Chapter 32

"To be honest, Cathy, I'm a little freaked out. But I can't let someone intimidate me."

I was standing in Charles' office looking over the city while he and Brian the security guard looked at more footage on Jessica's computer and planned how to beef up security from the perspective that someone on the inside was working with the intruder.

Cathy sighed into the phone. "I know, sweetie. But are you sure? Maybe this person isn't after you."

I looked down at the city streets and the dots of people and cars moving around. Was there someone down there that meant me harm? Why? Was it something to do with the orphanage?

"Maybe not," I said, but then I heard Charles' voice in my head. He'd said that werewolves were hunters, and so by instinct knew when they were the ones being stalked.

"What does Charles think?" Cathy asked as if she'd read my mind.

"Why does that matter?" I asked, defensive.

"I was just asking," she said. "When are you going to the orphanage again?'

"I have a new one to visit this afternoon."

"Can I come?"

I was startled into silence.

"Hello? Earth to Elena?"

"I'm sorry, Cath. It's just, I don't know. That's sweet. But I can't put you in danger, too."

"Please. I have pepper spray and a free afternoon. If you're going to put yourself out there than I want to be there to support you."

My eyes began to sting. "What did I do to deserve a friend like you?"

"You can buy me a sweet present for my birthday."

"Done!"

An hour later we were walking down the street toward the address, having been dropped off by a taxi.

"I'm actually really glad you're coming," I said. "Charles is right. I probably should be careful about walking alone in strange areas until we figure out what's going on."

Cathy looked at me in concern. "I don't like that you may be in danger, Elena."

I reached out and she took my hand.

"Thanks, Cath. I'm being careful. And Charles really did help me with the self-defense moves. I feel better, at least."

Cathy looked at me sideways. "Uh-huh. Charles again, eh?"

"Well, yeah. He is my boss."

"Right. He reminded me of that when he answered your damn phone! But I see you. You can't hide from me."

"Hide what?"

"Your tone is different, Elena. I've known you too long. Something's going on."

"I don't know what you mean."

But I did. I could hear it in my own voice. It was slipping into silly, teenage crush territory again.

"Oh my gosh, you're blushing," Cathy said, starting to laugh.

"Oh no," I said, trying to laugh at myself. "I feel so stupid!"

"Elena, he is super sexy, super powerful, and super rich. You're allowed to change your mind about him daily. Hourly, even."

I squeezed her hand in thanks.

"I hate to admit it," I said while checking my address to the numbers across the top of a door with chipping paint. "But he might have come off worse than he actually is during our conversation in his car."

Cathy was quiet. I knew she was upset that he suggested I wasn't worth dating outright. She was furious he wanted to use me and then discard me.

"I think this is it," I said, squinting at the tarnished plaque to the side of the door. I went to push the doorbell and Cathy checked me.

"Maybe he just isn't good at expressing something he feels strongly about. Maybe you're right, and he's not so bad. Raised in a toxic Alpha culture or something like that."

"But?" I could feel the hesitation in her voice.

"But if he turns out to be the asshole we all think he is, maybe you should just do the same back to him, you know? Love him and leave him. Take all those delicious meals and have a good time while it lasts."

I smirked at her. "I'll keep that in mind," I said, and push the doorbell.

"I bet the sex will be amazing."

"Cathy!"

The woman who came to the door looked like Mrs. Addison in her similar worried, tired disposition. Otherwise, they were opposite. Where Mrs. Addison was tall and stern. This woman was short and round.

She looked at us over wire-rimmed glasses, her scent a comforting rye bread smell. She smiled a weary smile but it made her look kind.

"Are you from Social Scene?"

"Yes. I'm Elena Laurentia and this is my friend, Cathy David. Our photographer is going to meet us here."

"Is that her?" Ms. Beale said, squinting over our heads. I looked around to see Matilda hurrying through traffic toward us. She waved and I waved back. Her camera bag was slung around her torso.

"Matilda! Fabulous!" I said.

Ms. Beale stepped aside and waved us in. "I'm so grateful that you're here," she said. "I'm ready to start picketing outside the city offices but maybe a nice, revealing news article would get their attention instead."

"Do you need fingerprints or clearances for us to be here."

"Ha!" she said over her shoulder. "If only. Still, I thank you for the offer. Mrs. Addison vouched for you, so you're okay in my books, too."

She was speaking louder now, as the merry voices of children singing to a pop song being played on an out-of-tune piano was echoing down the corridor.

"My son's friend from school comes in and does music time with them," she said, smiling fondly and pausing to look into the room as we went by. "He's a computer guy but loves music and kids, so volunteers every week."

Matilda took a few snapshots of the children singing with the young man who waved as we went by.

"You should join in," I said to Cathy, who was hesitating by the door. She loved to sing, even if she could hardly carry a tune.

"By all means," Ms. Beale said. "Go on in."

The young man looked up and nodded, gesturing for her to come in.

Ms. Beale continued down the hall, pointing out cracks in the walls, exposed pipes that were leaking, and the lack of heat coming from the vents.

She offered us seats in her cold, small office, papers stacked on the desk in teetering piles. She picked up the phone and spoke into it, asking for tea.

"I brought you in here first to show you my books," she said, flipping through some folders and pulling out a ledger book.

"Yes," she said, seeing our faces. "Paper. The computer I had in here stopped working months ago."

A woman came in carrying a tray full of mugs and a large teapot.

"Thank you," Ms. Beale said, smiling fondly at the woman.

"Another blessed volunteer who used to be a paid employee," she said, watching the women trot off down the hall. "We can't afford to keep her, but she still comes back three days a week."

She poured tea for us and spread some tally sheets for us to look at. "Look, do you see how the amount decreases slowly over the last few years?"

She pointed to another column. "These are my requests for repairs." There were empty spaces next to where city reimbursements were supposed to be.

"May I take a picture of these?" I asked her.

"I wish you would. If I had a working photo copier, I'd just copy them for you."

"No worries," I said, holding up my phone and taking a picture.

By the time we had finished the tea, I had enough depressing facts to write five articles. Ms. Beale's South Side Orphanage was being abandoned to slowly die.

Matilda and I walked solemnly back toward the music room, which had gone quiet. We looked inside and saw the far door leading to the outer play yard was open.

We walked through the room, it's walls peeling paint, and looked out into the yard where Cathy sat with two small children in her lap. The young man was smiling at her and teasing the little kids.

Matilda raised her camera and smiled behind her lends. "Looks you've converted another one of us, Elena," Matilda said, looking up and winking at me. "Cathy's a goner."

I smiled, uncertain if Matilda was talking about the kids or the young man.[1]

Back in the office, Matilda and I parted, her saying she'd edit the photos and send them by the next day.

I spent the next few hours before dinner agonizing over the headline and the structure of my opening paragraph.

I thought of Sally and her past, and how I didn't want to hurt her or bring up bad feelings, but I also couldn't stand aside when bad things were happening right in front of me.

I wrote at least fifteen different headlines, at least five different opening paragraphs and messed with the order of information until my eyes were crossing.

When Charles finally texted me about dinner, I sighed and stood up. The pitch meeting was tomorrow. For tonight at least, I had done everything I could do.