Free Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl by Emily Pohl-Weary Page A

jacket would keep me warm enough these days. At the last second I tossed all the remaining lamb ribs and sausages in a plastic bag and stowed it in my purse. A girl never knew when she might need a little meat.
    I pulled on a cap to hide my face and took the subway to the Lower East Side, then wandered a handful of blocks over to the Cake Shop. Two blocks away I noticed a weird bookstore nestled between an art supply shop and a clothing boutique. Words of Wonder. I knew that name—from the receipt in Marlon’s glove box! Peering through the front window at stacks and stacks of new and used books, I could see that ancient tomes had been heaped carelessly on top of magazines and loose sheets of paper. The owner didn’t seem to worry about making any sales. That always amazed me in this city, where rent was so high.
    I yanked open the door, causing an old-fashioned bell to jingle above it. When I stepped inside I was barraged by Nas rapping about hip-hop being dead. The song was so loud and at odds with the store’s ambiance that it threw me off, and I tripped over a pile of books on the floor.
    As I bent to straighten them I could feel the young guy behind the counter watching. When I glanced athim, he jutted his chin in a greeting. He looked a few years older than me. Quirky cute face, in a Gael García Bernal kind of way. He wore an oversized red T-shirt with a Fight the Power fist on it that brought out the golden tones in his skin. He tilted his head and let his eyes sweep from my feet all the way up to my face. Then his nose twitched and he squinted, as if he was surprised by something.
    As I stood, I caught a glimpse of his laptop screen and saw that he was designing a website for the bookstore.
    â€œCan I help you?” he asked. His voice had a certain lilt to it—South American, maybe? His irises were dark brown and abnormally large.
    â€œJust browsing,” I said. “A friend recommended your store.”
    He came out from behind the counter and stood close to me—too close, frankly. The guy was very tall and wide: a bit of a linebacker. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled hard enough to make my hair move. His nose twitched again. I tried to take a step back, but the aisle was too cramped.
    â€œDude, did you just smell me?” I snapped.
    â€œOf course not.” His tone and his slow grin told me he was making fun of me. “The meat in your purse, on the other hand …”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    His eyes scanned my body again. Either he was flirting very badly or looking for a tail. I almost bolted right then.
    â€œYou do smell fantastic, though,” he said. “Musky and powerful and healthy. Too many girls cover up their natural scent with perfume. I’m glad you don’t. And you look quite normal. Interesting … So you want a book on shape-shifters?”
    â€œNo. I mean … Yes. Shape-shifters. How did you—”
    â€œFollow me. I know every book in this place.”
    He started down an aisle. How could he guess exactly the book I wanted when I wasn’t sure myself? And how could anyone possibly make sense of this mess? Shelves climbed up to the ceiling and appeared to have been randomly filled. Books overflowed into piles on the floor. Some shelves were two books deep. Handwritten signs identified roughly how things were sorted. By the time I made it over to him I’d seen a few intriguing categories: mythological creatures, hexes and charms, gods and idols …
    He pulled out Guide to Shifters, carried it over to the counter, and punched the cover price into the register without bothering to show it to me. I spotted How to Pick a Mate: Survival Tips for the Hairy and Fabulous and couldn’t resist, so I handed that over as well.
    â€œAre these books for real?” I asked.
    He didn’t respond, just shook his head as if I was being an idiot.
    â€œOkay, Chatty Chris. You own this store?”
    â€œNah. My