The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(30)

That was the easy part. “We find her.”

? ? ?

Enzo took me to a pizza place in the basement of an old office building. There was no sign out front, just steps leading down from the street. The redbrick walls were covered in graffiti, and it was dark and cramped and my feet stuck to the floor when I walked.

We sat at a table in the corner, away from the college kids who were drinking pitchers of beer and arguing about religion and philosophy and everything else they could think to argue about. I asked Enzo about the raised platform on the far side of the room.

“Bands play sometimes,” he told me. “They have poetry readings too. Everyone here is trying to be a beatnik.”

I didn’t know much about beatniks, except it was a movement that came before the hippie movement, and my mom sometimes mentioned it.

“Are you?” I asked Enzo.

“I’m not trying to be anything.”

Our pizza showed up, and I attempted to eat some, even though I was too excited to be hungry. How could I think of eating when I’d finally found an ally? Enzo finished a slice, took a long drink of beer, and then got down to business.

“So, you’re the werewolf expert. How does all of this work?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure. Werewolf lore isn’t consistent. It’s not like becoming a vampire. There are werewolf legends from all over the world, and none of them match up exactly.”

Once I started talking, words poured out of my mouth. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted someone to ask about werewolves and actually listen to my response. “In some legends, a werewolf is created when a person is bitten and the wolf virus, or whatever you want to call it, gets into their blood. In other legends, someone chooses to become a werewolf, and there’s a whole ceremony and ritual. Magic, I guess. The last way is that someone is just born a werewolf. That’s what makes the most sense for Lizzie.”

“So she’s always been a werewolf?” Enzo asked, frowning.

I talked fast, before his skepticism could take over. “Yeah, but she probably hadn’t turned yet. Think of puberty. You reach a certain age or a certain point in your life, and it’s just your time. Imagine that Lizzie goes her entire life not knowing much about werewolves, but sometimes, she has intense cravings for red meat, or she always has tons of energy on the full moon. And as she gets older, things get stranger and stranger. She has weird dreams. She hates being inside. Her sense of smell becomes much more developed. Then there’s some significant day, like her twenty-first birthday, and all of the stuff she’s been feeling gets overwhelming. She has this sense that something isn’t right. It’s as if her body isn’t the body she’s supposed to be in. And one night, she suddenly understands what it all means, what she’s supposed to do. So she goes into the woods.”

Enzo’s elbows were on the table, and he leaned forward, hanging on every word I said. It made me feel more alive than I had in a long time.

“You really think that’s what happened?”

I nodded.

I went back to eating my pizza and gave Enzo time to think. He pulled out his zippo lighter and absently flicked it open and shut. I watched his hands, mesmerized. His fingers were long. Emily would have said he’d make a good piano player. The sleeve of his sweater pulled up slightly, and I could see a tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

“What’s your tattoo say?”

Enzo pushed up the other sleeve and held out both arms for me to see, the pale insides of his wrists exposed. “Anima and animus. It represents the dual nature in all of us.”

“Lizzie must love that.”

“She does, actually.”

I wanted to ask if he had any more tattoos but figured I shouldn’t change the topic. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me something.”

“I don’t know anything about werewolves.”

“But you know Lizzie. Start with Wolf Creek. She was the one who wanted to camp there, right?”

Enzo nodded. “She loves that place. Said she used to look for wolves there when she was a kid.”

“She loves wolves.”

“She likes them a lot. But she’s not fanatical about them or anything.”

“Fanatical enough to wear a wolf talisman.”

Enzo laughed. “Talisman? That’s a little melodramatic. It’s a necklace.”

“With a wolf tooth.”

“It has to do with some Indian tribe around here, I think.”

I started to feel a little defeated. “There must be something else.”

Like hadn’t he noticed that Lizzie’s legs were unnaturally hairy? Maybe he’d heard a howl or two?

Enzo’s gaze was back on his lighter. He brought the flame to life and extinguished it. Finally, he set the zippo down decisively. “There’s this shitty petting zoo, like, half an hour from here. You know where I mean?”

I nodded.

“Well, they have all these animals you can touch, you know, pigs and goats and whatever. And in the back, there are some big animals in cages.”

“Wolves,” I said. I leaned forward too, anxiously waiting.

“Yeah. They have a couple wolves. Lizzie wanted to see them, so we drive out there and pay fifteen bucks a person to get in. Lizzie goes straight to the wolf cage and kneels down in the dirt. Wolves are nocturnal though. They’re asleep in this den structure, and we can’t even see them.”