Ten Silver Bullets
Author: Suzanne Robb; Chantal Boudreau; Rebecca Besser; Zoe Adams; R. S. Hunter; Brent Abell; Rebecca Snow; David Naughton-Shires; Douglas Vance Castagna
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Supernatural; Collections & Anthologies; Werewolves; Horror; Short Stories; Thriller
Description: The moon is full, the time has come for cursed souls to fall to their knees and become bloodthirsty creatures of the night. Welcome to this collection of werewolf and shifter tales, where nothing is as it seems and nowhere is safe from the recently transformed. With stories from some of the best writers in the genre, one thing is for sure. When it's all over... ...you'll be left howling for more.
Publisher: Crowded Quarantine Publications

TEN

SILVER

BULLETS

Edited by Adam Millard

First Published in the UK 2012

This edition published 2012

Copyright © Crowded Quarantine Publications 2012

The Moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9571033-3-7

© Crowded Quarantine Publications 2012
www.crowdedquarantine.co.uk

CONTENTS

BLOOD MOON – R.S. Hunter 5

COMPTIME – Rebecca Snow 30

RHODESIAN NIGHTS – Douglas Vance Castagna 45

PAWPRINTS ON A HEART – Zoe Adams 60

WHAT'S THE SCOOP? - Chantal Boudreau 77

THE STRENGTH OF A PACK – Rebecca Besser 91

YOU SAY CURSE, I SAY TOMATO – Suzanne Robb 112

US 20 – David Naughton-Shires 128

FOR OUR SINS: A FABLE – Brent Abell 139

AFTERWORD – Adam Millard 156

BLOOD MOON

By R.S. Hunter

I jerked awake as the phone rang like a gunshot in my apartment. The cold sweat that coated my body made my sheets stick to my limbs. They ensnared my legs, and in a moment of terror that carried over from my restless sleep, I tried to kick them off. I calmed down when I realized where I was.

“Damn,” I muttered. The taste of stale whisky coated my teeth and tongue.

The phone rang again, definitely not helping my hangover. I lunged for it and managed to pick it up on the third ring.

“What?” I growled.

The sky outside was dark, all the stars hidden by the clouds. Rain pattered against the glass. Too much goddamn rain for my liking.

“It’s Jackson,” the tired voice on the other end of the line said.

Officer William Jackson. Maybe the closest thing I have to a friend, and it’s mostly a plus that he’s a cop. Except for when I got calls at three in the fucking morning.

“Meet me at this address. It’s Frank Garcon’s place,” he said as he gave me the address of a house a little further up the river and away from the French Quarter where I lived. Not so far as to reach the really big mansions with the columns, the plantation homes.

“Can it wait?” I asked. Based on the nightmares I’d been having I didn’t want to go back to bed. But I sure as hell didn’t want to venture out in the rain to some goddamn Frank Garcon’s place. Who the hell was he anyway? Name didn’t ring a bell.

“No. Get here as soon as possible.”

Jackson hung up before I could complain again. I knocked the phone off the night stand in frustration and stood up. Clothes were scattered around my cramped one-room apartment. I found the cleanest ones and put them on.

Half-full bottles of booze sat on my tiny kitchen table. I didn’t care that they were out in the open. Were the cops going to raid me? Hell no. To me Prohibition was a toothless beast. A silver flask and one of my guns lay next to the bottles. I grabbed them both. Flask first, shaking it to see if it had anything left in it. Almost full. Good. I grabbed the revolver, spun open the chamber to make sure it was loaded. All six, perfect.

I hoped I wouldn’t need to use the gun, but you didn’t last long in this business if you showed up places unprepared. Never bring a knife to a gun fight. That kind of thing.

Gun and flask in hand, I headed to the coat rack standing near my front door. I stuck the gun in a shoulder holster and shrugged it on. I switched the flask to my opposite hand while I pulled on my overcoat. Its contents sloshed around inside. One drink before going? No. Best not to waste it now. Might need it after dealing with whatever Jackson needed me to see. Or to help drown out the voices in my head that screamed at me with words no mortal was ever supposed to hear.

I put the flask inside my coat pocket, again not caring about the laws. Finally, I grabbed my hat and pulled it low on my head, creating shadows to partially hide my features. The rain pounded the sidewalk as I opened the front door. I sighed. Damn rain. I stepped outside into the early morning gloom. Water fell off the brim of my hat in a complete circle around my head.

I walked through the streets, both cursing the hour but also enjoying the solitude it gave me. The Quarter’s gas lamps flickered, and in other sections of the city, electric lights shone weakly. Every now and then the clouds broke, letting the round moon help light the way. Around me, New Orleans smelled like bananas and all the other smells coming from the port, dampness and fish. The smell of baking bread cut through it here and there as some bakeries started early. Finally, the rain started to let up.

Silhouetted under the streetlights, I saw a handful of whores. Wishful thinking on their part. Most of their clients had already passed out or purchased the services of their better looking companions. Some of them called out to me, half-heartedly, but we both knew they didn’t mean it. Like me, they just wanted to be inside, preferably asleep.

That was New Orleans for you. An old city, full of people, history, and magic. All of them brought from all corners of the globe. One of the perks or curses, depending on your perspective, of being a bustling port city.

After a short while the buildings changed to partly spread out houses, and I reached the home of Frank Garcon. A police car was parked against the curb. The house was stately but not overdone. As I walked up the front walkway, I saw the orange tip of a cigarette glowing on the front porch. Jackson waiting for me. The electric lamps flanking the front door were on, casting harsh shadows across Jackson’s face. It made the pock marks on his face look deeper than they were.

“Jackson,” I said, sticking out my hand.

“Sam,” he replied, taking one last drag on his cigarette before dropping it on the porch. He put it out with his heel then gave my hand a firm shake.

“Where’s the body?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say there was a body on the phone.”

I shrugged. “There’s always a body.”

“Inside.”

Jackson turned around and opened the front door, gesturing for me to follow him. The inside of the house was classy. Polished floors like I expected. Nothing too fancy, but well-off enough to maybe warrant a live-in servant or two. The first floor’s shutters were all drawn shut, and the inside was lit by electric lights. The rain had started up again, pattering against the roof and the iron fixtures on the outside of the house.

I followed Jackson up the staircase from the large entrance foyer to the second story. My feet left damp spots on the ivory coloured carpet upstairs. We stopped before what looked like the door to a bedroom. I narrowed my eyes at the sight of it. Big, heavy wood. I saw iron bands running along it, holding the thick planks together. When the light hit the door just right, I saw tiny etchings on the surface. Most folk would have thought they were decorative and nothing more. I knew better. Jackson knew better, or at least he knew enough to call me.

“It’s not pretty in there,” he said.

“If I wanted pretty I would’ve found some company and stayed in bed.”

He nodded then turned and pulled on the door. Even though he tried to hide it, I could see him straining to get it moving. Damn. The door must have been heavier than I first thought.

Once he got the gap wide enough, I stepped past him, stopped short, and gasped. Now I’ve seen things, terrible things. I was in Europe during and after the Great War. The memories of those events stayed with me, even over ten years later. But even before then, I’d seen inhuman things no man was meant to see. But this was enough to give me pause.

Blood coated almost every surface in the room: the floor, the walls, some of it had even splattered itself on the ceiling, sticky and cloying. There was a woman’s corpse near the middle of the room, the source of all the blood. I was only able to tell it was a woman because of the clothes and the long blonde hair that fanned out around the shredded head and face. Her chest and throat had been brutally torn open. Broken tips of ribs stuck up into the air like jagged teeth around a gaping mouth.

“The maid says she found Mrs. Garcon like that maybe an hour ago,” Jackson said.

And where was Frank Garcon? Right now he was probably the number one suspect. I took a step closer, ignoring the blood that coated the soles of my shoes. I peered down into the chest cavity.

“The heart’s gone,” I said.

He looked down at the body and nodded, lips pressed tightly together.

“What does it mean?” he asked, looking like he was trying to keep his mouth shut as much as possible.

“Could be lots of things.”

I frowned as I stared at the body. Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just because of the missing heart. I sniffed the air, and aside from the coppery scent of blood, that was it. Maybe only a very faint stench of death. No flies buzzing around the body. The corpse was fresh, very fresh.

“How long do I have?” I asked.

“Maybe an hour. That’s as long as the maid was willing to give you. She wants more of us,” he gestured toward his uniform, “here. She almost didn’t let you come.”

I circled around the body, inspecting it from different angles. Once I got over the initial shock, I wasn’t bothered by the carnage. She wasn’t alive anymore, so there was no reason to be bothered by the sight. It was just a hunk of meat and bone.

“What’d you tell the maid?”

Jackson backed away from the body, hovering near the open door. “I told her you were a specialist we called in for special or unusual cases.”

“Sounds about right.”

I turned my attention away from the body and inspected the room. It was a fairly large room near one of the house’s corners. It could have been used as a guest bedroom. The walls were decorated with plain wallpaper, but now they were covered with blood and what looked like deep gouge marks. The windows were narrow, little more than slits protected by iron bars. Iron bars…on the inside?

I wandered over to one of the windows and tested the bars. They didn’t budge an inch when I pulled on them, and like I guessed, they were made of solid iron. I spotted a latticed skylight set into the ceiling almost directly above the body. There were even bars reinforcing the lattice work. I followed the line from the skylight down to the ground.

“Damn,” I muttered.

I took a step forward and squatted down underneath the skylight. There was a huge circle inlaid in the floor, easily three or four feet in diameter. And then I spotted the second one a few inches inside the first one. I touched them and a tiny shock ran through my body. Well this was interesting. The smaller circle was made of iron, but the larger one was made of silver. Despite the blood splatters, the metal still gleamed. More lines of silver and iron ran inside the circles and created a multi-sided star. This was one hell of a containment circle. The person who had made it knew what they were doing.

“Somebody didn’t want whatever was in here to get out,” I said.

Still squatting, I looked up at the skylight. I could only see swirling clouds through it, but then all of a sudden they broke. The moon’s scarred face looked down at me. Slowly an idea began to form in my head. I resisted the urge to pull out the flask to help it along. Jackson was a good colleague, but only a half-friend. It’d make my life a lot harder if I defied the law right in front of him.

I looked closer at the circles. Apprehension grew in my stomach. Parts of them were broken. Tiny pieces less than a half inch long had been removed. You had to be right down on the floor to notice them. The containment circle had been tampered with… the circle, the moon, the way the body had been mutilated.

“What day’s today?” I demanded.

“Tuesday the fourth,” he replied. “Why?”

“Shit.”

“What? Do you know who did this?”

“Do the Garcons have any kids?” I asked.

“No. Just Mr. and Mrs. Garcon lived here.”

I nodded. “Okay. Then Frank Garcon’s a werewolf.”

Jackson just stared at me, blinked a few times, then finally opened his mouth to speak. “A what?” he asked.

“A werewolf, or a loup garou if you prefer the français.”

“I thought with all the pentagrams and carvings that this was devil worship.”

“Jackson,” I said, taking a step toward him. I crossed my arms in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you? Just ‘cause there’s a ‘pentagram’ doesn’t mean it’s Satanic.”

“I just thought—“

“Do me a favour and stop thinking for a minute. Just listen,” I snapped.

He glowered at me, but thankfully he shut up. I wasn’t in the mood to have to argue with him.

“Frank Garcon’s a werewolf, and he knew it.” I gestured down at the floor. “These circles and runes are basically a magic prison cell. Wouldn’t do shit with an ordinary person, even Frank when he’s unchanged could come and go as he pleased. But as soon as something magical gets inside it’s not getting out.”

“Then how’d Frank get out? Something killed Mrs. Garcon,” Jackson said, sounding pleased that he potentially tripped me up.

“That’s the thing. He shouldn’t have been able to get out.”

I looked once more at the body of Mrs. Garcon lying on the floor. What was Frank thinking as he tore through his wife’s chest and ripped her heart out? Did he even know what he was doing at the time? Probably not. Werewolves dipped into this well of primal instinct. I’d seen one over in Scotland back before the turn of the century. Wasn’t a pretty sight.

“He shouldn’t have been able to get out,” I repeated. “Not until after the full moon set, but somebody tampered with his precautions.”

Jackson stepped past me and gingerly over the body. He kept his head high as he did. He walked over to one of the gouges in the wall and ran his fingers along it, probing it.

“Look at the damage here,” he said. “Frank must have been loose for a while before killing Mrs. Garcon.”

The walls of the room were covered with lots of deep scratch marks, all the way through the wallpaper and into the wood of the house.

“Maybe Mrs. Garcon knew of her husband’s…condition.”

He nodded. “She must have heard him thrashing around, making more noise than usual, and went to check on him.”

I nodded. That made perfect sense. Mrs. Garcon came upstairs to check things out. She went inside the room and never came out. By now, weak sunlight started to filter through the windows and skylight. It made the blood on the ground look a brighter shade of red instead of a dark almost purple crimson. I checked my wristwatch, a handy little thing I picked up during the War. Soldiers used to wear them. You couldn’t fumble with a chain while shells were falling around you.

It was almost dawn now, and coming from downstairs, I could hear the maid shuffling around and making noise. Too much time must have gone by without her seeing the arrival of more police officers. I had to leave soon to keep things from getting uncomfortable for Jackson. I didn’t have the best relationship with most of New Orleans’ police officers.

“I better leave before the maid calls the cops, again,” I said.

“I’ll drive you back.”

I shook my head. “Go back to the station so you can one of the first ones here. Spin this however you want, but try to keep it away from werewolves.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not, but I don’t need any amateurs coming out of the bayou and getting in my way.”

I pulled out a white handkerchief from my pocket and bent down next to the body. I dabbed at some of the blood coating the edges of her chest cavity. I also picked a few short, coarse grey hairs loose from the fabric of her clothes.

“What’s that for?” he asked. “Evidence?”

“Something like that.” I wrapped the handkerchief up and put it back in my pocket.

The two of us looked at Mrs. Garcon’s body one last time, then turned and left the room. We headed downstairs and out the front door.

“Where’re you headed?” Jackson asked as we reached the front porch.

“To bed,” I said blinking in the early morning sun. “Garcon’s a werewolf. I don’t have to worry about him killing again until next month.”

“That’s real compassionate.”

I shrugged. I didn’t get paid for compassion.

Jackson climbed into his car and drove away while I walked along the streets. The city started to come alive as the sun came up. More cars filled the roads; newspaper boys hawked their papers from the street corners.

I lied to Jackson. I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. I couldn’t sleep now. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I pulled out my flask and took a long pull. I coughed slightly and scrambled to hide it from view as another police car drove by. Maybe it was Jackson already on his way back to the Garcon’s house. I couldn’t tell. As soon as the police car turned the corner, I took the flask back out and drained it. I wouldn’t be able to drink more until I refilled it back at my apartment, but I didn’t care. I needed it right then and there. The alcohol’s warmth radiated out from the centre of my stomach, going all the way to my fingers and toes.

It was almost four years to the day since I had walked out on my previous employer. The nightmares always got worse every time the anniversary drew near. You don’t work as an executioner and hit man for the Sidhe for years and then simply walk away. Even though that life was behind me, my past was still plainly visible for any who had the Gift. But for normal people or even people like Jackson--those on the cusp of seeing how fucked up their world truly is, my past was invisible.

Since the sun was already up, I decided to head to a different part of the city. There was an untrained witch that I needed to shake down for information about another case. I needed money, and I had bills to pay, bootleg liquor to buy. I squinted as the sun continued to rise and listened to the conversations around me—English and French of different dialects all mixed together to create their own patois. Frank Garcon’s case was high profile, but also low priority for the time being. The loup garou could wait.

*

I fumbled for my keys, trying to balance my recent purchases in my other hand. Occult books mostly, just a little bit of light reading before bed. It was past midnight, almost dawn, and the streetlight near my apartment was out. Trying to force my key into the lock in the dark wasn’t my idea of a good time. Thankfully, the clouds parted and a shimmer shaft of moonlight shone down around me. Damn that was bright…Almost as if it was—

“Shit,” I swore as I looked up at the sky.

The moon hovered hugely just above the horizon, almost a complete white orb. Only a tiny sliver was still dark. How could it almost be a full moon again? It had only been a little more than a couple weeks since Jackson and I went to Frank Garcon’s house, right? I closed my eyes and leaned against my door, letting my forehead rest against the wood. How could I have been so stupid? Losing track of time when there was a werewolf involved, that was just sloppy. Sloppy got you killed.

I finally got the door open and stumbled inside. I dropped the books on the ground and made my way to the table. I collapsed into one of the chairs and reached for one of the bottles. I took a long drink, sputtering at the poor quality of the booze. After a few seconds the alcohol did its job, calming my nerves and focusing my mind, even though the room swam a tiny bit.

Frank Garcon was now my number one priority. He must know that the full moon was coming; he could probably feel it in its blood. He’s already killed his wife. He was out there somewhere in the city or the bayous without his safety nets. He was dangerous and unpredictable, and unless I could find him soon, a lot of innocent people were going to die.

I staggered to my feet and made my way to an antique armoire I kept against the wall. I didn’t know how old it was, but it was made from gnarled oak, and the front doors were covered in protective runes. And to keep unwanted non-magical folk out, I also had a giant lock to keep the doors shut. I reached into my shirt and pulled out the key I wore around my neck.

I unlocked the lock and threw open the cabinet. Swords and knives of all sizes lined the inside of the cabinet. Not what I was looking for. I didn’t want to fight Frank at close range. Instead I reached for the guns and ammo that coated the shelves inside the cabinet. I opened a small wooden box and almost threw it against the floor in frustration. What the fuck was wrong with me the past few months? I was losing my edge. Why hadn’t I had more silver bullets made? Only four silver slugs inscribed with Celtic runes gleamed up at me from inside the box. The Sidhe would have tortured me for a week if I had made a mistake like that.

“Fuck it. They’ll have to do.”

I loaded them into a revolver and grabbed a second one loaded with normal bullets just in case. I shoved the gun with normal bullets into a shoulder holster and put the “wolf killer” into my coat pocket for easier access. No time to refill my flask this time. Damn. I hated doing these kinds of jobs stone sober.

