Maeve had no words to Bridget's response and the unusual way in which she said it. Even now, she still couldn't understand why. She hoped Bridget would elaborate, or rather, defend herself, but the short girl only had one additional line to add.
"I just thought he should know," she said, and then she awkwardly exited the bedroom.
Maeve breathed out a frustrated breath. In the depths of her heart, she began to wonder if she was being too unreasonable. Maybe it was only common sense to go around telling people that she had had some kind of traumatizing experience last night.
'It's fine. I don't want to fight over this,' Maeve thought. Things were getting too awkward already with Bridget. Who cares if she shared her concerns about Maeve with Chris? It wasn't like she knew the details anyway. Though, Maeve did wonder if Bridget had a stronger connection to Chris than she had thought.
Soon, she had also finished changing into decent clothing and was going downstairs, her mind littered with thoughts.
She recalled something Melanie had said as they had been strolling, when she had asked why it was that she had never been able to smell the scent of a werewolf on Ryan and Aaron.
Apparently, before the Howling, a werewolf's advanced senses were inconsistent or even non-existent, though they rapidly grew stronger as it approached. Upon awakening, their sense of smell was biased towards detecting enemies – namely vampires. The scent of vampires was also stronger to a wolf's nose in any case.
Maeve had found this interesting. As the dream she had had was her Howling, she had pieced together that her concerns about her eyes changing colour spontaneously were needless. The golden colour of a wolf's eyes was easy to control once they awakened, and before that, it barely flashed long enough for people to see and be convinced of anything odd.
The smell of baking sweets had long pushed Maeve to move a little faster. She spotted Mr. Page and Bridget talking over a laptop in the lounge and donned a shallow smile. Once she was visible from the stairs, Mrs. Page beckoned her.
"Ah, Maeve. Mind helping me with the last batch of muffins and scones? I think I can trust you not to stuff yourself with the mix whenever I look away," she said before giving a sharp look to Billy and Roddy who had gooey evidence on their faces.
'That's already too much faith,' Maeve thought, but hurried to help. Mrs. Page gave her the instructions and assigned her two youngest children as her assistants while she prepared the complements for the full chicken she had just finished cooking for dinner.
Maeve could see the plump woman giving her side eyes every so often and she (Maeve) was sure it wasn't all because she was worried about her muffins.
Roddy's side eyes were far from being motivated by concern, however. The only concern he had was that Maeve had worn clothing that didn't show much skin.
"My sister buys were skirts from Sally G's," he said with puckered lips. "I have some savings. I could get you a pretty one." Maeve had dotted the boy's nose with cupcake mix.
Billy happily bombarded Maeve with questions which she found strength and patience enough to answer. He was quite the lively company.
"You're way taller my sister. Can you see the top of her head when you look down?"
"Don't girls normally wear skirts? You're always wearing jeans."
"Do you like muffins? I do. One time, I ate so many, and daddy had to take me to the doctor."
Half the time, Billy seemed to be talking to himself. Maeve smiled and laughed. The boy reminded him of Jimmy if she subtracted a few dozen words from each of his sentences and a third of his energy.
As she took out the last baking tray from the oven with Billy's help, relieved that all the muffins were just right, she couldn't help but wonder if she should visit Jimmy against Millie Mitchell's wishes.
After dinner and dessert, Maeve volunteered to do the dishes, much to everyone's surprise, especially Mr. and Mrs. Page. The latter made to tell Maeve she didn't have to, but Maeve insisted with the same intensity Mrs. Page had expelled when she refused to allow her to help clean this morning.
Bridget imagined that Maeve was trying to contribute around the house, and convince everyone that yesterday's yet unsolved mystery about her disappearance was nothing. She was right.
"You're angry with me about Chris, right?" Bridget said as she brought the last of the dishes to the sink.
"Not really," Maeve said, her nose wrinkling. The smell of the dishwashing liquid was strangely powerful. She had to toggle off her heightened sense of smell. "I just… I just wish you hadn't told him or whoever else you did."
"I didn't tell anyone else," said Bridget quickly. "I'm not even sure why I told Chris, to be honest."
"At this point, everyone at work might start telling him their secrets. The reliable bastard," Maeve said with a smile. Bridget chuckled.
Right then, there was a knock on the front door. Roddy, whom Mrs. Page had told for the sixth time to go to bed, rushed to see who it was. Mr. Page sighed and hurried after him.
Moments later, father and son entered the kitchen, where Maeve and Bridget were chatting and giggling. They turned to see odd expressions on Mr. Page and Roddy's faces. The former had a letter in his hand.
"What is it, dad?" Bridget said. "Who was at the door?"
Mr. Page scratched his head.
"Well, it was weird. I didn't see anybody. Just this letter," he said and then he looked at Maeve. "It's for you."
Maeve was taken aback.
"For me?"
She took the letter from Mr. Page.
It was in a yellow envelope branded with her name in a sexy cursive.
Where could this letter have come from? Maeve had an idea. A dark idea.
She felt the anxiety in Bridget and Mr. Page soar. They must have suspected this had something to do with yesterday, given her reaction.
"Come on, open it," Roddy urged. Mr. Page heaved him up by the waist and made his exit with him from the kitchen. Maeve heard him whisper, "It's none of your business" into the boy's ear.
Bridget, on the other hand, began wiping the dishes.
"Let me finish up in here," she said.
And Maeve had no choice. Everyone was still going out of their way to give her space.
She rushed upstairs and went into her room. She opened the envelope at once and then the letter. It read:
Dear Maeve Irving
Congratulations on your Howling. It's often said better late than never, and I can attest, with my many years of experience drawing breath and wandering this earth that indeed, some blessings travel with less haste, but they come all the same, and that is all the importance.
I represent the Coven of Mareeda – or as you might recognise as the Old Coven – in welcoming you to the Vales Gathering on the 19th of April. We understand that an Alpha has already set his sights on you, a mark of your beauty and prestige. As such, we expect you to appear with the best physical impression at the gathering, or we will be forced to throw you out. This is the event of the century, and you will find that we are deeply invested in it.
I look forward to seeing you.
Yours faithfully
Jennifer Haslow