We do not, most of us, choose to die;

nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death.

But within this realm of choicelessness,

we do choose how we live.

—Ambition: The Secret Passion, Joseph Epstein

This one’s for my own wolfy bad-boy rocker, Jim.

Red-Caped Hero Thanks

Paula Guran

I’m upgrading you from the usual “margarita thanks” to the Hero’s Cape for this one.

Java-n-Chocolate Thanks

Michelle, Melissa, Laura, Emily, Faith, Rachel, and Tracy

To my writing group, the Ohio Writer’s Network (OWN)

for reading, critiques, support, and the friendship. It’s priceless.

High-Frequency Thanks

Billy Nyte & Syrinx at NRRRadio.

Cookie Monster Thanks

Shannon & Co.

For reading and sharing baked goods. Yum!

Tour du Jour Thanks

Scollard. You always have answers.

Reverent Gratitude

For the Many-named Muse. You still rock.

Extra Thanks

To the copyeditors, reviewers, and bloggers and tweeters.

To Jolly Rancher because your Hot Cinnamon candy is inspiring. And to Zocalo for excellent food and service.

My living room clock read two-forty-six A.M. It was no longer Hallowe’en night, but All Hallows’ Day. Or, as some called it, All Saints’ Day. But it was no saint who held me in his arms—it was a waerewolf.

“I think you’d like my apartment, Red.” Red. That’s me. Persephone Alcmedi to the rest of the world. Seph to some. Red only to Johnny, my not-exactly-Big-Bad-waerewolf. “It has that open-living concept.”