I hurried out of my apartment and headed deep into the French Quarter. There were small shops there that claimed to house mediums and “psychics.” Most of them were fake. Con the tourists and idiots that came looking for a little bit of “Caribbean hoodoo” or whatever. Not this one, though. Only the right people with connections knew that Solange was the real deal. She was part of New Orleans’ community, and she heard things. A good place for information if you could afford her prices.

I didn’t run there, but I didn’t try for subtlety, either. Thankfully there were still lights on inside the small brick building. A painted sign hanging above the door advertised Solange’s various services: palm reading, crystal ball gazing, tarot, and even séances. The standard stuff.

I went into her shop, brushing aside the strands of beads hanging from the inside of the doorway. The place smelled of spices and cooked chicken, maybe left over from dinner.

“Come in, come in. Sit down.” Solange’s voice came from deeper within the shop that doubled as her home. Her accent was thick as if she had just come from one of the Caribbean islands. Tourists probably thought it made her sound more mystical or something.

Under the dim lighting, I made my way through the entryway and found the familiar round table covered with a thick, purple tablecloth. The edges of the circular tablecloth were decorated with elaborate representations of the signs of the zodiac along with the sun and the moon. I sat down and drummed my fingers against the table, a way to let out my frantic energy.

Solange appeared through another beaded doorway and slowly made her way to the table. She smiled when she saw it was me. Even though her brown face was wrinkled and shrivelled, her eyes shone brightly in the low lighting. Her grey dreadlocks hung well past her shoulders.

“Ah, Sam,” she said. Her accent lessened. She exaggerated it when regular customers came to her place. “Somehow I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon.”

“A vision?”

She shrugged as if to say maybe. Her eyes laughed at me.

I took a stack of bills out of my pocket and set them down on the table, probably more than I should have been spending. But I needed to make sure I had the best info. She took the money and made it disappear somewhere under the table.

“What do you need to know, my boy?”

“What do you know about a man named Frank Garcon?” I asked.

“The loup?”

“Was I the only one who didn’t know?” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

She waited for me to continue.

“He killed his wife,” I told her. “Ate her heart right out of her chest.”

Solange’s smile faded. A troubled look came over her face. It made her look ancient.

“His wards were good,” she said.

I shook my head. “Somebody tampered with them. The circles were broken when I went to his house.”

“I haven’t heard anything about that.”

Damn. I don’t think I’d ever heard her say she hadn’t heard something before. Wonderful. “Do you know where he is?”

Her dreadlocks swayed as she shook her head.

“Can you find him with these? They’re a couple of weeks old.”

I pulled out the handkerchief with the fur and blood and handed it to her. She put them on the table and closed her eyes. She placed her palms on top of them and took deep breaths. The air in the room seemed to get colder, and the lights flickered. I licked my lips. Damn I wished I had a drink. Solange continued to run her hands over the bloody handkerchief. Underneath the taut skin of her eyelids, I could see her eyes twitching back and forth.

“I hear water. Smell salt,” Solange murmured. “Sounds of ships. In the port. A white tree and red bricks. There’s fear in the air.” She opened her eyes and gasped for air. The lights and temperature in her place returned to normal. “That’s all I can get from these. If you had come sooner I could have gotten a better read.”

I looked away. “I lost track of time.”

“Foolish boy,” she chided, but there was genuine concern in her voice. “You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

I started to look down at my watch, but she interrupted me.

“Tonight is the lune de sang. The blood moon,” she said. “The creature’s blood frenzy will be at its highest point all year.”

Wonderful. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good luck,” she said.

*

My nerves were on edge from the countless cups of coffee I drank during the day. A smart man would have tried to sleep or done other things to prepare. All I did was alternate between coffee and booze. Sometimes both mixed together. Acid bubbled in my stomach as I stalked the streets down on the waterfront near the port. Rows and rows of nearly identical warehouses lined the streets. Thankfully, the streets were deserted as Jackson had come through for me after I called him asking him to clear out the port. But there were still too many warehouses for me to check. All I had to go on was something about a goddamn white tree.

The sun had already sunk below the horizon, and night was fast approaching. I wanted to draw my coat tighter around myself, but I needed to keep my guns easily accessible. It was a big fucking gamble waiting until almost dark to go after Frank. But it would’ve been a lot harder to clear out the area during the day; questions without easy answers would have been asked. And I bet that he would have been holed up somewhere during the day. He’d be out in the open tonight.

I wandered around stacks of wooden crates and barrels. There were a few parked cars and trucks scattered around. I could hear rats scurrying around in the shadows. Maybe they knew where Frank was hiding. Sadly, I’d never heard of anyone with the power to speak to or control rats. I had to do this the old fashioned way.

The last of the sun’s light faded, and the first twinkling stars filled the bruised sky. No clouds in sight. They might have bought me a little more time before Frank transformed, though I doubted it with the Blood Moon being out tonight.

I was nearing the end of one of the rows of warehouses. I squinted in the darkness, trying to see anything, any sign that would give me a clue. Cold sweat started to collect under my arms. Definitely more from the approaching hangover than fear. My head pounded in time with my pulse. I could feel it in my temples, a goddamn drum beat.

I stopped for a second to steady myself and patted my coat pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of the gun inside it. Four bullets would have to be enough. Something caught my eye as I looked down at my feet. A dark coloured stain of some kind. Not motor oil. I squatted down to get a closer look. Blood. Fairly fresh. Maybe only a couple of days old. I looked up at the warehouse closest to me. There, painted on the side—Aspen Shipping. Their logo was a white tree. I was close.

I drew the gun with the silver bullets and raised it. Despite the hangover, my hands were still steady. The blood trail lead deeper into the shadows, into an alley between two of the Aspen Shipping warehouses. Whose blood was it? Frank’s or somebody else’s? There was a stack of crates taller than me near the back of the alley, almost like a barricade. The blood trail stopped in front of the barricade. I hesitated, shifting the grip on my gun. Nothing moved except for a slight breeze coming off the water. If Frank was back there, he had to know I was out here.

“Frank?” I called out. “Frank Garcon?”

There was no reply, but I thought I heard something shift and move behind the barricade.

“Come on out Frank. I just want to talk,” I said. “I’m Sam Fortune, a private eye. I know what you are.”

“You should leave!” A trembling voice called from the back of the alley.

“I can’t do that Frank. Just come talk,” I urged. If he had heard of me, then he probably knew I was going to kill him. It wasn’t my first choice, but it was definitely the most expedient solution.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Frank said, either to himself or to me I didn’t know. “We had precautions. They should have worked.”

I licked my lips. “The wards? I saw those. They were damn good, but somebody messed with them. Do you know who?”

“No! Where’s my wife? Where is she? I think I killed her.”

What? Did he not remember tearing his wife’s heart out weeks ago?

“She’s dead, Frank. Come on out of there. We’ll talk about it,” I said trying to make my voice sound as reassuring as possible. “You killed her, but I’m not a cop. I’m not going to arrest you.”

An almost animal sounding wail erupted from behind the barricade. Finally it trailed away and his voice, rougher now, returned. “No! I can’t go with you. I can’t let them catch me! I’m a killer. Nobody will listen to me.”

His voice trailed away with those last words, as if he was speaking through a mouth not designed for talking. Oh shit! I spared a quick glance at the night sky, only to see the giant red tinged moon hanging directly above us. I dove to the ground as a grey blur launched itself through the air from behind the barricade. I swore was my knee banged against the concrete, and I nearly lost my grip on my pistol. Frank snarled as his leap carried him past me.

I rolled over to my back, trying to get back on my feet. I squeezed the trigger twice and the pistol barked in my hand, almost overpowering the werewolf’s roar. Impossibly fast, Frank dodged to one side and the bullets went wide. Spent. Wasted. Fuck. I tried to line up my next shot, but he tensed for a split second before jumping up onto the warehouse roofs, kicking dust and loose shingles down at me.

Gun in hand I ran out of the alleyway into the more open row of warehouses. Every couple of steps I looked over my shoulder, trying to see if he was following me. He was faster than I thought he would be. The orange Blood Moon must have enhanced his powers. Even the enhancements the Sidhe gave me might not be enough to take him down, especially since I wasted the element of surprise.

A lithe silhouette ran along the rooftops, leaping across the gaps, a black blur against the moon and stars. Every few seconds Frank would howl, a scream that froze the blood in my veins. I had to get away from the docks, into the more populated sections of the city. There he might get distracted by easier prey. Was that cold? Of course it was, but it was my life on the line. Better somebody else than me.

I saw the main boulevard that led toward my possible escape. My lungs burned as I forced myself to run faster. Still not fast enough. I looked behind me right as Frank leaped once more. I threw up my arms to protect my face as the speeding mass of muscle and fur smashed into me. My back smacked against the ground, driving the air out of my lungs. Bright lights of pain exploded in my vision, and I bit through part of my tongue. We were a jumbled mass of tangled limps as we rolled along the ground, carried by the force of his attack. We came to a stop on the hard ground, with Frank’s completely transformed face inches from mine.

Drool dripped from his slavering jaws onto my face, and two burning lupine eyes stared at me. Rows and rows of fangs and razor sharp teeth. I threw up my left arm, driving my elbow into the werewolf’s snout. I used it to force his jaws away from my throat. My muscles strained in protest, and my body was still moving too slowly. Stunned from the impact. Dimly, I remembered that my other hand still held the gun with my last silver bullets. I fought a desperate, flailing struggle to keep him from tearing into me. I pried my gun arm free from his grip as his claws tore right through my coat, shirt, and skin, but I didn’t feel the pain.

I shoved the gun to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. The gunshot muffled all other sounds, and instantly Frank’s body went limp. The snout shrank back into a human nose and the fur retreated back into his skin. Almost as quickly as he had transformed, he turned back into a man. His limp body pressed down on top of me. Even without all his extra muscle, he was still heavy. I lay there for a second, gasping for breath as blood and other gore leaked out of the exit wound. The streams of blood ran down the side of his head and dripped down onto me. I didn’t care that it ruined my jacket and shirt. I’d buy ten new jackets to celebrate the fact that I had just beat a werewolf in close combat.

I caught my breath and rolled his naked, cooling corpse off of me. The pain coming from the gouges in my arm hit me, and I clenched my jaw shut to stop from shouting. Damn. I really needed a drink this time. At least I hadn’t been bitten. Then I would have been royally fucked.

I gingerly climbed to my feet, wincing as more pain fought its way up and down my body. No broken bones, but I knew I would be sore for weeks. I put the gun back in my pocket and started to limp away from the corpse. Jackson could take care of that.

One thought ate away at my giddiness. I still had no idea who had tampered with Frank’s wards. I couldn’t question either of the Garcons anymore. I was no closer to figuring out why all this happened than when I started. More importantly, it meant I had no idea who to demand payment from. Shit. I hated pro bono work.

COMPTIME

By Rebecca Snow

“As of now, all requests for overtime are denied,” Ms. Morgan-Jones said. Pounding her palm on the lacquered conference table, she left behind a hand-shaped smear. “No more frivolous waste. Our bottom line is too high, and we need to bring costs down.” She dropped into the mesh-backed office chair and stared at her gathered employees. “You all need to work harder while you’re on the clock, so you can finish your daily tasks. No more breaks to show your neighbor the latest trending YouTube video, I don’t care if the new monitors are more lifelike than looking out a picture window. No catching up at the water cooler for twenty minutes on Monday about weekend dalliances. This is not a reality show, people. And no more pawning your work on someone who’s already done his own. You pull your own weight, or I’ll find someone who will.” She peered over the top of her black rimmed spectacles, making eye contact with each of her workers in turn. “Understand?”

Slow nods peppered the room. A whispered chorus of “Yes, ma’ams” slithered from the dedicated staff.

“Good,” Ms. Morgan-Jones said. She pushed herself up from the swiveling chair and gathered papers from the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”

Folders swished closed. People scampered from the room as if they were nine-year-olds chasing an ice cream truck. As the last man reached the door, Ms. Morgan-Jones cleared her throat.

“Jeffrey.”

The young man flinched at the formality of his name. With one hand clutching a tortured black folder and the other wrapped around the tip of his tie, he turned to face his manager.

“Yes, ma’am?”

She squinted at him with her rouged lips pinched together in a thin line.

“Please close the door behind you.”

Releasing a stream of captured air, Jeff nodded and stepped into the hall. The door clicked shut, and he drooped onto the wall. A hand gripped his arm and began pulling him away from the conference room.

“Do you believe that witch?” Steve asked, dragging Jeff into the company break room.

The refrigerator droned in a corner as a final drip of brew clung to the coffee maker’s filter basket.

“After she delegated all of our parking spots to the handicapped last week, she’s pulling this stunt.” Steve emphasized his words by slamming a cabinet door. “I count on that overtime.”

“I hear you, man. My regular paycheck squeaks by to pay the bills.” Jeff nodded. “Any fun money comes from time and a half.”

Steve yanked open the icebox and eyed the microwavable dinners and questionable Tupperware.

“I guess we’re going to have to hang out at Starbucks for fun,” Jeff said. He leaned back on the counter, supporting himself on his hands. “No more Paper Moon for us.”

Banging shut the freezer hard enough to send a box of cereal tumbling off the top, Steve whirled to stare at his friend.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing a crooked finger at his coworker.

Jeff’s brow crumpled in confusion. “That’s what?”

“I know how to fix this,” Steve said. He paced the gold-flecked tiles and mumbled to himself. “But how do we make him attack?”

“Steve, you lost me.” Jeff crossed his armed across his chest. “How do we make who attack?”

Steve pulled his friend into one of the gray plastic chairs that circled the small lunch table as he sat in another and leaned forward.

“Gary,” he whispered. “We’ve got to get Gary.”

“What do we need him for?” Jeff snorted a short laugh before shaking his head. “He can’t even tie his shoes without permission.”

Steve’s eyebrows arched into his forehead. “Don’t tell me you forgot what he did to that bouncer the other week.”

“Didn’t I get so trashed you had to carry me to the curb?” Jeff ran a hand down his face and pulled on his chin. “Sorry, I don’t remember much from that night except waking up with my head in the toilet.”

“Oh, man.” Steve placed a hand on top of his head and grinned. “While you were puking in the gutter, the bouncer was making fun of Gary’s haircut. From what I saw, Gary was backing away from the guy and glanced up at the sign. You know, the one with the moon on it. Then, he started shaking.” Steve motioned Jeff closer before continuing his story. “His fingernails turned into claws, and his teeth got huge.” He illustrated the size with his thumb and forefinger spread apart six inches. “His clothes tore, and he was all hairy underneath.”

“Dude, what were you on?” Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I swear on a case of Bud, I was clean.” Steve held up three fingers in good faith.

“Steve,” Jeff said. “That’s the Girl Scout salute. Boy Scouts use two fingers.”

“Whatever,” Steve said, waving his hand as if wiping away his mistake. “All I’m saying is Gary turned into a wolf, and I haven’t seen that doorman since.”

“What did Gary say about it?” Jeff finger-combed his hair and leaned back against the plastic seat back.

“That’s the best part. He said he didn’t remember a thing.” One half of Steve’s mouth turned up in a grin. “He woke up naked on his lawn and figured someone had slipped him a mickey.”

“I don’t buy it,” Jeff said, pulling his lips into a thin line. “Anyway, how is that supposed to help us with the harpy?”

Steve’s half grin turned into a beaming smile as he drew closer to his friend. “He’s got a late meeting with a client tonight. I doubt Ms. More-than-boned will make him cancel it since it affects her precious bottom line.” His head bobbled as he spoke. “I’ll reschedule the appointment, and you change his screensaver.”

The look on Jeff’s face resembled an average seven-year-old attempting calculus.

“What am I supposed to change it to, a picture of a better haircut?”

Steve glanced first over one shoulder and then over the other before returning his gaze to Jeff. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “A rising full moon.”

Jeff’s head snapped up, and he howled with laughter. After a moment, he dragged the back of his hand across his tearing eyes.

“So you’re telling me, we’re going to make Gary wolf out so he’ll get rid of our crappy boss?”

Steve tossed him a solemn nod.

“All I have to do is change a setting on his computer?” Jeff continued.

His friend’s smile brightened.

“And what happens when he wakes up naked in the board room chewing on a leather pump?” Jeff asked.

“You don’t think it’ll work?” Steve’s grin sagged.

“I think you’re nuts. That’s what I think.” Jeff scratched the back of his neck and stood. “But I don’t see any harm in messing with his screensaver.”

The twinkle returned to Steve’s eyes. He thrust his sweaty hand forward and grasped Jeff’s dry one.

“I’ll take Gary out to lunch, so you’ll have his desk to yourself.”

“Don’t you two have a job to do?” Ms. Morgan-Jones asked from the doorway.

The two men flinched and turned toward her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said as one.

“Then, get to it.” She disappeared, leaving Steve and Jeff to slink back to their own cubicles.

*

Gary Martin rested his head in his hands. A plastic office chair wobbled underneath his wiry frame.

“Hey, Gare,” Steve said, jostling Gary’s elbow and leaning against the desk.

Gary raised his head like an inflating balloon. The circles under his yellowish eyes reflected purple in the fluorescent glow.

“Wow,” Steve said. “Either you could use a drink or you already cleaned out the liquor cabinet.”

Gary placed the heels of his hands on his temples and pressed. “I got bit by a dog last month and started having these headaches.” He rubbed the sides of his face in small circular motions. “They’ve been getting worse since that night you guys took me out and got me smashed.”

“Ever think about seeing a doctor?” Steve asked.

“My sister had migraines for years.” Gary took a deep breath. “If my head doesn’t sort itself out soon, I’ll make an appointment with her neurologist.”

A fly buzzed past en-route to Gary’s garbage can.

“How about I take you to lunch?” Steve crossed his arms over his rumpled shirt. “There’s a new Chinese place down by the pet store.”

Gary wrinkled his nose as if Steve had suggested eating stewed beets with a side of gizzard.

