The diner of Potter Oaks was called The Canteen and sat squarely on the edge of Main and Nuttley. The size of a double wide, it housed twenty-five vinyl covered booths, a linoleum bar top complete with matching vinyl covered bar stools, a bakery case for homemade pies, and one very angry line cook, his two subordinates, and the lovely Miss Pines.

The walls were a melted cheese color of paled yellow orange, everything else covered in rich chocolate brown. The floor was black and white check and it squeaked against Peneloper Auttsley's slippers as she rocked them back and forth; uncomfortable with the impromptu dinner she was having with Crispen Heavensley at his request.

"Eat up," he said, moving the basket of smothered fries toward me. They were covered in cheese and gravy and made my stomach grow ravenous but I refrained. An uncomfortable feeling it was to be watched, worsened around dinnertime, and made absolutely awful considering Crispen had refused to tell me much about the train sighting I had had in my backyard this morning.

We had walked around Main Street for hours, glancing in windows, meandering into shops, Crispen searching for more undesireables to rescue from the bottom shelves (though nothing had caught his attention), sitting at every bench staring at the clouds in the sky. Crispen had pointed out a few of the fluffier nimbus and had told me they felt of goose down and made for great pillows.

Now, at his suggestion, I found myself a customer of The Canteen, ordering an entrée I hadn't wanted, sitting across from Crispen, his face unreadable. Why wouldn't he speak of the train more? Why won't he tell me of the train? A miserable frown slid across his face, gloom and doom in his eyes.

"Your fries are getting cold. A shame to let all that delicious hard work go to waste," he said, using my words to guilt me. How cruel. I placed a few slimy fries between my fingers and gobbled them up, the gravy catching on my chin. I used the back of my hand to wipe the dribble away. Crispen smiled, pleased. He still wouldn't tell me anything.

"I've shown you plenty," he reminded me as Miss Pines came over with our drinks. Crispen had a water, no lemon, and I had a cola. I set it aside, wanting the ice to melt and mix with the soda, and returned my gaze to Crispen.

"Why won't you tell me any more about the train?"

Crispen had not learned what Chantham had;  I was an unstoppable force and would never relent. Crispen sighed and stared out the window, his face resting on his balled up fist, his earring glittering in the sun. As the condensation grew on my cup and I was about to take my first sip of its refreshing nature, a familiar face poked up from the Canteen's entry way.

"Chant!" I yelled, surprised and relieved. Then the details of how we last parted filled my mind. The silence and the lingering. I had found no whys. I immediately put my hand down, unsure how to approach my dear friend. But Chant had heard me, saw Crispen and made his way over to us, Lyabelle and Rosen skipping in after him.

"Nep," he said, his attention on Crispen. His lips broke into a snarl. "Heavensley."

"Nep!" The twins said in tune with one another, barraging me with hugs and cheek kisses. I smiled back.

"How have you two been?" I asked, Lyabelle reaching for a heapful of the soggy fries.

"Bad," Rosen replied, her thin lips parting in an aggressive grin. "But that's our nature."

Lyabelle shook her head in agreement.

"If only Chant would accept that," Lyabelle added after swallowing her potatoes. I offered them to Rosen but she declined, dismissing my gesture with her hand, her gemmed eyes focused on Crispen. The family resemblance among the Luric children was uncanny.

"You smell weird," Rosen said, Lyabelle agreeing, her hand reaching for more fries. Rosen turned to Chant.

"Don't you agree?" she asked, but Chant just  held his gaze on Crispen.

"You smell weird too," Crispen answered, his eyes calm and kind. "Like fire and dirt."

"Watch it," Chant growled.

"I meant no offense," Crispen replied, the staring contest continuing. I sighed and reached for the half-eaten basket of fries. I hadn't the mind to care what was going on here; might I remind you a train appeared on my lawn and yet nothing had truly been addressed? My nerves were already grated upon this day, and no manner of alpha male display would grate them further. I resigned myself to troubled observer and took my soda to my lips as I continued watching Crispen's interaction with the Luric children.

Chant looked well rested and fully recovered. He wore the same sweats as he had yesterday, stains peppering the faded gray fabric around the thighs. He wore another tight shirt,  a crisp white one sans any stains. His hair had been let free and clung to his shoulders.

