Wolf

On Monday, Christa walked back into the same building she’d entered nearly a week ago. The same women were sitting at the various reception areas. The one at the entrance to the building gave her another look of pity, recognizing her. There was no receptionist on the tenth floor.
“Hello?” she called towards Mr. Reese’s office.
The door creaked open a moment later, but Mr. Reese did not appear. The wolf did. She stiffened as the animal stared at her, unblinking. It left the office door and approached her. She backed up a step, but the wolf didn’t hesitate. It came to stand in front of her and looked up at her with large yellow eyes. It searched her gaze and for a moment Christa felt like she wasn’t looking into the eyes of a wolf, but the eyes of a man-
“Benoit!” Wolffe said sharply. He’d appeared at the door of his office. The wolf looked away from Christa and growled at his master. Christa’s eyes widened at the feral sound. The two stood staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then the wolf walked back towards the door.
As soon as the animal entered, Wolffe shut him in the office and came out into the office area. “This will be your desk,” he said, motioning to the large reception desk.
“W-what happened to the other woman?”
“She had requested a transfer to a different department and until today I didn’t have the resources to move her around. She should be in soon to give you a lesson on all my software, then you will take over her duties.”
“Which include what?”
“You act as my personal assistant. Keeping my schedule, typing up letters, things like that. You can type can’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Of course that was a silly question. In today’s day and age the oddities are the ones that can’t type.” He seemed bitter about that.
“Progress,” Christa tried for a light tone.
He smiled slightly. “Debateable.”
“You don’t like computers?”
He snorted. “It took me forever to learn to use one.”
Christa frowned. “You don’t look that old.” She immediately covered her mouth.
Wolffe tried to hide his smile. Yes, he did look particularly good for someone who should have died over a hundred and fifty years ago. “Age isn’t the years, it’s the mileage,” he said. Knowing this young woman, Wolffe felt as if she could almost compete with him in that aspect.
He regretted his comment almost immediately. Christa’s slight smirk disappeared. “Yeah,” she mumbled.
With an inward sigh, Wolffe went back to outlining her duties until his old secretary came in to review the software. Then he slunk back into his office.

Benoit was bored. He stared out the window, his eyelids drooping. He couldn’t understand how dogs did this all day. Sit around and sleep or eat or gnaw on chunks of dead animal. Wolffe wasn’t even around to bother.
There was a noise that came from outside the office. Benoit’s ear pricked in the direction the sound had come from. That new secretary puttering around. She made much more noise that the previous woman Wolffe had had sitting at that desk.
Hmm, he thought standing and slinking towards the door. He opened it without much difficulty, even though it opened in, and walked out to stand in the doorway. The woman was standing at the wooden filing cabinets, mumbling to herself.
Well at least this was some form of entertainment. He lay down gracefully and watched the woman, still not seeing whatever qualities that made her so special to Wolffe. He sat there for several minutes before she noticed him.
She gasped at seeing him there. He didn’t move, for some reason not wanting to startle her. In most instances, he got a good laugh out of scaring his brother’s staff. But Wolffe was right; this girl was different somehow. And she looked genuinely afraid of him.
They stared at each other. Finally, Benoit tilted his head in an attempt to dispel the tension. It didn’t work. She still had the appearance of a deer in the headlights.
Without quite knowing why he was doing it, Benoit stood and walked slowly, non- threatingly, towards her. She didn’t move. When he was five feet from her, he dropped back to his haunches again. He wondered if she had had some sort of episode when she still didn’t move.
Still asking himself what he was doing, he dropped to his belly and laid his head on his paws. He looked up at her, trying his tamest look. Still it took her another good five minutes for her heat rate to slow and her pupils to shrink. She relaxed slightly and lowered the files she had in her hand.
Somewhere, something wined. Benoit was shocked to realize that it had emitted from his throat. He had never wined, ever, for anything.
But it seemed to do the trick. The girl softened and squatted down. Hesitantly, she put her hand out towards him. Benoit slowly stuck his nose out and licked her hand gently. The girl stroked his head and some instinct told Benoit to roll onto his back for a belly rub. Even as he was thinking what a stupid instinct that was, he went belly-up.
The girl smiled and rubbed his upturned stomach. And like any other dog, Benoit enjoyed it. What the hell was going on here? Never had he enjoyed anything that a normal dog would, including belly rubs. But like Wolffe said, this girl was different.

Wolffe came in after his meeting and with a small smile for Christa, went back into his office.
“I forgot to mention that I talked to Esmeralda last night,” he said to Benoit. There was no response. He looked under his desk, where Benoit usually sulked if he wasn’t sitting by the window. No Benoit.
“Merde,” he mumbled a few other choice words in French as he walked out of the office. Christa wasn’t paying attention until Wolffe appeared in front of her. She jumped a little.
“Have you seen Benoit?” he asked without preamble.
“Oh, uh.” She looked under her desk. “He’s right here.”
“Quoi?” he demanded. He came around the desk, peeking under it. Sure enough, Benoit’s yellow eyes were peering back at him. “Qu'est-ce que tu fais?” he asked, unaware that he had slipped back to his native tongue
Benoit didn’t answer him; not by growling or by the thoughts in his head. But he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was feeling the same thing that Wolffe himself had: there was something about this girl that softened even the wolf’s cold heart.
Wolffe just stared, aware that his jaw was hanging open.
“Sir?”
He shook his head to clear it. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…Benoit does not like many people. He doesn’t even really like me.”
“He just-came out about an hour ago and made himself at home,” she said, patting the wolf’s large head. Benoit closed his eyes and a grumble of contentment rumbled in his throat.
Wolffe blinked rapidly, sure he was seeing things. Perhaps he was dreaming. The witch was making him see things.
“Sir?” Christa asked more slowly. He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud.
“Forgive me. I’m just…astonished.”
“He’s pretty good company.”
Wolffe gave and un-gentlemanly-like snort. “Quite,” he mumbled. “Well I guess he’s doing no harm out here as long as he doesn’t interfere with business.” The warning was directed at Benoit, but Christa’s face fell.
“I won’t let him distract me,” she murmured.
“I’m not worried about you,” Wolffe was quick to assure her. “I just don’t want him scaring off my business associates.”
Christa smiled. “He’s that bad?” she asked.
“Worse,” Wolffe said.
“I have to admit, he was pretty terrifying at first. I wonder what made him warm up to me?”
“So do I,” Wolffe grumbled.

That thought kept Wolffe from doing anything productive for the rest of the day. Benoit had hated everyone since he had decided to accept the curse. His only enjoyment came from making people miserable. He hadn’t truly cared for anyone since…
Wolffe found himself reaching for the second drawer on his desk, the one that was locked with a key. He put the appropriate key into the lock and the drawer slid smoothly open. He moved all the confidential files to the top of his desk and took another key from the ring and unlocked the hidden compartment. The papers in the drawer were laminated to preserve them. As old as they were, some of them should have disintegrated.
He pulled out the one he was searching for and stared at it. It was a picture of two girls; both in their late teens, both with black hair. One of them bore a striking resemblance to the witch Wolffe had consulted with.
The witch had a mischievous, knowing look in her eye as she smiled without showing her teeth to the camera. The other girl, however, had a look of innocence about her. She was smiling broadly, showing pearly white teeth. The picture didn’t do her justice. It didn’t show how incredibly long her lashes were, how delicate her cheekbones. How blue her eyes.
Eleanor. The last person Benoit-and himself-had ever cared about. Wolffe put the picture back in its place and locked it. And the last person he would ever care about again.