“Okay, no Chinese,” Steve said. “How about Mexican?”

Gary retched at the thought of beans and cheese. “Isn’t there some place we can get a steak?”

Steve patted the patch of stubble on his chin.

“I think there’s a new place a few blocks from here,” Steve said, squinting in thought. “It’s called something like The Wolf’s Den.”

“Sounds perfect.” Gary stood and smiled. His teeth glinted in the flickering office lights. “And don’t forget your wallet this time.”

Patting the back of his pants, Steve felt the bulge of vinyl. As he passed Jeff’s desk, he gave a thumbs up and continued to follow Gary’s loping gait to the elevator. As they waited, Steve studied Gary’s reflection in the metallic doors when they slid closed.

Weren’t his eyes blue? he thought. I could have sworn they were blue.

*

Jeff scrolled through a list of moonrise screensavers. What if the one he picked wasn’t good enough to make Gary turn, if he turned at all? Jeff guessed Steve had done a line of some designer concoction at the club and had imagined the whole long-toothed story. There was a good chance the bouncer had gone to Aruba.

A knock sounded on the cubicle wall. Jeff jerked his hands from the keyboard as if he’d been burned by it. He spun in the chair and tried to rise. He froze when he saw Ms. Morgan-Jones tapping her foot in the entryway.

“Mr. Leonard, may I ask what you were doing to Mr. Martin’s computer?”

Jeff’s jaw dropped as he tried to form coherent words. “I…I…I was walking by and thought of something I needed to tell Gary about one of the clients.” He flashed a slight open-mouthed smile, hoping she’d believed him.

“Jeffrey, for a short message to a colleague, a Post-it will do.” She poked a short stack of yellow squares with a maroon-tipped nail, leaving a slight dent in the top sheet. “Leave your note and get back to work.” She turned and stalked down the corridor.

Jeff slumped his shoulders and returned to his task.

“And if I catch you attempting to access another employee’s computer again, you are fired,” she called over her shoulder.

Jeff yanked his fingers away from the keys he was about to press as if they were covered in acid. Grabbing a blue pen, he scribbled an indecipherable note and stuck it on the monitor. He blew out a short breath of air as he pushed himself to his feet.

*

The elevator chimed, and Gary poked his head above the cubicle wall to survey the empty office. A man dragging an industrial rubber trashcan disappeared inside the car and pressed a button for another floor. Gary dropped back into his chair and stared at the scrawled note he’d moved to the side of his desk. Most of the time, Jeff’s handwriting was easy to read, but this disaster of a message was impossible. The only word he could decipher was Jeff’s signature at the bottom.

“Mr. Martin, I’m assuming that since your visitor chairs are empty, your clients have not arrived.” Ms. Morgan-Jones stood staring at him with a scowling frown.

Gary shook his head and shrugged. “I verified the meeting yesterday, like I always do. They said they’d be here at five-thirty.”

Ms. Morgan-Jones thrust her arm forward to raise her jacket sleeve before bending her elbow and bringing her wrist into her line of sight.

“My watch says seven-fifteen.” She lowered her arm and pulled her cuff to match the length of the other. “I’m through for the day, but I can’t leave you alone in the office.”

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Gary interrupted, reaching for the phone on his desk. “I’ll call to check their ETA.”

Ms. Morgan-Jones stepped forward and pressed the handset back into its cradle. “Are you telling me that you haven’t called them yet?”

Gary shook his head.

“And they haven’t called you to say they’ll be late?”

Gary dropped his chin to his chest.

“You have got to be the most worthless employee I have on the roster,” she began. “I clear my schedule so you can make one more sale after hours, and you can’t even get the time straight.”

Gary lifted his head and watched the woman’s arms gyrate in time with her accusations. His eyes wandered to the wall of windows behind her. As his manager’s voice droned on, the face of the full moon peeked between the buildings across the street.

“Now, the floor is empty. Everyone else has gone home, and I’ll have to hail my own taxi.”

Gary felt a stabbing pain bloom in his skull from the dull headache he’d had all day. Pressing his hands to his ears, he squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head from side to side.

“You listen to me.” Ms. Morgan-Jones shook her index finger at the flailing man before she continued to speak.

The pulsing sting between Gary’s ears spun down the length of his spine, and he felt a tear in his lower back. He fell to the floor and bristled in agony. The tips of his fingers swelled, and his fingernails tore through his cuticles as they grew.

“This better not be a grab at the sympathy card, because I don’t have one in my deck, sir.” Ms. Morgan-Jones' eyebrows drew together.

As Gary’s skin quivered, he began to itch. He scratched at his clothes with his lengthening claws and tore the fabric to ribbons as coarse hair burst from his follicles. He rolled under his desk as his face began to throb. Blood dripped from his bottom lip where fangs had pushed it aside.

“If you’re going to act like a madman, I’m calling the police.”

Ms. Morgan-Jones backed out of Gary’s workspace and skittered toward the stairs. She faltered, hearing a low growl behind her. Her inch-and-a-half heels twisted sideways, and she fell to the carpet in a heap. She scrambled on her hands and knees toward the red exit light. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a hulking, hairy form pad from the space where she’d left Gary. She rolled to her back and began to crab-crawl toward the door. The monster crouched low. As the woman whimpered and scraped back another foot, the wolf pounced. He landed with one large front paw on either side of her quaking body. He pressed his large wet nose into her hair and inhaled.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Ms. Morgan-Jones whispered. Tears rolled down the sides of her face.

The wolf rumbled a guttural growl in the woman’s ear as he continued to sniff her scent. When he reached her neck, she shrieked. The wolf opened his jaws and snapped her scream in two. Blood jetted in an arc across the wall as the wolf devoured its prey. Shaking his head, the animal tore hunks of flesh from the warm body. Piece by piece, Ms. Morgan-Jones disappeared.

*

Steve arrived at work late and sauntered around the office, poking his head into every cubicle under the guise of saying good morning to his coworkers. When he reached Gary’s workspace, he found the office chair overturned in a corner. The man’s briefcase was leaning against the desk. A few strands of bristled hair were caught in the edge of a partition. At the end of the room, the window of Ms. Morgan-Jones' office stared still dark.

“Hey, buddy,” Jeff said, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Where’s Gary?”

“I don’t think he’s in yet.” Steve rolled the threads of wolf hair between his fingers as he held them up for Jeff to see. A smile burst across his face as he motioned toward the manager’s office. “Look who else isn’t in today. I think our plan worked.”

Jeff looked down at his loafers.

“Yeah, about the plan,” he said. “I never got the screensaver installed. The harpy caught me and said I’d be fired if I so much as touched anyone else’s computer.”

“You’re messing with me, right?” Steve pulled in his chin and pursed his lips.

Jeff met Steve’s gaze and frowned. “Look for yourself.” He swept a hand toward the computer.

Steve righted the chair with a grunt and sat down in front of the screen. Jeff’s scrawled note rolled under his arm and attached itself to Steve’s buttoned cuff. Reaching out, Steve wiggled the mouse. Gary’s desktop emerged from the blackness. With a few clicks, Steve checked the settings and found Gary’s cycling slideshow of teacup Chihuahua photos still the chosen screensaver. There wasn’t even a moonrise on the menu.

Steve twirled to face Jeff. He noticed a wall calendar hanging behind the other man. Standing, Steve pushed his friend out of the way and stared at yesterday’s date. A dark circle peeked from the bottom left hand corner of the box. Steve’s mouth went slack as he pointed at the moon’s symbol.

“You don’t think,” Jeff said peering at the calendar.

The two men stood gaping at each other when the elevator bell rang. A tall man with wide shoulders clad in an expensive tailored suit stepped onto the floor.

“May I have your attention, please,” the man said. “My name is Devon Declan.” He continued to stride toward the closed office door as his voice boomed. “I own this company. Ms. Morgan-Jones has been relieved of her duties. I will be cleaning up her messes for at least the next six months.” Standing in front of the darkened window, the man turned to face the gathering of stunned office workers. “Staff meeting in the conference room in ten.” He twisted the knob and looked back at the two men in Gary’s cubicle. “Mr. Martin is taking some comp time and will return in a few days.”

The latch clicked shut behind their new boss.

*

“Everyone has mandatory overtime one night every four weeks. Here’s the schedule.”

Mr. Declan passed a stack of papers to his left and followed it with his eyes as it wound its way around the conference table. Each employee removed one, passed the rest, and scanned their eyes down the document.

His head still lowered over the limp sheet he held, Steve raised his hand as if he were controlled by an ancient puppeteer.

“Yes, Mister…Thomas, is it?” Mr. Declan asked after running a manicured nail down a block-printed list.

“Uh, yes, sir…Thomas, sir,” Steve stammered and raised his face to smile. “Steve if you like.”

“Mr. Thomas, I assume you were raising your hand for a reason.”

Mr. Declan lowered a pair of half-moon reading glasses and stared as Steve began to roll the edges of his schedule between the tips of his fingers.

“Um…yes, sir. I was.” Steve coughed and slid a finger between his shirt collar and his neck. He snuck a glance at Jeff, who had beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “Are you aware that all the late days you’ve scheduled coincide with the full moon?”

Mr. Declan used his index finger to press his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose before he tilted his head and smiled, a canine tooth flashed in the fluorescent light. His yellow eyes glittered from behind the gold half-frames.

“How nice of you to notice.”

RHODESIAN NIGHTS

By Douglas Vance Castagna

And somewhere in the night, a dog howled. At least that’s what Lizbeth thought as she walked to her car. Well, ran to her car was more like it. She thought to herself she should have gone to the bathroom before she left the bar, but it was a slow night, she made almost nothing in tips and just wanted to get home, and away from the city. Normally she did not mind hanging out after work; she was always up for having some fun but like many others she was eager to get from the safety of her job to the safety of her home. Someone would probably be attacked again. She wasn’t really worried about the attacks that have been happening around the city, though. Not really worried. Maybe, just a little bit she admitted. There were about three animal attacks in as many days and before that, the same thing happened last month. If anything had happened before that, she was either not aware of it or no one had made a big deal of it. That is before something shredded some rich fat cat out for a late night jog. Since then animal control, police, even citizens patrol groups made their presence known. The victims were mauled as if some wild dog, or wolf, or wolverine had made them their prey and meal. The victims were attacked and bitten and huge chunks were missing from their bodies, presumably eaten. One of the victims from last month even had a limb taken. Police were able to follow the trail of blood until it disappeared down an alley into a dumpster. Neither limb, nor bone, bone fragments, nor the beast were found.

Lizbeth glanced over her shoulder and fumbled in her purse for the keys. I really should have gone pee, she thought. As she was about to open the door, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

She screamed.

He screamed.

“I’m so sorry ma’am.”

She turned to him. He was a homeless man who often slept in that alley. His name, she tried to think of it but she had almost pissed herself, and that seemed to be a more pressing matter at the moment. Rufus, that was it Rufus; he and his dog were a fixture in the neighborhood. He wore several layers of torn and tattered clothes, all of which were stained and had a musty damp mildew odor to them. He never smelled from urine though, which made her think even more of how she had to go herself. He was nice and would often sweep up in front of some of the stores or do some errands for coffee or for scraps for himself and his dog.

“It’s all right, Rufus, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t find Lucky anywhere? Have you seen him?” He had a picture of a hand drawn dog, it wasn’t bad; it looked a lot like his dog.

“No I haven’t, Rufus. Good drawing. Looks just like him.”

He smiled broadly, revealing crooked rows of uneven, grey teeth. “Thank you kindly. Lucky, he’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback. He is a great watchdog, but he don’t take to strangers much so I am afraid with all this animal attack nonsense they may hurt him. Last time he disappeared on me somebody done hurt him good.”

“What do you think it is Rufus? A rabid dog? Wolf?”

He laughs, “Naw, ain’t nothing like that. I know exactly what it is?”

“Really? What is it?”

“Well, a werewolf of course.” He laughed and half walked half staggered away. For a second she tried to gauge whether or not he was serious, and decided he was probably just joking with her and she finally laughed too. She watched him stagger down the alley and as he disappeared she turned back to her car.

That is when something heavy crashed into her knocking her down to the ground. It was on her. She couldn't move; it was too heavy; too strong. She tried to scream but as she did it was silenced in her throat as sharp teeth ripped into it, biting and severing her vocal chords and jugular vein. She felt the warmth of her blood as it drained from her. She watched in horror as the thing that most assuredly had taken her life feasted on her flesh. She lay there, in the alley, bleeding to death from her ravaged throat as the feasting continued, and would continue long after she expired. The last thing she remembered was that she was finally able to go to the bathroom, whether she wanted to or not. Her bladder emptied in the alley along with her life and her dignity and all that made her who she was.

*

“Hey is it true that there was human DNA as well as animal DNA in the wounds?”

Cecil Cobb, a squirrelly little man with a big oversized coat and camera slung around his neck. asked as he played with his Android tablet. He was a reporter and an annoying presence around Midtown South. He was annoying, but good. Not that he was fair or impartial or a decent human being, he was good insofar as he found the dirt, what was left out by the police and usually would print it. Meaning he was one of the many douche-bags that the police had to deal with on a daily basis.

“No comment Ceec, and where did you hear some science-fiction fantasy bullshit like that?” Det. Wallaby replied.

“Can’t reveal my sources, Chief,” he said as he continued fondling his tablet.

“I’m about to reveal my foot up your ass in a second. And who let you in anyway, get the hell out of here. Stevenson, escort Mr. Cobb out please.”

He directed the officer to get Cobb out of the bullpen. As the reporter was being escorted out, he kept protesting and shouting things about a cover up. Detective Second Grade Jason Wallaby was an eighteen year veteran and as cases go this was the most gruesome he had ever been involved with. He had covered many homicides but none as violent and bloody as these. He walked over to the board which displayed the photos of the last eight victims. Coupled with their before shots were shots of the aftermath of the attacks. There were six women and two men. Last month there were five victims. This month so far there were two dead, and one sole survivor. Yesterday’s victim had fought back.

“Sanchez, run down what last night’s vic told us again.”

Sanchez, a tall thin and all too well dressed Detective pulled his notebook out and flipped through a few pages.

“Ok, we got Mendy Meyerson, aged 32. She claims she was walking home from the bus stop. As she passed by the train station something sacked her. She was knocked to the ground.”

“She said she was facing her attacker the whole time?”

“No, not at first. As soon as this thing, guy whatever, hit her she struggled to turn around and get into her bag.”

“For the knife.”

“For the knife, yes. She sustained multiple lacerations on her left shoulder, sizeable chunks were removed from her shoulder near her neck.”

“And she said it was this guy?” he said holding an artists rendering of a generic looking thin Caucasian, or vaguely Hispanic man, somewhere between twenty and forty.

“Yes, she sat with the artist for hours, or rather he sat with her. She is still in the hospital; they are trying to salvage her face.”

Wallaby shook his head. “Pretty woman. Shame. Go on Sanchez.”

“Well, she screamed and fought and tried to get the knife as she pulled it out the assailant. He latched on to her cheek and ripped it right off. As he did, though, she managed to stab him in the abdomen.”

“And the sample came back?”

Sanchez looked up from his book and Wallaby looked at him and they both said, “Non-human DNA.”

Sanchez put his notepad on the desk. “Ain’t that some shit? And the DNA on the other victims says that there was human and canine DNA in the wounds, and the knife here had the same; both canine and human DNA. It makes no sense.”

Wallaby stretched and looked at the board and shook his head. “No it doesn’t, Sanchez. If I did not know any better I would say there is a werewolf loose in the city. I know, I know, don’t get the paddy wagon just yet. I was thinking it was weird with the other attacks, no witnesses and all, and the traces of human DNA, well that can be explained away right?”

“I guess, heavy petting, some lover's saliva, then the animal attack; I guess it could play that way.”

“Not with my wife,” he laughs. “But let's say that this is the case: this fifth attack last month, she saw the attacker, it was a man. The wounds traced positive for both salivae and now the blood of the assailant, as well, has traces of both DNA’s.”

“What do you make of it?”

Sanchez walks over to the board. “Don’t know, though we scoured the emergency rooms looking for this perp, he would have had to have gotten help. I mean, she said she stabbed him good, right?”

“There was a good amount of blood at the scene that was not the victim's, yes.”

“Well, all I do know that if it is a werewolf, there are two more days of moon left. Well actually probably only one since it's September.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Wallaby asked.

“The warmer months seem to have an affect on the moon, increasing the illumination, or at least increasing it the way it is viewable from earth. Actually, the moon is really technically full only one day during any given month. It just looks full because of the percentage of illumination therein.”

“Looks full. What the hell are you talking about Sanchez?”

“Well, when it waxes full and wanes full, it averages about 95 percent full those times, about two days waxing two days waning, and one at its fullest which is really only 99.99 percent but we say it's full.”

“We? Who is we, Sanchez?”

“Astronomers and stuff. I have a telescope; it's sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Let’s keep that between us, okay Sanchez?”

A few minutes later the call came in.

*

When Lizbeth screamed in shock as Rufus had taken her by surprise, someone had called the police. They had heard the scream and knew about the attacks and felt like something had to be done. The call was all that the concerned citizen had felt compelled to do; they did not look out their window even, for fear of having to be a witness, of having to testify, of having to have the public eye watching them. No, the call was all that was made and on this occasion the response was immediate. A radio car was dispatched and it arrived moments after the call.

Briggs and Malloy were partners for about three years. Briggs was a ten year veteran and Malloy was three years in. Both men worked well with each other and liked the third watch. It was usually quieter than the day, except during full moons. The surprising thing was, these animal attacks were a welcome change to the officers. Usually the freaks always came out at night during a full moon, all over the city. More shootings, rapes, muggings, everything went down during a full moon. However, the regular increase in crime seemed hampered by these attacks and things were slower the last few nights than they had been the preceding month.

“Shit, I’ll take a fucking wolf loose in the city over the normal bullshit any day.”

Malloy yawned. “Same shit, different day. Man, if it isn’t some tweeker amped up on some shit who’ll corn hole his grandma for a fix, it's some fucking escaped zoo animal chomping on some teen twat going for a jog. I am so fed up with this bullshit. Hey, man, slow down; this is it, probably down the alley. Let's go on foot.”