The twins wore matching dresses of cream lace and red roses, wool stockings, and brown lace up boots. There was something old maiden that resignated in their manner of dress. Their hair had been loosely curled and wrapped around red ribbon. They wore capes of cream and they held an air of antiquity I never really thought much about until then. Something about the twins made me think of Crispen.

It was then that Chant broke his gaze on Crispen to look at me, at the floor, and the panda slippers I wore around my feet. He sighed. He hated when I walked around in slippers.

"An indoor shoe doesn't belong outside," he'd chide. Regardless of what he wanted to be, he could not help how motherly he was.

He scoffed. "Again, Nep?" he asked, scratching at his head, Rosen holding onto his shirt while Lyabelle sat beside me.

"They're comfortable," I reminded him, finding amusement in just how bothered he was by it.

"I don't know what you are," Rosen spoke up, her commentary directed toward Crispen. "I don't like it though. You don't feel natural."

Crispen sighed.

"A typical response for a beast," he said. At this, Chant grabbed Heavensley's collar. I'd never seen Chant so aggressive.

"Best calm down. Peneloper is unaware of what you are," Crispen said and somehow, the mention of my name calmed Chant. He let Crispen go.

"What's all this about? Is Chant some sort of supernatural- Oh, Chantham, you are, aren't you?"

I sighed.

Why hadn't I figured it out sooner?

--------------------------------------------------

Three basket of smothered fries, two oreo milkshakes and three all-natural beef burgers later, and we were still on the subject of Chantham's blood. He sat next to me, Lyabelle next to him, and Rosen took up a spot next to Crispen, keeping him at arm's length, his smell annoying her nostrils. Chant had explained he was a half-breed, as well as the rest of his family, creatures that were of both Reflection and Reason. He hadn't known the reason why, he just knew it ran in their veins.

They were modernized werewolves of sorts, taking  their predatory forms on the full moons, terrorizing the smaller creatures, tearing apart deer and rabbit. Sometimes their prey took larger forms and on rare occassions, humans would fall prey to a half-breed's claws and teeth. The three of them looked sad when he had told me that. Apparently they didn't want such occurences to tarnish how I perceived them. I assured them it wouldn't. Humans were much crueler to each other than half-breeds that may have lost their logic to instinct.

He told me that aside from those full moons, they weren't very different from humans though they had a heightened sense of smell, better balance and agility than most, and were sensitive to the magical. That'd  been why Chant had warned me of Crispen. He had felt his magic but it was different than any he'd ever felt before and this raised all manner of alarm inside him.

Chant was protecting me, in the only way he could, without having to delve too deeply. I appreciated my friend's concern. He was true and honest and sweet. I wondered what kind of fur he doned come the full moon. His face soured when I had asked. Crispen found my questioning humorous. Some things never changed.

"It's white," Lyabelle chimed in, the milkshake placed in front of her on its last legs. Now it made sense how such a petite girl could be so relentless with food and drink. She attacked everything with fang and claw, even when it wasn't a full moon.

"White?" I asked. I was confused. You'd have thought his werewolf fur would resemble his human mane, one of austere polished obsidian. But his fur was white, apparently, and I disregarded with that the knowledge of everything that I thought I'd known about werewolves. I suggest you do the same.

"It sounds lovely, Chant. I would like to see your beast form one night."

At this, Rosen snickered, and Chant's face grew red.

"Blushing Chant?" I delighted. I'd never seen my friend blush in my presence before. With a swell of rose upon his cheeks, his masculine features softened to those of a shy boy. How darling.

"He's never been complimented about his fur before," Lyabelle answered, patting Chant on the back with a gloved hand. Chant turned and glared at her.

"Stop it, both of you," he added, turning to look at me, though his gaze settled slightly to my left.

"I've been meaning to ask, Nep, how come none of this bothers you?"

All eyes turned on me, waiting for my next words, but all I did was seek clarity.

"What do you mean?"

I stuck the last of a juicy double cheeseburger into my face, grease running down my chin and onto my fingertips. I was almost as bad at eating as I was at brushing my teeth.

"I'm a half-breed. All Lurics are half-breeds. Crispen turns into crows and none of this seems to bother you."

I looked at him puzzled.

"Is it supposed to bother me?" I asked, genuinely in need of an answer, but all I was met with were four bouts of laughter coming from my peers. I sighed. Perhaps I should pursue comedy after graduation. I never failed to make those closest to me break out into hysterics. Maybe this was part of my magic.