Stealing Butterflies

Chapter Three

There's always been a mystery on the reservation.

Well, for the pack anyway, because for everybody else, the mystery is  the pack. Teens gossip constantly about the whole "cult" thing we've got going on, and how we sell guns and have knives and tattoos and whatnot. It's actually pretty funny to hear some of the stories. All the students think we're so dog-tired in the mornings because we partied all night, when really I was just up till three patrolling.

Then again, for all the old women who have nothing to do but gossip, I guess this could be a mystery for them, too. I highly doubt the younger people would care. But, like I said, they're all way too busy gossiping about us to think about this other mystery.

Anyway, my point is that there is this really good recipe that makes brownies that are to die for. They are the absolute best chocolate creation in the entire world! Or, at least, Washington.

Only, nobody knows who invented them.

The debate has been going on forever, because several people have it. Mrs. Sue Clearwater was the first to use it. And she ended up getting a kitchen full of overgrown werewolves demanding chocolate, which probably wasn't good for her anxiety (no, really, it's pretty serious. She takes pills for it. Hah. That makes it sound like she's on drugs). So, anyway, she stopped making them because her nerves couldn't handle our awful manners and loud voices amplified by the tiny living space.

Then, the next week, Emily found an old brownie recipe that was her grandmother's and decided to "treat" us (as she says.) But she's constantly "treating" us, by simply feeding us, so I didn't really get what the special occasion was, but whatever. I mean, it's chocolate, who's going to complain? Not me, that's for sure.

Anyway, the brownies tasted exactly like Mrs. Sue's.

Naturally, we freaked out, and then I (being the smart person I am) asked if she stole it, which ended up in all of us chanting Emily's a thief, Emily's a thief, which wasn't very smart. So, she got pissed and that of course meant that Sam got pissed. And then we got several lectures about "maturity," and "behaving like gentlemen," which was pretty much a waste of time.

Then, several weeks or so after what has come to be called the Brownie Incident (so named by Brady), another baker discovered it. 

See, Brady loves to give names to every single happenstance, and code names to pretty much everybody, which gets him a lot of hell from the rest of the pack. But at least I got a cool one. I'm Silver Fox. Quil, on the other hand... well, he's the Pink Fairy. Yeah. Brady couldn't walk for a couple days after that.

Mrs. Connor cooked them. She's Collin's Aunt, so we did sort of have permission to storm in there after we smelled that delicious aroma and then beg to consume them (which we did and would've even if she hadn't said yes). But, then again, we weren't exactly invited.

So that leaves three women who insist that they had the recipe first. We've been trying to unravel it for years. Okay, not really. More like six months or so, but still.

And the worst part is they don't make them anymore.

So when I walked into the Clearwater's kitchen and saw a half-empty pan of these magical brownies wrapped up in plastic wrap, of course I spazzed.

I think I managed to keep it under control pretty well, though.

"OH MY GOD, it's the brownies!"