The unit rolled to a stop and both men got out and took their flashlights and pulled their guns from their holsters. Briggs looked at his partner, “Man, you a whiney bastard, you know that?”

“Yeah, that’s what my wife says to me, too. So what else is new? You gonna stand there bitching or are we going to see what’s going on?”

“You taking the tranqs, too?” Briggs deferred to his partner's expertise.

“Fuck that. If we got a rabid wolf or some crazy shit like that, I am not going to take the chance that it's gonna go to beddie-byes and then tries to take a chunk out of me. My good old 9 will do just fine.”

Briggs nodded and they approached the alley.

They heard slurping sounds. It sounded to Malloy like someone was eating good BBQ, then he thought that he never heard of any such thing as bad BBQ. He thought BBQ was like sex; even if it was bad it was still pretty damn good. He smiled at his joke and turned on his flashlight.

Both men saw the same thing at the same time. They saw the woman lying on the ground, and hunched over her was a naked man covered in blood and gore. He was pulling her small intestine out of her body, and gnawing on the end of it. In his other hand he had what looked like a kidney.

Briggs dropped his flashlight. The noise alerted the cannibal. He looked up, dropped the kidney and stopped pulling at his chew toy. He put the intestine down and licked his fingers. He looked at both officers and waited to see what they were going to do, and grabbed another little piece of gore off of the floor and slowly stood up.

Briggs retrieved his flashlight and Malloy raised his gun and aimed it at the man-beast. He did not know what to call this thing he was looking at. He couldn't believe that it was something that looked so human doing these unspeakable and depraved things. His voice was shaky despite him trying to remain calm. “Step away from the body and put your hands up.”

Briggs raised his gun now, too, following his partner’s lead.

The beast walked toward them slowly. “Stop right there,” Briggs managed to say in a more even tone than his partner, which surprised even him.

“Well officers, it's so good to see you. What took you guys so long? You know, I was not exactly the most stealthy as I have been in the past” He edged even closer to them.

“Stop fucking moving!” Malloy ordered.

The creature smiled. “Want a snack?” He held out his palm. In it was an ovary with part of the ligament still attached to it, dripping with blood. “No? Oh well, don’t want it to go to waste.” He was about to put it in his mouth when he changed his mind and threw it at Malloy, who raised his arms to shield his face. The man attacked, biting off Malloy’s nose as he tackled him to the ground. Briggs reacted a bit quicker than he thought, and turned and shot, but it went wide and struck the ground near the two men. Malloy had already dropped both his gun and his Mag-light as he lost his right cheek along with his nose. He screamed and screamed but help would not come for him as the next time he felt teeth they were ripping through his neck. This time the teeth found the carotid and the arterial blood flowed forth like a geyser spraying him, his partner and the alley. Nothing would save Malloy. Briggs shot at the attacker again, this time catching him in the shoulder as he rose from his soon-to-be-dead partner. The man fell back.

“That fucking hurt,” he said as he straightened himself up and looked at his wound. He smiled at Briggs, then lunged for him, biting the cop's wrist and locking on, drawing blood. Briggs screamed as their eyes met. He thought something looked really weird about this monster’s eyes, and he noticed something around his neck. It looked like a…

He shook himself out of what ever malaise had come over him and brought his pistol down on the murderer's head. There was a loud yelp. He did not release Briggs’ wrist. Briggs brought his arm up again. Their eyes met again, and soon his wrist was released as the attacker backed off. “Be seeing you again sometime soon, Officer.”

The creature that now looked like an average, ordinary man, smiled and bowed and ran down the alleyway, and disappeared into the night.

Briggs eyed his ruined wrist. There were gashes in it and it was torn down to the bone in multiple places; and it pumped blood. In an effort to stave off an impending demise from blood-loss, he removed his tie and wrapped it around his wrist before he went to tend to his partner, who had died a few minutes ago. He had actually died about twenty seconds after his carotid was torn from his body. The only pain he felt was inflicted when he lost his nose and cheek. His eye was also drooping out of his face because the cheek had been torn all the way up to the orbital covering. Briggs pulled the tie that was wrapped around his wrist tighter. Even though he would take a quick trip to the ER, where it would be cleaned and stitched, it would ultimately get infected.

Sirens could be heard getting louder and a car screeched to a halt just at the mouth of the alley. The sound of two car-doors slamming and two pair of hurried feet clapping against the asphalt brought both Sanchez and Wallaby to the abattoir. Taking in the scene, Wallaby was the first to react. “Son of a fucking whore, Sanchez, call a bus. What the fuck happened? What happened?”

Sanchez went back to the car to call it in. For the next few hours up until the morning, the alley was a closed-off crime-scene. The bodies were taken away, evidence was gathered, the entire neighborhood was canvassed, but to no avail. The only witness was Briggs, and he was a basket case. Sanchez and Wallaby visited him in the hospital and he gave them a description of a man. Not a beast. Well not in a literal sense, but what man could do these things? Briggs told them everything, except for what he saw in those eyes and what was around the killer’s neck.

The eyes. What he saw in them was odd; odd in that he had seen the iridescent tapetal layer before. It lay just beyond the surface of the eye and could only be seen when they caught the light just right, or in a photograph. He had seen them before, many times, but not on any human.

He also knew what was around the killer’s neck, and it was too weird to mention. They would think he was crazy if he told them that this maniac was wearing a...

*

“…dog collar.”

“A what?” Rufus asked.

The volunteer smiled at him. She was about twenty and had volunteered at the local animal shelter since High School. She loved working with animals; they were so much nicer than people, she thought. “Yes Rufus. His Collar. Lucky was Lucky. That’s how we knew to get you, that you was his Daddy.”

Rufus smiled. “Ha ha, yeah, I guess so. We have been together for a while, but he disappears on me a lot, you know?”

She nodded, “I know. It’s a problem, I guess, when you have nowhere to secure your pets, but I wanted to tell you he was in here about two days ago. It seemed that someone had hurt him. His belly was cut, but it was not too bad; just a scratch. We disinfected it and saw his collar and it said his name, and yours, of course. I would have brought him to you, or one of our other volunteers, but in the morning he was gone.”

“Gone? How did he up and leave?”

“No one knows, Rufus. Then this morning, he was back in his cage and he had some blood on him and his shoulder was cut, or burned. It looked like maybe someone tried to shoot him or something, but he was fine. We bandaged him and gave him some antibiotics.”

“Well, thank you, but I ain’t got no money to pay you.”

“Its fine. We all love Lucky.”

As she said that, another volunteer brought lucky out to him. He looked a little worse for wear, but was a fine specimen of a Rhodesian Ridgeback. And as soon as he saw Rufus, he jumped up and kissed him. Rufus smiled and looked at his best friend. “Hey boy, look at those beautiful eyes. Look how they seem to catch the light.”

PAWPRINTS ON A HEART

By Zoe Adams

“Another!”

The bartender finished wiping the glass in his hand and headed towards my quiet corner of the bar.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked gently, taking the empty glass from in front of me.

“I said another, dammit! Don’t you realize I’m the one paying you? Just do your job and be quick about it!”

“Be right back,” I heard him mutter.

If he thought I was drunk, he was wrong. Dead wrong. That’s a reason I love these human bars - the human are so… What’s the word I’m looking for? Naïve; that’s the one. After all, in such a simple place, it’s more than easy to hide what you truly are. For instance, in the corner booth, two slim Elven girls were giggling at each others' jokes over their white wine spritzers. An aged Necromancer was still huddled over the same drink he’d ordered when I’d walked in. And if I’m not mistaken, a vampire, from the strong copper smell, had just walked in.

The bartender set a clean glass down and filled it with absinthe. As he did so, I felt his eyes wander over me. I sighed. It wasn’t the first time tonight, but knowing my luck, it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Yes?” I asked, letting my eyes rise slowly to meet his face.

“No...nothing. I just noticed… your eyes… well they’re beautiful.”

I downed the shot in one. They say alcohol numbs the pain, but so far it had done nothing to erase the heartache I felt inside. He once told me that I had beautiful eyes - eyes that he could quite happily drown in.

I set the glass down as a clock somewhere chimed. Time to get going.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, slipping my hand into the pocket of my trench-coat. It was black, dusty and musty and made of quality leather. I never went anywhere without it.

“Forget it, that one was on the house.” He smiled warmly.

I gave a small smile back before sliding from the barstool and extending the handle of my wheeled suitcase.

“Maybe you’ll come back another time?” the bartender asked nervously.

“Maybe.”

More likely no, I thought.

I headed for the door, pausing for a moment to rearrange my fringe in the frosted glass separating more booths. My tanned skin was strangely covered in gooseflesh. With the temperature I ran, it was strange. It never happened.

The cold air hit my face as I took one step outside the best bar in Lincoln. Unluckily, though, my Doc Marten hit a small patch of ice and I slipped, landing in the doorway of the bar on my backside.

“Offt!” It felt like all the air had been pushed out of my lungs.

I heard sniggering and glanced up to see three males looking down upon me.

I heaved myself up and did my best to straighten my appearance, while they tried to hide their smiles. I followed their eyes and a blush began to creep up my neck. Brand new trousers and they were now ripped at the knee. It was normal for my clothes to rip but now, of all times! This was not good.

“Are you alright?” the middle guy asked. I turned my attention to him and besides from being rather annoyed at his perverse smile, I realized he was a looker. I mentally shook myself; now was not the time to be staring at gorgeous men. Especially not when you’re trying to forget about one in particular.

His white body towered over me and his chocolate eyes looked puzzled.

“Miss?” He toyed with the collar of his black shirt, before he bent down and hauled up my suitcase. A sweet sickly combination of smells struck my nostrils and I nearly gagged.

“Yeah I’m fine,” I answered, reaching for my case.

“Feels like you’ve got a lot on your plate,” he said, wheeling it backwards and forwards. It was almost like he was weighing it up, and that made me a little nervous.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I replied, a little tersely.

“Bet a nice girl like you can handle anything she wants.” He rested the handle in my palm and gently caressed his fingers up to the tips of mine. Power surged through in that simple touch and my head reeled.

I gave him a hard stare, and still holding on to his hand, a low growl escaped my throat.

“Who said I was a nice girl?”

He jerked his hand away then and I was hit with slight recoil. It was like an insect had invaded my body and was crawling through my veins and the feeling wasn’t nice at all, but then again why is anything in this life ‘nice’?

I tugged the case to my side and gave him one last hard look. And if that didn’t work, I’d turn on the charm. I would suss this guy out, even if it took me all night, and if it took that long… well I could always leave early morning.

It felt like my senses were dulled and I couldn’t tell a thing. It was like he didn’t exist.

Didn’t exist.

It hit me, like a great bolt of lightning that had been thrown from the sky by the hand of an almighty God. The eyes, the scent, the power, the dulling of my senses - it made perfect sense now that I thought about it.

There was only one word to truly describe him.

Vampire.

A filthy blood-sucking, walking corpse.

“Oh I can tell you’re a bad girl, alright. Listen, do you fancy stepping back in? I’ll buy you a drink,” he practically purred.

I snorted. I wasn’t fond of his preference of beverage. Well… not in human form anyway.

“Take it that’s a no?” he asked, and there was definitely a hint of rejection in his voice.

“That’s a no,” I smiled sweetly, and brushed past the little group to head in the direction of the train station. It was my only way out of town tonight, since the boys back home had decided to dismantle my beloved Triumph motorcycle.

“You know, dog, the only thing your eyes haven't told me is your name.”

I turned on my heel to face him, anger exuding from every pore.

“Dog?”

“You thought I wouldn’t know what you are. Pathetic really,” he said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

My knees shook ever so slightly and memories flooded to the surface of my brain, one word resounding in my ears… Pathetic…

I saw my mother’s cold dead body as she lay on a concrete slab, blood staining her face and my half clawed fingers. I saw my father’s angry expression as I failed to catch my prey. I saw Joseph’s face as he told me everything he’d ever wanted to tell me…

“Quite the little daydreamer aren’t you?” a voice trickled into my ears.

I shook my head to dislodge the memories that were now starting to plague me like a fly. How could I think this guy was a looker? He was, in fact, a sarcastic, blood-drinking sonofabitch.

“It’s none of your business what I am, alright?” I snarled.

“In actual fact, sweetness, I’m afraid it is. You see, whether you like it or not, you’re going to be my bride.“

“I beg your pardon?” My jaw dropped.

“Please don’t interrupt. It’s awfully rude. Remember your manners. Now, as I was saying,” he pierced me with his eyes and I shivered, “you’re going to be my bride. I’ve been watching you for a while, and you’re exactly what I need.” He smiled, what he imagined was a very winning smile. It wasn’t.

“Well begging your pardon Fang-Face, but I am not going to be anyone’s bride - not for a long, long time. If you’ve been watching me, that’s rather perverse and I am not what anyone needs.” I smirked back. I resisted the temptation to stick out my tongue, like a child.

“As you say,” he said simply and bowed his head.

My dad always says take every opportunity that presents itself by the paw, whether it’s for business or whether it’s for pleasure. His advice was going to work in this situation.

Making sure, I had a firm grip on my case, I turned away, glad to get away from this town full of monsters and men.

*

Christoph cracked his knuckles and scowled as he watched the girl walk away from him. No one had ever walked away from him. No one. The rejection stung but it only tightened his resolve. He wouldn’t let her get away that easily. If he played it out right, it could turn into a rather interesting game of cat and mouse.

He knew the girl was the only daughter of a powerful Alpha, and then meant money and territory. Territory meant a home. Money meant power. Power meant everything. He would make her his for an eternity, whether she wanted to be his or not.

He glanced first to his left, and then to his right, taking in the sight that was his children. Two, strong, handsome lads that he just hadn’t the heart to drain. He knew on instinct that they would make remarkable vampires and he hadn’t been wrong. Matthew and Brian; Brian and Matthew. They were his sons. Twins, in fact. All they needed was a mother to keep them from trouble. And he knew where to get the perfect one, even if she was a little unorthodox.

“Boys,” he said sharply, “I want her alive.”

*

I fought the urge to look back over my shoulder, because I knew it would only invite trouble. And trouble wasn’t what I wanted. To be honest, I wish I hadn’t left the bar, but I was stubborn and wanted to follow my plan. Considering that, though, how was I supposed to know that there were three vampires outside?

The sounds of drunken laughter assailed my ears and I stopped in my tracks. I ducked into the shadows. From another bar further ahead, a group of alcohol-fuelled humans started yelling and shouting.

And that created a dilemma and half. If I carried on straight down the road, past the drunks, they would be sure to stop me and I was not in the mood to deal with them, yet it was the most direct route to the station.

However, a series of connecting alleys led to just near the station’s entrance, and that was good enough for me. No drunks to deal with, just the ever encroaching darkness.

I’d take my chances in the dark.

The smell of week-old food and stagnant water overpowered every single one of my senses. Who knew what I was standing in? Humans were truly disgusting.

I hauled my suitcase into my arms, and started to make my way between the slowly-building heaps of garbage dusted with frost. Noises unnerved me, which was not comforting. It sounded at first like a rat gnawing a hole through something. Filthy vermin. I’d stand on the little bastard if I got a chance.

A nearby cat screeched as if its tail had been trodden on and I stopped, heart in my mouth. I wasn’t usually a nervous wreck - what was wrong with me?

“Little wolf, little wolf, come out, come out wherever you are!”

“We won’t bite… hard!”

Terror welled inside me and almost regretting it, I turned my head and spotted the two vampires from earlier.

“Shit.”

I waited until one stepped forward, and I heaved the suitcase over my head, aiming it straight at them. As soon as it left my grasp, I hurtled down the alley, leaping over upturned boxes, the bottom of my trench-coat flying behind me.

I could feel anger well up inside me. I gasped, bending slightly at the waist. As soon as I bent, the pain receded, and I pushed on, harder than before.

My foot caught on the side of a junk pile and I landed sprawled out down the alley, slicing my arm on the ground. Blood erupted, spilling down my arm and I heard the vamps inhaling.

“Double shit.”

Ignoring the blood, I scrambled up onto my feet and kept going. There was a metal ladder just up ahead or another alley that veered right. If I climbed up, I’d probably have a better chance to fight back… If it was a fight they wanted. I needed to propel myself forward and then I’d have the upper hand.

Taking a deep breath, I sprang forward, arms outstretched. My right hand connected with cold metal and I knew I’d judged it right. Quickly, I started to scramble.

“She’s headed up!”

I had only climbed a few rungs when something grabbed at my ankle, stopping my ascent. It felt like rotting flesh and I instinctively kicked out. I felt my foot connect with its target and I heard the grunt of pain.

Satisfied, I climbed again, gaining speed, getting higher and higher until I reached the top, where the ladder had taken a beating from the weather. It looked as unstable as I was feeling. I vaulted over the battered brick-top as best as I could, rolling as I landed, breaking what would have been a hard fall.

I shrugged off my jacket, letting it fall to the ground, and concentrated on the foul creatures that had me fearing for my life.

Vampires. Fucking vampires. Stinking, foul, blood-sucking bastards.

Pain rippled along my body and I resisted the urge to scream like the woman I am. Dropping to my knees, I concentrated on the gradually building anger. Vampires. I could see that creep right before my eyes and my vision clouded.

It was coming.

I could see a wood, tall, green and lush, teeming with all manner of wildlife. A stream bubbled and splashed. The wind rippled the long grass.

A rabbit wasn’t far away. I could smell its fear. Its black beady eyes grew wide, as I bounded across the expansive landscape. A rush of pleasure trembled through my body as I sank my pearly canines into its lithe brown body.

I flung my head back and let out an ear-piercing howl, my long ears pricked high. As I fell silent, the echo reverberated through the air.

I padded forward softly, my paws denting the ground. Dropping my nose to the ground, I followed the muddy pathway to the river, where I witnessed my reflection.

A pure white wolf stared straight back at me and the transformation was complete.

