Chapter 4 – Good Dog
Rowan finished his coffee, left a ten-dollar bill under the plate because "on the house forever" felt like a trap, and stood up.
"Okay, ladies, I gotta open the bookshop. Seraphina, you good to walk, or are you still on whatever that was?"
Seraphina floated an inch off the floor when she stood. She tried to look dignified about it. Failed. "I am… perfectly capable, thank you."
Mila was already at the door holding it open, eyes shining like she'd been personally promoted to bodyguard. She'd tied her torn apron into a crop top that should've been illegal in twelve states.
Rowan gave her a little wave. "Thanks for the coffee. See you tomorrow?"
Mila's answer was to follow them out the door and lock the café behind her. The CLOSED sign flipped itself. A handwritten note appeared:
Back in 5 minutes (or never).
Rowan blinked. "You… closing for the day?"
"Shift change," Mila said, falling into step on his left side. Seraphina took the right. They glared at each other over his head like two cats deciding who got the sunbeam.
Rowan shrugged. "Cool. More help carrying boxes, I guess."
The three of them walked the last four blocks to Ash & Antiquities. Traffic lights stayed green. Pigeons formed a perfect V overhead and saluted. A street busker's guitar suddenly played the exact song Rowan had been humming yesterday.
He noticed none of it.
At the shop, Rowan fished out his keys. The door unlocked itself before he touched it.
"Weird," he muttered, stepping inside.
The little brass bell above the door gave one terrified jingle, then unscrewed itself and hid in a potted plant.
Rowan didn't notice.
He flicked on the lights. The shop looked exactly like it always did: leaning shelves, dusty grimoires that smelled like secrets and mold, one couch that had survived three world wars and a very determined poltergeist.
"Okay," he said, clapping once. "Mila, Seraphina, make yourselves useful. Don't touch the red books on the top shelf, they bite. Literally. I've got scars."
Mila immediately started dusting shelves with way too much enthusiasm. Seraphina floated up to the highest row, arranged the books by dramatic vibe, and looked smug.
Rowan went to the back room to drop off his empty coffee cup.
That's when the trash can growled at him.
Not a normal trash-can noise. A deep, guttural, "I have seen the end of days and you owe me rent" growl.
Rowan looked down.
A fluffy silver tail was sticking out of the trash can, wagging hard enough to rattle the lid.
He sighed. "Mila, did you bring a dog to work?"
The trash can exploded upward.
A woman tumbled out in a whirlwind of silver hair, shredded black clothing, and the kind of muscle definition that belonged on a fitness magazine cover. She landed on all fours, looked up at Rowan with glowing golden eyes, and sneezed out a coffee filter.
Then she saw him.
Her face did something complicated (surprise, relief, pure unfiltered joy), and before Rowan could say "uh," she launched herself at him.
Full-body tackle-hug.
Rowan caught her reflexively. She was warm, smelled like wet dog and vanilla, and was currently trying to fit her entire face into the crook of his neck while making the happiest whining noise he'd ever heard.
"Hi?" he tried.
The woman pulled back just far enough to beam at him. "Found you," she said, voice rough and delighted. "Mate."
Rowan looked over her shoulder at Mila, who had gone very still and was staring at the new girl like she was calculating murder.
"Another friend of yours?" he asked.
Mila's eye twitched. "That's… also me. From last night. Full moon thing. Don't worry about it."
Rowan looked at the woman still clinging to him like a very muscular koala.
"You okay in there, werewolf cosplayer?"
The woman (still Mila, technically) tilted her head. "You're not scared?"
Rowan shrugged, gently setting her down. "I've seen weirder at Comic-Con. Just don't shed on the merchandise, okay?"
Both Milas (café Mila and wolf-mode Mila) stared at him like he'd just solved world hunger with a stick of gum.
Seraphina floated in, took one look at the situation, and hissed so hard a nearby candle went out.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Right. Two Milas, one goth with a biting problem. Anyone want tea? I need tea."
He stepped around the werewolf (who immediately started following him on all fours because standing felt wrong now) and headed for the tiny kitchenette.
Behind him, three women realized they were going to have to share the one human who thought the supernatural was just "really committed roleplay."
The kettle hadn't even started boiling yet and the shop already felt like a reality TV show titled "Who Gets the Hoodie First."
Rowan yawned, completely unaware he was the prize, the judge, and the entire reason the universe was holding its breath.
"Today's gonna be long," he muttered.
He had no idea.