Not a member?     Existing members login below:

I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves

All Stories By C. Gockel & Contact Info
First and foremost, I want to thank my editor, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story
more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Gretchen Almoughraby. Her suggestions
helped me clarify situations and make the action more believable. Also indispensable was Laura
Stogdill. She consulted on legal aspects of this story. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth
reference, my dad James Merril Evans lent a hand in editing for content, and my mother and
Christina Talbott-Clark helped with editing for grammar (I should note, if you see mistakes they
are mine and mine alone). All of my readers weren’t afraid to tell me when I screwed up; for that
I am eternally grateful. For all their hard work, my editors may pop up in the story from time to
time. I wish I could reward them more.
I also want to thank all of my fan fiction readers. Your encouragement helped give me the
confidence to write this story. I love you guys!
Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t nagged at me to quit my job and
work for him I still might be caught in a nine-to-five grind and the commute time would have
eaten up my writing time. And if he hadn’t nagged me to stop writing fan fiction and start writing
something I can own, this story never would have happened.
(But don’t worry fanfic readers, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave you entirely! You’re too
much fun.)
Chapter 1
The gas station bathroom off route 44 is completely lined with white tiles. Overhead a
fluorescent light buzzes and flickers slightly. The bathroom smells like urine and Pinesol. A toilet
with a cracked seat sits on one side of the little room. On the other is an ancient sink, hanging off
the wall.
The toilet is unoccupied. The sink is not. In it is a writhing wet creature about the size of a
dachshund but heavier set and tailless, with short, dark gray fur interspersed with tufts of light
gray. Holding the creature under a cloud of foul smelling antiseptic soap bubbles from the
bathroom dispenser is Amy Lewis.
A splash of suds comes right at Amy’s eyes. Blinking, she looks up at the mirror above the
sink for a moment. Her long dishwater blonde hair is wet and plastered to her head where it isn’t
pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her wide blue eyes have dark circles from lack of sleep – she