Back on the roof, I lowered my body, head raised, fully prepared. The seconds passed before the bloodsuckers vaulted over, landing in a similar crouch to myself.

Without waiting for them to strike, I leapt straight at the nearest cretin and sunk my teeth into his right shoulder. He screamed and struck out with a hand. It caught the side of my jaw and knocked me backwards, so I ended up sprawled in a heap.

My eyes flickered and the looming fanged face of one of the vampires, eyes wide with blood lust, appeared. I rolled to one side and struck out with my paw, hackles up. My paw connected with his face, and my sharp claws dug in.

Blood spurted from his face and my claws dug more ferociously. His pain was music to my ears. He tried to fling me off, but this only resulted in him toppling backwards. Taking my chance, I sank my teeth into his flesh again, relishing in the taste of his blood.

A putrid smell arose from the wound I’d made and I released him, just as fingernails sank into my ruff and flung me backwards.

My spine scraped the rooftop and I let out a deep growl of pain. The vampire’s screams resounded in my ears. I shook myself, as a new scent invaded my nostrils. Twisting my body, I spotted a pure black wolf trotting slowly towards me.

Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Sophie? Sound kill, girl.

My hackles raised and I showed him my blood stained teeth.

Fuck you Joseph!

I padded over softly and nudged against him. In his wolf form, Joseph is still taller, faster and stronger than me… Joseph was a protector, worthy of ranking higher in our pack.

He nudged me back and I felt him nip my ear in an affectionate manner.

I’ve never thought of Joseph in a romantic way, but at that moment… I could see what my father meant. He does love me, and I’m just too stu—

“You bitch! You killed him! You killed Matthew!”

I dropped to my front legs, backside raised and felt Joseph fall into sync with me. The vampire was fixed in my sights. The creature was blood-stained and his shirt was in tatters. The ‘Matthew’ he spoke of was dead - he was still bleeding out, with deep scratches all along his body.

“You’ll pay for that!”

A deep growl erupted from Joseph and he started to gently prowl forward.

“Harm one hair on my son's head and you will find yourself taking a long walk off a short roof, mutt.”

Standing atop the ridge of the roof was the blood-sucking bastard. My tail flicked and swished with frustration. He lightly jumped beside his ‘son’. They looked nothing alike, but I guess he meant his created son. It made my blood boil, knowing he had taken a life merely to have a companion.

I narrowed my eyes to see the ‘son’ clearly. Small tears rolled down his face and he was muttering something under his breath. Without warning, he shouted, “Die!” and leapt straight at me.

I met with him, striking his chest with my paws, pushing him away. He went staggering backwards and came back, attempting to throttle me. I leapt slightly to the side and snapped at his ankles, making him dance away from me.

“Dumb dog!” he laughed.

A blur of fur hit him in the chest, making him barrel over.

A prolonged howl pierced the air and I knew that Joseph could handle himself.

Joseph and the vampire started what could only be described as a frenzied dance, until they became small blurs. It was hard to keep focus, but the howls and growls meant that Joseph was alive. That was a good thing. Once he set himself after his prey, he never gave up.

“Sophie. Sophie, come join me, girl.”

Words spiraled around in my head and I felt dizzy. I turned my head and saw the elder vampire, beckoning me closer with his hand.

My body fell against the roofing, stiff as a board, and I felt the feeling of being human returning. It was pure agony. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I gagged. It felt like my spine was snapping in two, and I knew I was human when I heard a scream erupt from my throat. This was the reason we changed back to human when we were unconscious – it was virtually painless.

No one liked to shift awake, but unfortunately, I had no choice.

“Sophie…”

Even if my weakened state, my legs moved. They ached and I was sure I’d pulled a muscle, but they took me to the vampire. My right hand placed itself in his and he drew me closer to him.

“Who… who are you?”

“My name, dear Sophie, is Christoph. Master Vampire of your fair city of Lincoln.”

I felt helpless as he embraced me. I felt him brush my hair from my shoulder, catching the ear that Joseph had nipped. His breath was hot on my neck.

“Sweet angel,” he whispered.

I felt his lips touch the skin and an overwhelming rush ran along my body. Carefully, I turned my face to his and whispered back against his lips, “I’m the angel of death.”

Instinct gave me wise words and I followed them, like a good little girl. I flung both my arms around him and sunk my teeth into my neck. I drew on the remaining strength my wolf had left me with and my canines pierced his jugular.

His blood was hot, fierce as fire, in my mouth and I clamped onto the vein. My nails lengthened to claws and I pierced his body. Christoph started screaming, trying to twist his body away from me, but to no avail. Blood just continued to pour. I ran one hand over his perfect little face, scarring him along one side and covering him in his own blood. I rested over his heart, before pushing my claws deep, willing every ounce of my strength into his rotting body.

The rage burned deep inside me and I only stopped once I heard Joseph’s voice, tugging at my senses.

“Sophie, Sophie, sweetie, he’s dead. Come on, he won’t get you. Let him go, Sophie, you’ve done it.” Reluctantly, I let him go and the vampire’s body dropped to the floor.

Every inch of me was covered in blood, and I spat the remnants from my mouth onto his body. Flesh was under my nails, which were mercifully returning to normal. It would have been hard to explain that to anyone in the street.

Joseph’s arms curled around me, his body pressed into me. I was fully aware he was naked and I suddenly became aware of my own nakedness. He pressed his body against me, before nuzzling my neck. I giggled, a very human laugh. He nipped at my ear again, making me giggle again. I spun on my heel, throwing my arms around Joseph’s neck. Before I knew it I was pressed against him, kissing him, kissing him as if I didn’t want to let him go.

He laughed gently as we parted.

“Your dad is right, you know. I do love you, blue eyes. Everything about you, from your long luscious hair, to your tiny little feet. You make me smile in a way no one ever has. I’m sorry for all this shit that’s kicked off. I never meant for this. I—“

“I love you too,” I said, placing my index finger on his lips to silence the tirade that poured forth.

And I knew I did. I always had, always would, I just hadn’t realized it. I’d been scared since he had told me, and been stuck in permanent denial the whole time. It had spurned my decision to run away and look what had happened there.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face and wrinkled his nose in a delicate fashion.

“You smell like dead vampire. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I pouted.

“Let’s go home.” He held out a hand for me to take. “Your father’s been worried sick”.

“You better fix my bike for me!” I poked his ribs.

“We didn’t dismantle it too badly; nothing me and the boys can’t handle.”

I picked up my discarded jacket and pulled it around me. If I managed to get down the ladder in one piece, I could find my suitcase, and I could be dressed in seconds.

I turned to face him. “Can’t handle! I can ride it better than you can. Second thoughts...“ I buttoned my jacket and tossed my hair, “...I’ll fix it, and do a damn better job.”

WHAT'S THE SCOOP?

By Chantal Boudreau

Brody would have never guessed where life was going to take him when his father’s gardening supply store went belly up, the result of a couple of franchise gardening centres setting up shop in his home town. He had worked for the family business since he was a young teen, and he had never known anything else. Brody had gone to business college, his father had seen to that, but he hadn’t been able to adapt to slaving away for someone else’s benefit. He wasn’t meant to count beans or push paper either. Brody had always been a hands-on kind of guy.

He had tried starting his own lawn care service, hoping to put his gardening knowledge from the store to good use, but competition was stiff. Brody wasn’t just trying to position himself against established professionals, he also had to jockey against low-balling adolescents trying to earn themselves an extra buck before finishing high school. There wasn’t much of a median between the two. Then he had gotten the call that had changed his life, in a not so pleasant way.

“Bed of Roses Lawn Care,” he had answered, with his usual attempt at cheeriness. It had been more difficult at that point, because of those down times.

“I need you to clean my lawn. It’s seriously messed up, after the winter’s thaw.” The man on the other end of the phone sounded rushed and impatient. He also had that nasal intonation of suggested superiority. “I’m willing to pay the going rate.”

“Clean your lawn? Is it a problem with weeds? Old, dead vegetation? I can cut and trim as needed, and I can treat any sort of pest. I can even redesign...” The man did not give Brody the chance to finish, interrupting with an irritated tone.

“Just get rid of the shit,” he said bluntly.

That had been Mister Whitney, a man with a Great Dane, who had been unwilling to chase after the animal with a plastic baggy over the winter months. He had released the beast into the back yard to heed the call of nature, where the gigantic turds had lain frozen and eventually buried in the snow. Once spring had arrived and the ice and snow had melted, the plethora of pungent deposits have reappeared and once thawed, had left the man of some means with a nasty problem.

“But...but I’m a landscaper – I tend lawns and design gardens. I don’t normally clean up animal refuse,” Brody had protested.

“Well this crap is marring my landscape and I’m willing to pay your regular hourly rate to fix it because I’d prefer not to sully my hands doing it myself. If you’re not interested I can find someone else to pay to do it...”

Brody had actually been quite quick to agree to the job after all. The truth was, he just didn’t have what it took to be competitive in standard landscaping. The students had him beat on price and the more experienced professionals offered higher quality and discriminating service. He welcomed the money and agreed to clear Mr. Whitney’s yard on a regular basis.

Word had spread and soon many of Mr. Whitney’s neighbours had joined Brody’s list of clientèle for the same lawn treatment. It wasn’t the type of business Brody had been intending, but it was earning him an honest living. He became known as the “pooper-scooper guy” and the name Bed of Roses took on a whole new meaning.

Brody had made a point of learning more about dogs since that turn of events, and the one thing he noticed was that since the snootier folks kept the critters primarily as another show of their wealth and status, they mostly kept pure-breds. The dogs tended to be very large or outrageously small. They ranged from a variety of tiny terriers and lapdog types, like teacup Chihuahuas, to massive beasts like Bichon Frises, Afghans, Great Danes and Burmese Mountain Dogs. Brody thought he had run into the largest scat he had ever seen when he was hired on to address the droppings of an Irish wolfhound, but it turned out that Mr. Pooper-Scooper was wrong.

Brody found that his greatest influx of new customers came in the spring, for the same reason Mr. Whitney had phoned him on that fateful day when he had stumbled into his current business venture. When Brody picked up the phone one morning with his customary “Bed of Roses – life can smell more sweet,” the voice on the other end of the line had responded with a heavy accent, Eastern European of some sort, Brody guessed.

“You are ze man who cleans up after ze dogs?” the caller inquired.

“I offer many landscaping and yard tending services, but yes, that is one of them. I charge the same hourly fee no matter what the job, that one included, and no partial hour rebates if it takes less than the full hour,” Brody replied.

“Zis ist good. I can pay. I have a big dog, und he ist very dirty. I wish to hire you to clean up ze yard after him,” the caller told him.

“So you want me to add you to my regular daily roster?” Brody asked.

“No, only for a couple of days a month. I will give you list of dates for ze year. You come on zose days.”

This was not that unusual a situation for Brody. It was not uncommon for wealthier couples to have custody disputes over their pets when they split up. Sometimes one of the owners would be the custodial “parent” with the other having only visitation rights. Brody assumed that this was one of those instances. This customer would only need service from Bed of Roses during those visits.

“Sure,” Brody acknowledged. “That can be arranged.”

The new client was very pleased and provided his name and address. He also scheduled the first yard cleaning, and said he would have the schedule ready for him when Brody arrived.

Brody wasn’t sure what nationality or ethnicity the name “Lupta” was. It certainly wasn’t something one tended to hear locally. He decided if he ever had the need to make small talk with Lupta he would make a point of asking. Customers often seemed flattered when he took an interest in those kinds of things.

The house was located in the wealthier quarter of town, but it was old and had been left vacant for long enough while the prior owners had been trying to sell it that it had gotten a little run-down. Mr Lupta had already begun to spruce it up again. There was an assortment of renovations being made, including some to the house’s façade, to restore the majestic look it had once had. Workers were even in the process of installing a very large doggy door in the back, one that even a man the size of Brody, who was quite hefty, might be able to squeeze through. He had to wonder what kind of monstrous mutt Mr. Lupta must own in order to warrant something that big. A Saint Bernard or a Newfoundlander crossed his mind as possibilities.

Despite the changes in progress, the house still reminded Brody of some haunted thing out of the movies. The place had an eerie ambiance, like some cross between the Bates’ house in Psycho or the location of the Amityville Horror, especially in contrast to the newer, well-maintained homes that surrounded it.

Brody avoided the other workers as much as he could while he did the dirty deed. The droppings were fresh, and calling them turds would have been an understatement. The piles of refuse were almost as large as cow patties, and Brody wondered as he gagged from the sight and stench of them if Mr. Lupta had lied to him and owned some type of sizeable livestock, rather than a dog. When he was done, had disposed of the evidence of his work and was properly cleaned and sanitized, he approached the side door as Mr. Lupta had directed, to collect his payment and the schedule for future visits.

The man who opened the door was a little smaller than Brody had been expecting, based on the timbre and surety of the voice on the phone. He looked a little gaunt and absolutely exhausted. Otherwise, Brody would have described him as wolfish in appearance. He had a long face adorned with heavy silver sideburns, and he had piercing, deep-set eyes.

“Mr. Lupta? I’m Brody Terrence from Bed of Roses Lawn Services. Your yard is clear, just as you requested. You said you would have a schedule prepared for me and for me to drop in to arrange payment.”

The smaller man frowned and glanced about sluggishly until his eyes settled on the printed sheet bearing the schedule that he had set aside for Brody. He also provided credit card details so Brody could charge the cost of that day’s job as well as future ones, muttering under his breath in a foreign language when they were done. Brody hoped he hadn’t somehow offended his newest customer.

“I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you but this was the time and date agreed upon,” Brody said, folding up the schedule and thrusting it into his pocket. “It looks like I got you out of bed.”

Mr. Lupta cocked a bushy eyebrow, and then shook his head, waving Brody off.

“No – not your fault. My sleep schedule ist off...time changes und jet-lag. I’ll be fine once I adjust to zings here.”

Brody smiled and nodded, looking around. There was no sign of any dog.

“Is your dog adjusting too? I was kind of hoping to meet the fellow. He must be pretty big from the looks of things. What breed is he, might I ask?”

There was a flash of mischief in Mr. Lupta‘s eyes, and he smirked, his smile almost a sneer. It reminded Brody of an animal curling its lip in a threatening way.

“Yes, he ist adjusting also. He shies from strangers und hides when ozers are here. He doesn’t use zis door; he likes ze back one by ze yard, which is why I’m having ze dog door put in. He likes to sleep by zat door, too. His name ist Farkas. He ist not ze breed recognized in zese parts. I guess you could call him European Wulfhound.”

That reply came as a surprise to Brody, since he had never heard of such a breed either. He assumed based on the name that it must be some offshoot of the Irish Wolfhound, but had not yet gained proper acceptance from American breeders. If that was the case, Brody was puzzled as to why the animal’s excrement did not bear any resemblance to that of the true breed. He had seen that kind of animal refuse recently enough, and the two did not compare. Nevertheless, Brody wasn’t about to argue that point. He didn’t know enough about Farkas to jump to any conclusions.

He returned again after three more days and then was off for the better part of a month. The schedule ran in cycles, one stop for a light cleaning at the start of 4 days, a second stop at the end with a heavier collection and 24 days off. It seemed simple enough, although odd if it was some sort of custody arrangement. Maybe, he thought, it was based around the work schedule of Mr. Lupta or his ex-spouse.

On the second stop of his third cycle, Brody encountered something completely unexpected. He was scooping one of the larger piles from the backyard, when it slipped from the end of his tool and splattered on the ground. Aside from the fact that Brody now had a worse mess to deal with, he could see something jutting out of the scattered remains that he hadn’t noticed before, something large and solid. He approached and crouched down to get a better look, concerned that the dog may have eaten something that might have done him some internal damage.

Brody turned away as soon as he identified it. The item that had been shaken free of the excrement was undoubtedly and undeniably a human finger, albeit a ragged and mauled one. Brody backed away from it as quickly as he could scramble. Then, before finishing that day’s cleaning, he rushed around to the side door, which he banged upon with great urgency.

Mr. Lupta opened the door after a couple of minutes of pounding. He looked very tired and not the least bit happy.

“What ist it? Why are you beating on my door? We have pre-arranged payment. Zis should not be necessary.”

“A finger!” Brody exclaimed breathlessly. “I found a finger! What the hell has your dog been eating, or maybe I should say ‘who’?”

Mr. Lupta laughed out loud, the peals bursting forth in sharp little yelps. Apparently, he found Brody’s distress amusing. When he finally managed to settle himself, he stared at his lawn man with a crooked grin, one that revealed pronounced incisors.

“Do you know what I do for a living?” he asked.

That wasn’t something they had ever discussed. Brody shook his head. Mr. Lupta’s smile broadened.

“I wast rather famous in Europe. I am master props-man. I design und create special props for movies – zat ist why I moved here. I am in ze middle of making horror film, und my current contract is for a movie called “Ze Amputator”. I have many realistic body parts around ze house at ze moment, und now und zen zey go missing. I wondered what had happened to zat finger.”

“You mean that’s not real? It sure looked it,” Brody responded.

“My work ist very good, Mr. Brody. Zat is why it looks real. But it ist not. Zat foolish dog will eat anything, including my work. I wish to try salvage zat finger. Leave zat mess und clean up ze rest.”

Try as he might, Brody could not stop glancing over at the finger. It glistened with a moist fleshy shine, and he could have sworn it crawled with the odd maggot, but he told himself that Lupta must be an expert at his trade. The realistic look of the finger was a result of that expertise. Forcing himself to deny the distraction, Brody finished the rest of the back yard and set off for his next job.

The finger still bothered him for days after its discovery. He tried to believe that Lupta’s explanation was truthful, but the more he thought about his curious business arrangement with the strange little man, the more he questioned its veracity. He had never seen Farkas, not once, or any signs that there was even a dog in Mr. Lupta’s house, other than the doggy door and the backyard evidence. Brody had even gone as far as searching “European Wolfhound” on the Internet, but his efforts just brought him to pages referencing Irish Wolfhounds and cell phone detectors.

