Spring 1969 – Flashing Knives and Rending Claws

 

The young woman’s face shifted from clouded to sunny in less than a second. Her eyes went wide. “You’re Aunt Rose!” she exclaimed. 

I did my best to match the wattage of her smile. I said, “So I’ve been told. Are those knives silver?”

She nodded. She said, “I’ve killed three werewolves with them. So far.”