red door. Wind chimes and bird feeders hung from multiple hooks. Wildflowers and bushes covered every inch of the yard, leaving only a messy stone path between the driveway and front porch. A swing sat on one side of the door while the other held a white wrought iron table scratched to hell and covered in potted plants.

Zelda put her car in reverse and aimed for the empty driveway tucked between overgrown bushes. She lurched into her door as a back tire slid into another freaking pothole.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath.

Jaw clenched, she tapped the gas. Her whole car shook and struggled to move, gravel spitting out from under the tread. A harder press thunked the vehicle out of the trap with a chorus of whap-whaps and groaning metal.

Zelda shot out of her door the moment she turned off the engine. Irritation churned in her gut as she stared at the rapidly deflating rubber. Of course. Of-fucking-course. She’d made it out of Atlanta and navigated the treacherous streets of Ashtown, only to have her tire taken out as soon as she reached her destination. Whoever ran the public works department would get an earful from her over the absolutely atrocious state of the streets.

“Zelda Andromeda Ambrosia Bishop, what are you doing in my driveway?”

Zelda bit her tongue to keep from snapping. She hated her name. The only normal sounding part was her surname, bestowed by a fleeting participant to her existence. She wasn't a troubled socialite of the flapper era, nor was she a princess offered up as a sacrifice to appease a monster. Food of the gods? Not likely, considering the reluctance for a little down-there business from her string of failed relationships.

She turned to find her mother leaning against the railing of the porch, surprise playing over features that matched her own. Their looks were where their similarities began and came to an abrupt end. Celeste Bishop, the queen of zen, dressed in a loose, flowing skirt and tunic shirt complete with bell sleeves. Her appearance was a sharp contrast to Zelda’s pencil skirt, blouse, and heels.

Not the most comfortable of driving clothes, but she’d left directly from an emergency brainstorming session. As the marketing director for a home security provider, there was no dressing down even on the weekend. Extended time off wasn’t a luxury she could afford, either.

In and out. Grab and go. She’d gladly shuffle around some savings to have movers pack up whatever Celeste had strewn about as long as she was back home and not causing problems.

Zelda leaned back into the car to fish out her phone. Already three strokes into searching the nearest auto repair shop, she greeted her mother in a flat voice. “Celeste. You’re not where you should be.”

Her mother plastered on a hazy smile. “Of course I am, my dear. The winds of fate carry us exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Zelda couldn't stem the roll of her eyes. Her mother had always been a big believer in fate. She'd learned at an early age that fate, magic, whatever hooey hocus pocus Celeste believed guided her life was always rooted in some real world action like not paying rent on time or ignoring the sticker on the windshield advising when to get an oil change. Zelda lived in the real world, with real world consequences.

Like potholes flattening her damn tire while she tried to collect her wayward mother.

Zelda connected a call to a supposedly open, supposedly local, auto shop. “What were you thinking, Celeste?” she asked as the line began to ring. “You can’t just up and move without notice. You have a job, an apartment. Vehicle registration! Running up here isn’t practical.”

Her mother waved a hand through the air. “You worry too much, Zelda. My lease was up. The stars aligned for this move. Now, do you want any iced tea?”

The line continued to ring and ring. Frustration building, Zelda followed her mother through the garish red door and into a disaster area.

The interior of the house looked like a bomb had gone off. There was no rhyme or reason to