It wasn’t until the day that Brody noticed an unusual coincidence regarding his scheduled clean-ups and the lunar cycle that his curiosity peaked. His jobs matched the time surrounding the full moon. Part of him, the little boy inside who still marvelled over horror stories and the supernatural, automatically thought “werewolf”. He considered that Farkas might be a fib to cover Mr. Lupta’s own nocturnal comings and goings. Perhaps Lupta was the “wolf” hound. If that were the case, it would certainly explain the presence of a real human finger. The whole notion frightened Brody to no end.

The logical, mature businessman in Brody, on the other hand, felt the idea that Mr. Lupta could be a werewolf was ridiculous. Lycanthropes were not real – they simply did not exist. While he might be dubious about the situation, Mr. Lupta had offered Brody legitimate reasons why things were the way that they were. The dog was shy, and did not like strangers, he was a very large and unrecognized breed, the finger was a prosthetic that would serve as a prop for a movie, and Brody did not know the reasoning behind Lupta’s schedule and therefore he could not make assumptions. They had a fine working arrangement in place and Mr. Lupta was a reliable paying customer. Why would Brody want to ruin that with foolish and intrusive questions?

Still, the part of him that dwelled on the idea that “Farkas” was no more than a charade would not let it rest. His sceptical side decided it was time he challenged the possibility and seek out the proof he needed to show once and for all that the European wolfhound actually did exist. Brody decided to schedule his following trip to the Lupta household first on his roster for the day. That meant he would be there before sun-up. Once he was done clearing the yard, he would take a sneak peek through the doggy door, while Mr. Lupta still slept. Brody had gained a little weight recently, as he usually did in the fall, but he figured he’d still be able to squeeze through, at least far enough to get a good look inside. It would be early enough that Farkas would hopefully be sleeping in his usual spot by the back door. If he could just set eyes on the dog, one quick peek, then all of his fanciful theories about Lupta being a werewolf would quickly be disproved.

Instinct told Brody, when he arrived that morning, that he shouldn’t do anything outside his normal routine, but he shrugged that instinct off. There was enough of a chill in the air that he could see his breath in front of his face, in the motion-detector light that turned on when he stepped into the yard. His breath wasn’t the only condensation visible either, one of the large piles that littered the yard steamed slightly as well. This suggested that it was a recent deposit. Based on its freshness, could he count on Farkas being asleep? If the dog was as large as his scat suggested, he expected he’d be at risk of losing his head if he thrust it through the doggy door and Farkas was there and awake. Brody promised himself that his intrusion into Lupta’s home would be brief, just a quick glance in and he would be out again equally as quickly.

Drawing in a couple of deep breaths to steady his nerves, Brody crouched by the doggy door and shoved his head through. It was shadowy in the room beyond, and the small morsels of light that managed to trickle in past him didn’t really reveal anything in the room beyond. He didn’t hear anything to suggest that a dog was in the dark space beyond the doggy door, so against his best judgement, Brody did not withdraw his head right away. He pulled himself in a little further, and felt around for a light switch, firmly wedging himself in the rectangular opening in the process. His fingertips made contact with the little lever and he flicked it upwards.

At first, Brody thought perhaps he had stumbled upon Mr. Lupta’s storage area for his props. There were multiple body parts strewn about the small mud room in various states of consumption and decay, reminiscent of the finger he had found. When the smell hit him, he realised that these were not exceptionally realistic props – they were absolutely the real thing. Brody’s stomach threatened to rebel and he decided catching sight of Farkas was no longer priority. He tried to back out of the doggy door in a hurry, and discovered, to his horror, that he was stuck.

The growling came moments later, as Brody struggled and squirmed in an attempt to free himself with no success. The creature that came around the corner was not the one he had been anticipating, walking upright on two legs instead of on all four. The hulking beast was extremely hairy and several times larger than Mr. Lupta, needing a doggy door the size of the one in which Brody was tightly wedged. It eyed him hungrily, licking its bloodied teeth with its blackened tongue. Brody could smell the stench of rotting meat on its humid breath from a distance, even with the other rancid odors in the mudroom. Then, it charged him.

His fanciful theories had been right all along, and he was staring at a grizzled silvery werewolf bearing down on him, its fur matted with blood, its fangs bathed in frothy saliva and its gray eyes savage.

The beast tore towards him and Brody’s squirming intensified but to no avail. Those few extra pounds had made all the difference. There would be no escape.

Brody’s only thought, as the monster reached him and tore into this throat, was that he should have trusted his gut about the scoop.

THE STRENGTH OF A PACK

By Rebecca Besser

I pressed the brake pedal, bringing my car to a halt in the gravel parking lot. The bar looked seedy and disreputable – a good place to find someone no one would miss. I got out, careful to balance in the unstable stones as I stood in my four inch heels.

A couple of bikers who were drinking beer and looking at their motorcycles turned their heads in my direction as I walked by on my way to the door. One whistled and the other tried to entice me to join them; with a saucy smile I continued on inside.

It was early so I didn’t expect many people to be around. I just needed to find one person, one good sized man. I stood just inside the door and surveyed the early drinkers stationed throughout the bar and grill.

There was a man and a woman at a table in the back eating burgers and talking quietly. A couple of guys were sitting hunched over at the bar, drinking beer and recounting stories of days past. Then I spotted him beyond an archway, playing pool in the back room.

I headed that way, hoping he was alone. I watched him as he moved. From his carriage and posture I could tell he was strong and agile. He would be fun.

Leaning against the arch, I surveyed the room. We were alone. I continued to watch him and waited for him to notice me; it didn’t take long.

He was bent over the table, lining up a shot when he glanced my way. His head turned back, then he did a double take. Once he was focused, his eyes traveled from my high heeled shoes up my bare legs and over my tight blue dress to my face.

He stood and leaned on his pool cue. “Howdy. You wanna play, beautiful?”

I grinned and nodded. We had time for a round or two of his game before it would be time to play mine.

“Sure,” I said. “Rack ‘em up.”

He grinned, collected the balls, and arranged them in the triangle.

“You wanna break?”

“Sure,” I said, leaning over the table to line up my shot, knowing I was giving him a good view of cleavage.

I pulled back and then slid the cue swiftly forward, breaking the formation and sending the back two balls into the far corner pockets; the game ensued. He was a good player and gave me a challenge.

I flirted with him mercilessly while we played game after game, brushing up against him whenever I could. He didn’t seem to mind. I knew when he grabbed my hips and brought them roughly back against his that is was time to leave and get on with my real purpose for him.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to leave with me, and it took even less to get him to go out in the woods with a blanket for what he thought would be some hot sex.

The sun was almost set when we came to a small clearing. He spread the blanket and lay down on his side.

“Come ‘ere, babe,” he said and patted the blanket beside him.

I grinned, thinking, This is almost too easy.

I slipped off my shoes and knelt beside him, bending forward to kiss him.

He was eager and pulled me down on top of him, before rolling on top of me, pinning me to the blanket-covered ground with his strong, aroused body.

I sighed as the finally rays of the sun began to fade – soon I would get to have my fun.

I let him strip me naked. I wouldn’t lose my clothes that way – they wouldn’t get shredded. No sooner had he removed the last scrap of fabric from my body than darkness swallowed the world and the moon shed its light upon us.

I growled and my body shuddered as I felt the beginning of the transformation.

He growled back as he kissed and nipped at my neck, mistaking the sound and shiver for passion.

My dark blue eyes reflected the dim light around us as I scraped my nails up the back of his shirt. My tongue darted back and forth in my mouth, rubbing against my teeth as they grew longer and sharper. My jaw popped as it dislocated and elongated, and that’s when he pulled back.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, looking down at me. “What the hell are you?”

I could hear the fear and disgust in his voice.

He jumped up and stared for a moment in morbid fascination as black fur sprung out of my flesh, covering my entire body. I felt my bones and muscles shift as he swore again and fled.

He did what they always do, and headed for the car. I’d locked it, so I knew he couldn’t get too far. Besides, the pack was out there, waiting, and they would catch him if I didn’t.

I stood on the blanket, stretching my front two paws out in front of me with my butt in the air. Yawning, I shook myself and my black fur shimmered in the moonlight. Putting my weight on my front paws, I stretched my back legs, holding one at a time in the air.

I heard the man in the woods: breaking twigs, swearing, and running in fear. His heart would be beating frantically by the time we ate him, and his blood would be laced with adrenaline.

Just the thought of sinking my teeth into him and tasting him got me excited. Throwing back my head, I let out a wild howl; it wasn’t long before I heard my howl echoed by others further off in the forest, each one getting closer and heading my way.

I took off at a lopping run, tracking the man in the night. I knew he wouldn’t be able to see well, but I could see just fine. As a matter of fact, I could see much better now than I could when it was daytime and I was in human form.

It didn’t take me long to find him; he hadn’t gotten as far as I thought he would. He must have fallen and hurt himself because he was limping and he hadn’t been before. I caught the scent of his blood as I got closer, confirming that he’d indeed caused himself harm.

He heard me behind him and tried to speed up, which didn’t do him any good. In a couple of bounds I was almost right on top of him. I veered to the right and ran beside him for a moment, my tongue hanging out in a wolfish grin.

I barked playfully and leapt sideways into the air, knocking him down and landing on top of him.

He screamed as I sunk my teeth into his soft neck. Blood spurted out onto my fur and down my throat. I growled and shook him violently, ripping and tearing until I pulled the meat free. I chewed it slowly before swallowing, savoring the fresh hot blood.

I heard the pack close-by and howled to let them know where I was before I indulged in another mouthful. Sinking my front claws into his chest, I ripped and jerked more flesh free.

A low growl emanated from behind me. I turned my head to see Isis. She bared her teeth in a snarl and snapped at me.

Licking my chops, I slowly climbed off the man and backed away. She may be the head female, but it was my kill and I wasn’t going to cower in front of her.

Kirk was the next to enter the clearing, just as Isis snapped at me again when she moved forward to eat. He growled at her in warning and yipped at me. This was supposed to be my official initiation into the pack. The proof that I could contribute and provide food when needed.

I watched as Kirk and Isis took what they wanted. Then I was allowed to choose my portion, before the other three got what was left.

I chewed on a leg bone and watched Isis eat. Her white coat shone brightly even in the darkness; the red of the man’s blood was the only thing that marred its perfection.

She glanced up and saw me looking at her. Growling, she picked up her meal and walked off into the darkness.

When we were all finished, we dug a deep hole and buried everything that was left: scraps of clothing, identification, and anything else we hadn’t eaten.

After that was taken care of, we yipped at each other and went our own ways into the night. Kirk and Isis headed off together. He turned back and watched me for a long moment before disappearing; Isis pretended not to notice.

I wandered back to the clearing and collected my clothes and shoes. I wrapped them in the blanket to make it easier to carry them to the car. Not having the use of my hands was one of the major drawbacks of being a werewolf as it made objects more difficult to handle.

When I got back to the car, I lay my bundle beside a rear tire and lay down to sleep.

*

I woke up freezing. Holding up my arm to keep the sunlight out of my eyes, I looked around. For a moment I was disoriented and couldn’t figure out where I was. Then I remembered. I licked my lips and was pleased to find that they still tasted of blood.

Shivering, I quickly stood and put my clothes on, thankful that today was Saturday and I didn’t have to work. From the position of the sun it looked like the morning was half over, and if it had been a work day, I would have been late.

I hurriedly got into the car, started it, and turned the heat on full blast. I had the blanket wrapped around me, but it wasn’t doing much good. I hated wearing such skimpy clothes, but it helped me get food in my stomach.

Humans were easier to manipulate when you were offering something they wanted, like sex.

When I could feel my fingers again, I drove home. No one seemed to be around as I snuck into my apartment, which was a good thing. I wasn’t dressed as the people in my building usually saw me; normally I was fairly modest.

My muscles ached from the change and from the exertion. A long, hot shower made me feel better. Pulling on a oversized T-shirt, I curled up in bed to get a couple more hours of rest. With a full stomach it didn’t take long for me to drift into a deep sleep.

*

I was startled awake by the phone ringing. Grumbling, I reached for the handset on my night stand.

“‘Ello,” I murmured.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Kirk teased.

“No,” I muttered. “I don’t want to.”

“We’re having a meeting at two o’clock,” he said, all business now. “There are some things to be discussed.”

I looked at my alarm clock and moaned; it read one o’clock.

“Where?”

He chuckled. “My house. Try to be on time.”

The line went dead. I stabbed the end button and sat the phone back in its cradle.

I got up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blue button-down shirt. Grabbing my purse, I headed out the door; it would take all of the remaining time to get there.

Driving to Kirk’s house was a chore for me, since I usually got lost trying to find it. He lived in a huge house out in the middle of nowhere. Today was no exception, as I was almost late because I passed the entrance to his drive, but I realized it right away and turned around to go back.

I was the last to arrive, so I had everyone’s eyes on me when I entered the living room, where they were lounging.

“Ah, you made it,” Kirk said, coming forward to greet me. “On time even, I think you had two minutes to spare.”

I blushed. “Yes. You said to be on time.”

I looked around the room. You would never have guessed we were all werewolves. Clothed and in human form, we looked normal. Only another of our kind could spot us during the day; our scent distinguished us from humanity. It was faint, but very distinct.

“Have a seat,” Kirk said, gesturing to the room at large.

I nodded and sat between Frank and Angela. They smiled politely and turned their attention back to Kirk. It was a new experience for me to be part of a pack. I’d never been around others like myself.

“I would like to welcome Natalie into the pack,” Kirk said. “She has proven herself more than once, and last night she provided us with a meal. She has done all that we’ve required of her. Join me in making her feel welcome.”

Everyone murmured warm words of welcome, well, everyone except Isis. She sat in her chair and acted like she didn’t care what was going on around her, like she wished she was somewhere else.

Kirk glared at her.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she spoke.

“Welcome, Natalie.”

Kirk’s jaw clenched at her sarcastic tone, but, since she was his sister, there wasn’t much he could do about her insolence. Or rather, not much he would do.

“Furthermore,” Kirk continued. “Natalie, I would like to invite you to come and live here – it would be safer for you than the apartment where you now live.”

Isis' head whipped around and she growled.

Kirk ignored her.

My jaw dropped. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe they were offering me a place to live. The rest of the pack doesn’t live here with them, I thought, confused. Why is he asking me to?

“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Kirk said with a grin. “Just think about it and let me know.”

I bit my lip and glanced at Isis; she looked really mad. I nodded and looked down at my lap. I didn’t know if I could live in the same house as her.

The room had gone silent, with everyone’s eyes on me. I don’t think I was the only one shocked by his offer.

“Does anyone else have anything they would like to discuss?” Kirk asked.

No one answered.

“I guess this meeting is over then,” he said. “You’re free to stay if you would like, but if you have somewhere you would rather be, you’re free to go.”

Frank and Simon got up, said their goodbyes, and left.

I glanced over at Angela, she had a smug smile plastered on her face as she watched me.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, grinning. “Either he really likes you, which wouldn’t surprise me, or he’s using you as a pawn to piss off Isis. I haven’t decided yet, but I’m thinking it might be a bit of both.”

I blushed and looked down again, thinking I should probably leave. I started to rise, but as I did so I saw Isis stalk over to Kirk.

“I would like to talk to you, brother,” she snapped.

“What about?” he asked, turning to face her.

She crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. “You know what about.”

He smiled sadistically and nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He walked over to me and looked down into my eyes, smiling gently. “Natalie, I would like to talk to you before you leave, so please wait.”

They turned and walked out of the room together, and I watched Isis’ platinum blonde hair swing back and forth as she stalked out with sharp, jerky movements.

Angela laughed. “I know he’s succeeded at making her mad – this is fun to watch. There hasn’t been this much excitement since Kirk had to fight for leadership.”

I shrugged and stood. I wandered around the room with nervous tension, thinking. . . How am I going to turn him down without offending him? If I did say yes, how was I going to live here with Isis? I didn’t know what to do; he’d put me in a difficult position.

Kirk came back a short while later. His face was flushed, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or another emotion.

Angela winked at me and grinned. “I think I’ll take off as well. I have a couple things to do before tonight.”

“Bye,” I said softly and looked out the window.

“You know where we’re meeting?” Kirk asked her.

“Yes,” she said. “Bye for now.”

The door thudded shut behind her, causing me to jump and turn. Kirk was standing in the middle of the room with his arms behind his back, watching me.

“Have you considered my offer?”

I nodded and tucked my long black hair behind my ear. “Yes, and I still don’t know what to say.”

“Is it Isis? Is that why this is a hard decision for you?” he asked, slowly walking toward me. “Or is it me you don’t think you could live with?”

I laughed nervously. “I guess I just don’t understand why you offered in the first place.”

He paused and nodded. “I can see that. You’re young and you haven’t been a werewolf long. . . I would like you to come here for security and training. I want you comfortable with fighting before we have to deal with another pack trying to move in on our territory.”

“Another pack?” I asked with a gasp.

“Yes,” Kirk said, coming to stand in front of me. “Another pack. I have to defend our territory and I can’t do it all on my own – everyone has to be able to fight. I can’t have the worry of all of you on my mind when I’m fighting myself.”

I nodded and shuffled my feet. “I suppose I should learn how to defend myself. But couldn’t I come here in the evenings or something? Do I have to live here?”

He laughed. “You make living here sound like torture. Would it really be so bad?”

“No,” I whispered. “I suppose not.”

He walked across the room and sat in an overstuffed chair.

“Look,” he said. “I know that you and Isis don’t get along. She has made her objections clear and I’ll deal with her. It’s your best interest I’m thinking about. In that tiny apartment, with humans so close by, how many nights do you think it will take before you’re discovered? Think of that before you say no.”

I turned back to the window and crossed my arms, gripping my shoulders with my hands. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward, hiding my face behind my hair as is cascaded forward. I stood that way for awhile, just thinking about what he’d said.

Kirk was right. I risked discovery staying where I was. Apparently, I also needed to learn to defend myself. I could no longer be selfish and had to think about what was best for the pack. With a heavy sigh I admitted to myself that he was right.

