1 Chapter 1

1

In early June, Rose Marie Beechem sat on her bed and stared at the list of volunteer gigs. She was expected to choose one. Quickly. If she didn’t, her academic advisor would make up her mind for her. Not to mention she’d be penalized by having this early start to her project denied. She’d have to start in August with everyone else. The only reason she’d been given this opportunity was because she was staying for the summer on the SearchLight Academy campus, one of only three second-years. It shouldn’t have been all that difficult to find something to join, but Rose didn’t know anything about working with humans and what she was learning from this list could be summed up in two words: ultra-religious.

It wasn’t that Rose was an atheist; she just didn’t believe in the God these humans all seemed to cling to. Her beliefs, being werewolf in origin, revolved around the moon goddess, the being who controlled the tides and caused werewolves to change from human guise to wolf. They, including Rose, could change at will, but they had to transform at a full moon.

Annoyed with wading through fifty-odd organizations helping the poor, the abused, and the addicted, Rose wadded up the page and dropped it on her desk. Then she opened her laptop and began searching for alternatives. There had to be groups who weren’t trying to save peoples’ souls as well as their bodies.

She didn’t find anything she wanted at first. There were other groups espousing beliefs in Allah or the Jews’ God, Yahweh, but nothing that wasn’t dripping with human belief systems. Maybe I’ll just have to swallow my pride and get down and dirty with a few Christians. Rose sighed.

She was about to give up and smooth out the ordained list when she spotted the magic words “drum circle.” Rose quit tapping a complicated rhythm on her knee and clicked on the link. She at once found herself on a website topped by a picture of a dark-skinned, broad-featured woman in traditional Ghanaian dress. She was gorgeous. From her tightly kinked hair artfully arranged on top of her head to the long and strong-looking fingers of her right hand, which rested on a talking drum, she was beautiful.

Rose’s sex tingled.

Stop that. She’s human, she’s probably straight, and she might even just be a picture they put on their site to attract attention.

Her sex continued to make its needs known.

Amused, and glad her roommate wasn’t in the room because the scent of arousal was starting to permeate the air, Rose got up, went to her window, and opened it to let in a June breeze. It was warm, but not as bad as her home in Florida was at this time of year. Washington, DC, was placed perfectly for weather, or so Rose believed. Not too hot and definitely not too cold, she sometimes wondered if she should move here after she graduated, though she couldn’t imagine leaving the Fehrna pack.

Returning to her laptop, she scanned the “About Us” just under the picture of the attractive woman. Learning that the human pictured above was actually the director of Living Tree drum circle, Rose decided to join whatever volunteer gig this organization had.

At first, she found nothing but times and dates of performances and rehearsals. Why had it been listed under volunteer organizations?

Then, under “Upcoming Events” she found the reason. This year’s soup kitchen will take place at St. Francis in Southeast DC. Please follow the link below to get directions.

The event had been posted only two days ago.

Rose followed the link and got not only directions but also a phone number. Arousal still very much in evidence, she picked up her cell phone and made the call.

* * * *

Ama Bediako taped up her poster of three wolves howling at the moon. She was in her “temporary” office, the one she would occupy for the next calendar year, from June first to May thirty-first. She and her drum circle were partnering with a local church, St. Francis, which Ama had largely chosen because St. Francis was the patron saint of animals, at least in the Christian religion. She liked to think she’d picked this church for more practical reasons too, but this was the one which kept returning. Ama supposed she would have to accept that.

With the poster hung to her satisfaction, she returned her attention to the desktop planner. Each Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday block was divided in half. The top held the soup to be featured that night and the bottom held the entertainment that would be present for the three hours while the homeless and hungry were served. She’d been putting these events together for almost five years and had come to believe that entertainment was as crucial as the food.