“All right,” I said, lifting my head and brushing my hair back. “I’ll move here. But what should I do about my job? It’ll be a long drive everyday.”

“Quit.”

I turned and looked at him. He was gazing at me intensely. I tried to read his expression, but couldn’t.

“Quit?” I asked.

“Yes, quit,” he said, standing. “You won’t need a job after you move here. I’m not charging you rent and it’s not like we have to buy groceries.”

I laughed. “No. No groceries.”

“So it’s settled?” he asked. “You’re going to come live here?”

I nodded and bit my bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Great,” he said and clapped his hands once. “I’ll have a room prepared for you, and I’ll send someone to help you move tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He grinned and nodded. “You better go home and start packing.”

“I guess so,” I said as I walked to the door.

“See you tonight,” Kirk said as I opened the door.

“Tonight,” I said as I left.

*

I was busy packing for the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t have much. I’d just moved here after all, and the apartment had come furnished, so I didn’t have to worry about anything big.

As the daylight waned, I got ready to leave. We were meeting in the same forest we’d been in last night, but I didn’t know what we would be hunting tonight – human or animal.

When I arrived, I was informed that Simon had found the trail of some deer, and that we would be hunting them. We preferred human – for some reason they were much more satisfying than any other living beast – but with modern society and the rate at which people were reported missing, it was risky to eat them too often.

It was fun romping through the woods with the wind blowing through my fur, seeing the others around me; I felt like I was part of a family.

It didn’t take us long to find and kill the deer. The herd had been small; two does and three of their little ones.

We’d just separated out our portions when I heard Kirk growl deep in his throat. I looked up at him and followed his line of vision. That’s when I heard it. Something was slinking through the woods beyond the break of trees. I sniffed the air and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

There was a werewolf out there – an unfamiliar. The words Kirk had spoken this afternoon chased themselves through my head. Fighting. Defending our territory. In a way I was excited, in another way I was scared; I’d never had to fight before. Would I be able to hold my own if I had to do so now? I wondered.

Kirk took a couple of steps forward and growled louder, followed it with a menacing snarl; Isis joined him, doing the same.

I glanced at the rest to see how they were reacting. Simon was laying with his venison angled between his front paws. Frank was standing, focused on the leaders. Angela lay calmly chewing on a leg bone, watching as if she was amused with the whole thing. All of their ears were up and they were alert. I did as they did and kept my peace and watched, but was ready to spring into action if need be.

As we watched, a nose peeked out from the shadows, followed by a gray head with reflective yellow eyes. The werewolf sniffed before extending its long pink tongue to test the air.

Kirk took a couple more steps forward, crouching lower on his frown paws with a barking snarl.

The newcomer licked his nose and slid back into the forest.

Isis and Kirk stopped snarling, but they stayed alert and watched for a few minutes until they were sure the stranger was gone.

I glanced back at the pack. They were all eating again, so I did the same; it wasn’t long before Kirk and Isis ate too.

After the normal yips goodnight we went our separate ways. I turned to go back the way we’d came, when Kirk barked. I glanced over my shoulder and he tossed his head in a come with us gesture. It hadn’t occurred to me that I should go with them, but it made sense – I would be doing so all the time once I was moved in.

I followed them back to their house. I didn’t know the way and would have gotten lost on my own; it helped that Isis was so bright, with her white fur, because at times Kirk’s reddish coat blended in with the blurred landscape as we ran.

For the first couple of nights after I moved in I spared with Kirk. After he thought my skill had increased I spared with Isis. She didn’t hold back as much and I often had scratches and bruises when we were done. I knew that in a real fight it would have been much worse, so I didn’t complain.

Isis and I stayed clear of each other during the day. Usually I was so exhausted from hunting and learning to defend myself that I slept most of the time.

Life went on like this for a month. Then my new skills were put to the test.

We were hunting, deer again, close to the same area we’d seen the stray werewolf. We saw him again, and this time he wasn’t alone.

We’d just slaughtered a huge buck and three little does when Kirk spotted them. This time the entire pack was standing at attention and snarling. I did the same.

It wasn’t long before five werewolves came out of the forest all around us.

Kirk and Isis barked a vicious warning, making it clear that if they didn’t back off we would attack.

When they kept advancing, snarling and growling back, Kirk stood on his back legs, standing his full height, and roared before charging the head male of the opposing pack.

Isis spun to her left and swiped her claws a the head of another attacking male.

We all followed suit.

I leapt over a small female that charged at me. Spinning swiftly, I bit her rear, right flank, sinking my teeth in until I tasted blood.

She yipped in pain and howled in frustration.

I released her and circled around her slowly. I knew with the injury she couldn’t maneuver well or jump.

I charge her side, knocking her to the ground.

She managed to swipe my chest with her claws as she fell – the pain only angered me.

Pinning her to the ground, I clawed at her face until she lifted her chin. Once I had the opening I was looking for I lunged forward and ripped at her jugular. Blood spurted all over and around us as I tore her neck to shreds.

When she went limp, I glanced around to see if the others needed help. Angela and Frank were having trouble with a big male, so I went to assist.

The three of us circled him, growling, slowly moving in closer.

He leapt forward and tried to claw Frank.

Angela and I pounced, and latched onto his sides.

He reared back roaring in pain.

We bit down on the tendons in his shoulders, tearing them from his body; his front legs went limp and he fell face down on the ground.

Frank gripped the fallen werewolf’s head between his massive paws, twisting and pulling violently until he ripped it off. Holding it over his head, he let out a roar of victory.

He dropped the head and we turned back to the battle. Simon was just finishing off another small female and Isis and Kirk were fighting the lead male together.

I winced when I saw blood fly through the air as Kirk got slashed across the chest.

Isis jumped at the attacker, seizing his arm in her teeth and shaking violently.

Hurriedly we surrounded the only remaining wolf of the rival pack, and with all of us working together, we soon brought him down.

It quickly became obvious that Kirk was serious hurt, and it took all of us to get him back to the house. For the last mile we had to take turns dragging his unconscious body.

We licked his wounds clean and pressed bandages to the gash on his chest to try and staunch the flow of blood, before we tended to ourselves. We lay around him, cleaning our wounds and looking at the sky whining. This was one night we all wanted to come to an end. The need to be in human form was great, because only then could we help Kirk.

Dawn came just in time.

Ignoring our nakedness, we moved Kirk to his bed and started tending to his wounds.

Isis stitched up the laceration while the rest of us bandaged bites and cuts on his arms and legs.

One by one we left to get dressed, relieving someone else to let them go when we came back. By the time we were all clothed Kirk was taken care of. The five of us just stood and looked down at him. He was almost as white as the sheets he was laying on.

*

For over thirty-six hours he was unconscious. When he woke I was with him. Laying on the bed beside him, trying to stay awake.

I hopped up and rushed to the door to holler for Isis.

She came running.

I let them have a moment alone while I phoned the rest of the pack to let them know he was awake, and most of them said they would be right over.

When I got back to Kirk’s room, Isis was helping him get a drink of water.

I stood in the doorway and watched.

As everyone arrived I snuck off to get a little bit of sleep. Hunting at night and then staying awake most of the day to watch over Kirk had worn me out.

*

In a less than a week Kirk was up and almost back to his normal self. The lesser injuries had healed, but his chest was taking some time. He didn’t hunt with us for an additional week; it wasn’t the same without him and there was always something missing in his demeanor when he ate what we brought back for him. His attitude almost seemed to says that he didn’t take any pleasure ingesting something that he hadn’t taken a part in slaying.

When he was finally back with us, and we were tearing through the woods after what would be that nights meal, something occurred to me.

It wasn’t just the force we created when we hunted and fought together, but also the caring for and protecting of each other that created the strength of a pack. Something that I was now a part of.

YOU SAY CURSE, I SAY TOMATO

By Suzanne Robb

Night One –

Rich Myers made his way through the park grumbling the entire time. He poked a bubble gum wrapper with his stupid metal stick, with the stupid metal point, and jabbed it into his stupid bag. Community service at its best, he thought sarcastically.

His feet ached, and as he wiped a trail of sweat from the back of his neck he realized the sky had darkened considerably. With a slight tilt of his head he took in the sunset and watched the moon rise. He smiled, it was full tonight.

With a quick glance around the area he realized he was alone and took a break on a nearby bench. Why in the world did the powers that be think it was a good idea to give someone charged with assault a weapon, or at least what he felt was one even if it was meant to pick up trash for those too lazy to put it in a can, and then have them hang out in a park populated with people was beyond him.

Rich closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the breeze and celebrate the end of another day, only eighty-three left to go. The sound of pounding footsteps accompanied with the agonized moan of someone in pain caused him to bolt upright.

In front of him a man sped by, shedding clothes as he went. With a giant leap the nearly naked man cleared a bunch of hydrangea bushes and landed with a muffled thud.

Rich stood as he spoke, “Hey, buddy, you okay in there?”

A growl his only response. Fine, be that way, jerk. He shook his head and turned to walk back to the work truck when something grabbed him from behind. Claws tore into his shoulder and as he screamed sharp teeth sank into his leg.

Rich flipped over and grabbed his stupid stick, now most favorite possession, and jabbed it into the face of the beast attacking him. A howl of rage was released and as it wrestled with the pole sticking out of its nasal cavity. Rich scrambled away as fast as he could.

The pain in his leg intense, and several times he felt as if he was close to passing out. Within a few moments the truck was in sight and he called out. Several of his co-workers, or whatever you call criminals you do good works with, came to his aid.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mike Jones asked.

Rich felt himself being lifted into a standing position, but kept stealing glances behind them. He felt something watching them.

“This thing attacked me, no idea what. It was huge though, size of a bear.”

Mike shook his head, “There aren’t any bears here; I don’t even think we have raccoons. And by the way, you’re going to be docked for the replacement pole.”

Rich garnered the energy to glare at his supervisor, and then promptly passed out.

*

Morning Day Two –

“This guy looks like he went through the ringer. What did they say happened?” Detective Rex Carlton asked his partner.

“Not sure, some sort of animal attack. The chief wants us to check it out because of the similarities of the wound tracts found on the body we pulled out of the lake last month, and the one we found in the woods two months before that,” Detective Rita Majors said.

Rex stared down at the still body in the bed in front of him. A bandage ran along the left side of his face, and he was propped up on his side. The doctor informed them the animal had taken a hefty chunk out of the man’s backside.

“Hey, wake up.” Rita nudged the bed with her foot causing it to jostle.

*

Rich stared at the blob in front of him. Even with half his face covered he could tell from the bad cut of the suit and the bored stance, he was in the presence of the police.

Great, just what I need he thought.

“We just need to ask you a few questions about what happened last night, Mr. Myers, and then we’ll be on our way,” Rex said.

Rich adjusted his position and felt a shooting pain from toe to forehead. He winced in pain, grabbing the hand railing for support.

“Right then, so you were attacked last night by an animal. Can you give us a description?”

“It was big, had sharp teeth, and ran off with half my ass. Did the doctor tell you that I have to get skin grafts? That my ass will never look the same!?” Rich yelled.

Rex lifted his hands in a placating manner and watched as a nurse came in to see what caused the elevation in her patient’s heart rate. With a sigh she looked at the police officers as she hit the button on the morphine drip.

“Your friends said you mentioned something about a bear,” Rex said.

Rich had a nasty retort on his tongue, but felt something warm flow through his veins.

“Might have been a bear, or a dragon. Not really sure…did you know they gave me a rabies shot, and something else, titsandass I think?” Rich slurred.

“Right, well I think we have what we need.” Rex motioned to his partner and the two left the room.

Rich smiled and sailed off into a nice dream.

*

Night Day Two –

Rich woke in a sweat. Bits and pieces of a dream ran through his mind. He was running through a forest. Being chased. Something snarling in his ear, and then pain.

He glanced around the room squinting when the nurse turned on the light as she entered.

“Mr. Myers, are you feeling alright? Your fever’s spiking.” She put a hand on his forehead, but he pushed her away.

“I’m fine, just leave me alone.”

The nurse hit a button and left the room after making a note on his chart. The desire to choke the woman almost overwhelmed him. He needed her to get the hell out of his room, something bad would have happened to her if she stayed.

He curled up, careful of his backside and fell asleep. This time his dreams were dark and hurried. Something ran in front of him and he needed to catch it, his survival depended on it. A meaty fur paw reached out and sliced the back of the woman in front of him. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and instinct took over as he tore into her back with his teeth.

*

Twenty-six days later –

Rich took a swig and finished his beer. Today was the last day of medical leave and he planned to make the best of it by getting loaded. The last thing he wanted to deal with was all the ass-crack jokes.

Thankfully, they would not be as bad as he thought. His doctors were surprised at how quickly and well he’d healed. Minimal grafts would be needed, though Rich planned to wait since insurance did not cover ass implants.

He let out a sigh as he scratched an itchy spot on his neck. Part of where the animal had scratched him left an irritated area of skin that, and Rich knew it sounded crazy, seemed to grow more hair than normal.

A glance out the window let him know the day was coming to an end and tomorrow he would once again wield his stupid stick and pick up other people’s garbage. The worst part, the month off did not work against his community service hours. Total crap, he thought, he almost died and they refused to reduce his sentence. No wonder people were going mental and hacking up random strangers.

Absently he reached a hand up and felt the scar on his face. He knew he was lucky to be alive, the animal that got him had killed at least nine other people over the last few months. Problem was they had no idea what it was, and he was the only survivor thus far.

He trembled a bit as he thought of having to go back to the park tomorrow, but pushed it down. He was a man. He was macho. He was a bad ass, no pun intended. And plus, he made sure he got an extra-long, extra sharp stick this time.

The alarm went off far too early for Rich. He slapped at it and glared at the time. Noon, who gets up that early on purpose?

He ambled out of bed, already dressed for work, and stumbled out the door. He caught the bus just in time, and twenty minutes later he reported an hour late for work. Mike stood surveying the men in front of him, his clip board in hand like some sort of status symbol.

“You’re late.”

Rich bit his tongue for a few seconds then responded, “Sorry, bus broke down.”

“Whatever, get your ass in gear,” Mike chuckled at his joke. “If you can that is.”

Rich grabbed his stick and bag, and put on the ghastly orange vest they were forced to wear while working. He poked and prodded his quadrant until every used condom, gum wrapper, and coffee cup had been picked up. Around sun down the rest of the crew started to wind down and head towards Mike to fill in their hours.

Rich felt a surge of power run through him, like some sort of electrical jolt took over his body. He spasmed a few moments, then felt blinding pain inside his body. He glanced down at his chest as it began to crack and protrude out in front of his eyes.

He looked around terrified, wondering if he was still in some sort of morphine coma. When his leg buckled and bent backwards he ran as far away from the others as he could. The ground hit his face with a thud, though how it happened he had no idea. He’d no recollection of falling, so obviously it had to be the other way around.

As his body trembled he felt and heard his skin splitting as bones jutted out and broke, only to re-knit within seconds in a different shape, canine like. A particularly strong jolt caused his back to arch to the point of being at a ninety degree angle.

His nose began to spread, then in a burst a snout jutted out of his face. He lifted his hand to try and stop the carnage occurring, but realized he now had a paw with extremely sharp claws. A dazzling realization hit him; he was not a were-wolf. He was the ultimate man. From here on out he wasn’t taking any more crap from people.

A second later, he hit the ground on all fours. The pain finished, at least for the time being. Rich looked around, his sight at a lower level than normal, and his vision crisper than it had ever been before.

Then something happened, another sense kicked in and took over. More of an instinct really, the need to hunt. Rich prowled around the park as the community service people called out for him. He ran away from them as fast as he could, there were too many for him to take on.

Rich loped at an easy pace, impressed with his speed and the fact he didn’t get winded in the least. A whiff of something caught him up short and he stopped to sample the air. A wonderful aroma filled his nose and he followed it until he was mere feet away from a woman sitting on her back porch reading a book.

The part inside of him that was Rich knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the part of him that was wolf, the stronger part, knew it was so right. He flew out of the bushes and enjoyed the change in the woman’s scent as fear took over. Sharp fangs about to slash her throat open and silence her, stopped when he heard a growl to his right.

He rotated his eye to see what dare threaten him and let out a wolf-like laugh when he saw a Chihuahua. Problem was his lack of attention to his victim gave her a chance to grab her cigarette and jab it in his eye.

Rich fell off his prey and made his way out of the yard using one eye. Stupid smokers, didn’t they know it was a bad habit? He roamed around, trying to ignore the pain. Finally, about an hour before sunrise he caught a rabbit. The small animal barely satiating the hunger he’d built up running around all night.

As soon as he swallowed the tail a jolt of power shot through him again, and he knew he was about to reverse transform, or whatever the hell it was called. He didn’t really care; he just didn’t want it to hurt.

No such luck, after a few moments he lay on the ground a quivering mess of flesh. Rich had a good idea when it felt like to spend time in a blender, and he could honestly say he wasn’t a fan.

He struggled to his feet realizing he was naked when a woman walking her dog screamed and fell to the ground. Torn between helping her, and covering himself, the dog made the decision for him. Wrestling itself loose from the leash it chased after Rich. He ran through the woods all the while barely avoiding being bit and losing any more of his rear end.

A pile of clothes seemed familiar, then he saw the Day-Glo orange vest he wore and knew it was the remnants of his outfit. Great, that was his favorite shirt. The dog gave up chase three blocks ago, so he could put on his tattered clothes and grab his wallet and keys.

He mumbled to himself all the way home, oblivious to the looks people gave him as well as the wide berth. He slammed his door shut and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“Right then, I’m a werewolf that got spooked by a three pound dog. Wonderful”

Rich wandered into the bathroom knowing he would have to tend to his eye, but was surprised when he saw it healed. He grinned to himself; perhaps there were perks to this after all. Then a pain began in his ear, and smoke rose from his earlobe.

What the hell?

Then it dawned on him, his earring was silver. He ripped it out of his ear, burning his fingers in the process. Why didn’t it bother him last night, or earlier for that matter? There were other questions too, but he had no idea where to go.

He figured sleep was his best bet for the time being, but found himself to amped up. Instead he showered, shaved, and threw on some clothes and went to the café down the street. On his way a newspaper headline caught his eye.

“Woman claims giant poodle tried to attack her”

Rich took a good look at the victim and recognized her, his suspicions of who she was were further confirmed when mention of Chavez the Chihuahua were made.

Okay, the woman was obviously insane, and traumatized. He was a massive werewolf, and she mistook his gnarly matted fur for that of a poodle. He sighed in relief and ordered some breakfast, runny eggs, bacon barely seared, and raw sausage.

The waitress looked at him oddly, but he ignored it. The poodle comment kept coming back to him. He spent the rest of the day expecting to wake up with some doctor prodding him. Telling him he was lucky to be alive.

Sadly, there was no rewind button, there was no waking up, and there was no way to get out of community service because you were having body issues, literally.

Rich walked the five miles to the park in an effort to burn off some energy; he felt electrified by something but had no idea what. He knew from looking at the calendar, tonight was the actual full moon, so he assumed that played a big part in his current situation.

“Myers, you’re late again, and you didn’t turn in your stick or vest yesterday. That’s going to cost you. I’m adding extra hours for you to do, and charging you for the stuff you stole.” Mike said.

“I didn’t steal your damn vest or that stupid stick you moron, I lost them when I changed …” Rich thought it better he didn’t yell to the world at large he was a were-wolf.

Mike looked at him with a questioning expression. “When you changed what?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it. Just add it to my tab.”

Rich grabbed the new items and took the quadrant as far away from his boss and the others as possible. As the day dragged by, the more amped up he got. When it was an hour before quitting time he turned in his tools and vest and feigned being sick. Seconds later he was bolting through the woods, a primal need kicking in. The change was quicker than last time, but no less painful.

He shook himself and could feel how massive he was; though without a mirror he had no idea how terrifying he looked. He wandered around searching for something when he ran into another beast as large as him.

They circled one another, and as they did Rich noticed something peculiar about the animal in front of him. He recognized it as the one that attacked him, but it didn’t seem as terrifying now.

He hated to admit it, but it was the poofy head and pom pom tail. Then it struck him like a bolt of lightning, the beast in front of him was a damn poodle, more specifically a were-poodle. The animal was shaggy and matted to be sure, but there was no mistaking the fact it was a poodle! A shiver rand down his spine, and all of a sudden he needed to see his reflection.

Rich ran around looking for anything reflective, after an hour he came across a small puddle. He took short hesitant steps towards it and let out a howl at what greeted him. A white pom pom on his head, poofy ears…the rest was too horrid to imagine.

He turned his face away and moped around. Several people approached him asking if he was lost, someone offered a bit of food which he scarfed down. Then the anger kicked in and he felt the instinctual need to kill something take over.

Loping around the woods he sniffed the air for anything, he didn’t care if it was a squirrel or a mouse, he was going to kill it. If he was going to be stuck being a stupid were-poodle, shit was going to die.

He felt his masculinity falling off in great big chunks as he plodded along the pathway. In the morning when he changed back he stayed on the ground, not caring if anyone found him. What would they say? What would he say?

Oh, sorry about that, I’m a were-poodle you see. God, how lame is that. Of all the things to happen, if he was going to lose almost half an ass he wanted to at least be a were-wolf. His anger rekindled as he stood and stomped through the woods, all the way home – naked.

Images of the night he was attacked came back to him and he could see the jerk that bit him had let his looks go to hell. No wonder he didn’t see the poodle-like qualities. Now that he knew, he needed to find a cure. Needed to find some way to reverse or stop what was happening to him.

Rich showered, dressed, and headed to the library to use their internet. He searched every variation of were-wolf he could think of and came up with nothing but myth, and stories basing sightings on ergot.

He cracked the keyboard in frustration and left before he was asked to pay for something else. On the street smells were stronger, and certain aromas were more appealing than others. As he passed people with dogs, he heard them growl or look up at him in a menacing way.

Great, and he used to be a dog guy.

The scent of the other were-poodle hit him and he followed it. He found the guy in an alley curled up in some papers. Obviously homeless.

Bending down he nudged the man awake, the smell of alcohol almost knocking him over.

“Hey, you, hunk of nastiness wake up. I need to ask you some questions.”

The man opened one eye, and Rich watched as it rolled into the back of his head. He kicked the man again, this time getting a reaction.

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to know how the hell I get rid of this stupid curse you gave me. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life turning into Fru Fru the Dancing Poodle three times a month,” Rich said.

The man laughed, “You think I’d still be doing this if there was a cure? Smarten up, moron.”

“I refuse to believe that, have you even tried to do find a cure?” Rich asked.

“Of course I did, but after three hundred years I gave up. I’ve talked to every shaman, witch doctor, and anthropomorphic specialist out there. There is no damn cure, now leave me be.”

“But you kill people, dozens of people have been slaughtered by you.”

The man scratched himself as he rolled over, “I have never killed anyone. That is the work of something else, something you need to stay far away from.”

Rich thought about what the man said. He had no idea if he could believe him or not since this was coming from a man who thought urinating on himself was okay. Rich thought back to the night he saw that woman and how much he wanted to kill her. The more probable truth was the guy had pickled his brain, or just didn’t want to take responsibility.

Oh, how he wanted to be a were-wolf instead. Then at least he could justify the blood lust, but as a poodle it just didn’t work. People referred to this as a curse in the books, but Rich was trying to look on the bright side.

He watched the man pull some papers over him and crawl under a box. Okay, so no cure – that sucked. The living forever thing, a nice surprise. For the rest of time he was going to change into the worst ever mythological creature.

He sat and leaned on the wall next to the bum. Grabbing the half empty bottle of whiskey, he drank. The guy had it right, if this was his life now, spending it drunk was likely the best thing for him.

US 20

By David Naughton-Shires

Lester and Hank swayed from side to side as they clung tightly onto the rusted steel bar that cut across the rear of the cab window of the pickup. Below them, sat in the cab, Bill swung the steering wheel which in turn swung the huge vehicle sharply to the left to avoid another tree.

The two men rocked from side to side as they stood in the pickup flatbed wearing the ‘uniform’ of the male residents of the small town of ‘Wookie Hole’. They both wore fading plaid shirts, one red and the other blue, worn work pants, Lester’s not quite covering the crack of his rear end, and mud encased boots. On Lester’s head was an old fishing hat with ‘Wookie Hole Fishing Tackle Emporium’ embroidered onto a badge sewn onto the front with thick red cotton, and Hank wore his very favourite hunting hat. His hat was now a faded sweat-stained mustard colour, but it had been bright orange when it had been first purchased over ten years ago at the ‘Wookie Hole Dry Goods and General Store’, which according to its half page advert in the local newspaper;

‘Stocked everything, and if we don’t we’ll git it for ya!’.

In a growing puddle of thick, black blood at their feet was the evidence of their evening’s entertainment; they had so far managed to hunt and literally run down a stag and two large hares. The stag was still pretty intact but the bull-bars at the front of the truck had almost pulverised the two hairs to a point where it was hard to tell where one ended and the other started. Their grey-brown fur that had once stretched over the taut muscles of the creatures was now matted and black with their blood and entrails.

Lester carefully leaned out over the side of the pickup, his huge bear-like fist gripping the cross bar, and reaching through the window of the cab tapped Bill on the shoulder. Bill looked up to see Lester mime, without much talent, the opening and drinking of a can; this would be the ninth such brew Lester would have consumed in the two hours they had been out driving in the forest. They came out for what they called ‘a drive’ every Saturday night, just as long as it wasn’t raining too heavy. Each would take turns driving Hanks old beat-up Ford while the other two would take up their places in the back with spotlights and rifles. They wouldn’t often find cause to actually fire their weapons, as they preferred to run their prey down with the truck rather than waste precious bullets.

Reaching down into the cooler that sat in the foot-well, he pulled a cold can from the melting ice and water. As he struggled to sit up straight, Bill swerved again to avoid another tree. All three let out a ‘yehaa’ as the truck briefly left the ground and took to the air. On landing, Bill cursed from inside the cab as he bounced from his seat and hit his balding head on the roof. A small trickle of blood started to seep from a cut on the very crown of his shining braincase; it wasn’t a bad cut but even these three less-than-educated men knew a cut on the scalp would bleed more than anywhere else. They had, between them, experienced more than a few cuts and scrapes; many a long night in the local bar had ended in them losing their footing and meeting the ground at a rapid rate. Bill continued to share some very choice language and finally brought the vehicle to a standstill in a small clearing.

The two men jumped down from the back of the Ford. Lester landed with the grace of a dancing rhino on the soft ground and Hank beside him with a landing that showed his slightly more athletic background. He had been in the football team in High School and still traded daily on the small town fame it had given him. Hank following Lester’s earlier lead and leaned into the cab. He pulled, by the plastic rings, three cold brews from the cooler that sat in the foot well of the passenger’s seat.

Cracking the first can open and bringing it to his lips, he threw one at Lester and the other in the direction of Bill.

“Heads up, Baldy” he laughed.

The can flew over the top of the pickup and landed on the ground just beside Bill. He turned and gave Hank a mean glance as he pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and started to wipe the blood from his forehead and up over the crown of his head.

“…and the horse you rode in on, boy” he uttered under his breath as he continued to wipe the sticky liquid from his face.

Bill leaned down and picked up his can and before opening it he flicked it a few times. This was a trick his Daddy had shown him to settle a shook can. He wasn’t sure it actually worked, but at forty-five years of age it was now an old habit, and they were hard to break. Pulling his threadbare woollen beanie from the back pocket of his dirt-stained pants, he placed it on his head and then threw the keys of the truck to Hank.

“Here ya go, boy; your truck, you can drive.”

Hank was only three years younger than Bill and a full ten years older than Lester but Bill always called him boy; when it had started it used to bother the hell out of him but now it didn’t bother him at all. He reckoned it was just like any other nickname and he had had plenty since being in High School.

Hank jumped into the driving seat and started the engine up. The truck might look like it had seen its best days but the engine purred like a kitten; and so it should. Hank spent many of his leisure hours under the hood of that particular vehicle. The other two, as best they could, swung themselves up and into the back of the Ford just as Hank put it in gear and started out of the clearing.

As they rounded the bend of a dry stream they were now following, they spotted a movement in the brush just off to their left. Even after nine cans Lester was still pretty fast to swing the spotlight they had mounted on the bar in the direction of the movement.

“Hey guys that’s a biggun,” Bill shouted over the roaring of the engine. “Plenty of eating on that one; get after him”

Hank, now in control of the truck, showed that the beers he had drunk tonight had not diminished his driving ability, and quickly spun the wheel and it rose up out of the dry bed and onto the bank. Lester managed to hold on with one hand and steer the spotlight to stay in line with Hank’s steering of the truck. Both passengers had now dropped their half-empty cans into the sticky black blood that covered the inside of the pickup's flatbed. They no longer felt the need to drink; they were deep into the chase. The Ford left the ground again as it left the forest and landed on the hard surface of a paved road. Looking left and right to get his bearings, Hank shouted from the cab,

“This is the U.S. 20 guys; did ya see which way it went?”

Before either of his passengers could answer the whole world seemed to rock, at least that’s the way it seemed to Hank from inside the truck. Turning he looked behind him and saw that Bill was no longer in the back; turning the engine off slowly he placed his hand on the handle of the door and swung it open.

Stepping out he looked down at the road beside the Ford's rear wheel, and felt a hot burning sensation rise up in his throat as he saw what was left of Bill. His blood-soaked beanie now lay in an expanding puddle of blood that leaked from where his head used to be connected to his neck. One hand still twitched and the face of his watch clinked against the hard tarmac, echoing in the now silent cold night air. Hank couldn’t see Bill's head anywhere and retched as he looked further down his friend’s body to see his innards bursting out of his chest and stomach onto the dark road surface.

Gripping the edge of the truck's side panel, he looked up to where Lester stood frozen; both of the younger man’s hands looked as though they were glued to the steel bar they had used to mount the spotlight. Just as Hank was about to speak there was a flash of movement and Lester’s head flew off his shoulders and hit Hank in the centre of his chest. A combination of smells filled the air; the hot metallic scent of blood and the musty smell of sex mingled with the damp aroma of wet matted hair. Not knowing what to do, Hank started to rub furiously at the blood that now covered the front of his shirt. His legs felt weak and the contents of his stomach started to force their way up and out to make a second appearance. Gripping his knees he bent double and released a massive flow of amber liquid that forced its way out of his mouth and nose and mingled with the still-steaming blood that continued to seep from where Bill's head had been.

With a start, Hank stood bolt upright. What had to be the most haunting sound he had heard in his full forty-two years echoed around him. He had heard similar noises in the many horror films he had seen, his favourite being about a nice, American guy being attacked under a full moon in England. But they had only ever been special effects, never real.

He had heard the howl of wolves and roar of bears. This was a sound he had never heard before; an almost guttural combined roar and howl of a creature that sounded lost, alone and in terrible pain.

Turning quickly he left behind the bleeding bodies of his two best friends and headed on down the road towards ‘Wookie Hole’. It was easy to navigate the road tonight; the moon was full and sat high in the cloudless sky. Hank could almost taste the musty sex-like aroma mingled with the sickly metallic smell that he'd first noticed when he was stood back at the truck in the air around him. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement just off to the side of the road. As he approached a bend he stopped, turned his head, and was greeted with the face of a huge beast.

It stood taller than any man he knew with eyes that were a sky blue with an almost black band that encircled the irises. Its pulsating, muscular body was covered with short jet-black hair from its head to the tops of its feet. For what seemed like hours, but actually was only mere seconds, Hank looked the creature up and down. On its broad shoulders was a head that combined both human and wolf-like features. It snarled to show a row of sharp, yellowing teeth; as it opened its mouth to let out its guttural scream, Hank was almost thrown back by the putrid smell of rotting flesh.

The creature leaned forward towards Hank who now stood frozen in place. Unable to move, all he could do was stand as he felt the warmth of the piss flow down his legs, soaking his pants, and the shit that filled his shorts. The huge beast sniffed at him and, moving gracefully for such a huge frame, started to circle the frozen man. Hank's breathing began to become more and more rapid; tears began to flow down his dirt-stained cheeks leaving tiny pink trails. The creature once more found its way to a position stood directly in front of the quivering man. Hank wondered why it had waited so long; why it had not just torn his head off like it had with Bill and Lester.

Taking one step back the creature straightened its legs and back and stood up; Hank could hear the bones pop as its spine lined up and it now towered over him.

Hank closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, for the beast to swipe one of its huge claw-tipped hands and strike him down where he stood.

For the first time in his life he was totally, completely aware.

He could smell the musky aroma of the creature but beyond that he could pick out the scent of the surrounding forest. He could feel the cool night air, the soft breeze that flowed over the bare skin of his arms; even the smell of the piss that had flowed down his pants and the shit that had filled his shorts were almost beautiful in their own way.

Finally he laughed, only a small giggle as he realise that in this moment, a moment where he was scared sober and facing certain death, he had never been more alive.

In a moment of acceptance Hank opened his eyes to look at the beast once more. The monster curled its hands into fists and drew its arms into its chest. Placing one leg forward and one back it crouched slightly and turned its face to the moon. Opening its huge mouth wide, it let out a roar that echoed for miles. He expected at any moment to feel the powerful blow of death from this predator.

Hank no longer saw a monstrosity stood in front of him but a powerful and majestic beast. Where he had seen a creature of horror before, he now saw an ancient and amazing part of creation. Although he would not welcome death he was glad it was such a beast that was to take his life. Then with lightning speed the creature turned and bounded back into the tree-line leaving Hank stood, still alive, in the road.

Once again Hank felt the welling up of puke and his knees gave way as he fell to the road. His whole body began to convulse with sobbing as the stress of the last ten minutes flowed out of him in tears. With each passing moment he cried harder and harder, his sobs drowning any sound from around him. He had survived. The relief he felt coursed through his body and he began to laugh. Without any control he continued to shake, but now he shook with the joy of survival. He shook so hard and laughed so loud he failed to hear the approaching truck that came down the US 20 towards him.

Before the driver could react Hank found himself struck by ten tonnes of hard metal and thrown twenty metres down the road. With each bounce on the hard surface, layers of skins and flesh tore from his breaking bones. With one final, loud thud his head hit the tarmac and everything went black.

*

The two women stood in the ‘Wookie Hole Dry Goods and General Store’ and read a copy of the newspaper together as they leaned against the counter. Its headline read:

LOCAL MAN KILLED ON US 20 AFTER SLAUGHTERING HUNTING COMPANIONS.

One of the women, who wore a pale yellow dress, took a deep breath and declared,

“I always knew that Hank Roberts was a bad ‘un. Never trusted him; and his two friends were as bad if you ask me.”

“Oh my dear,” replied the other woman who wore a blue dress. “I could not agree more”

From behind the counter the two women heard a tut tut, and both turned to see where it came from. Stood in front of them was a young girl with the blackest hair that flowed down over slim, strong shoulders. Her beautiful eyes were a pure sky-blue with an almost-black band that encircled the irises. She winked and said:

“Now ladies; you don’t want to believe everything you read in the newspapers.”

FOR OUR SINS: A FABLE

By Brent Abell

“Do you think the wolf can see us?” the priestess said to her handmaiden.

“My lady, why do you spy on the wolf so? For three nights you sit here on the balcony and follow every move it makes.”

“Look at him, watch the way the muscles move beneath the fur, and how his eyes shine in the moon,” the priestess said as her wanting burned down to her core.

The handmaiden squinted into the night and found the wolf. She turned to the priestess, “My dear Katharine, I see not what you see in that mongrel beast!”

“Do you know how hard it is that I can never know the touch of another so I can remain pure and virginal? I only wish to feel the loving touch of another.”

“Are you not pure of the mind?”

Katharine giggled, “Oh no, my Danni, my mind is not pure!”

“Well I’m going to bed. You better hope that the High Priest doesn’t find out what thoughts go through your head,” Danni said, exiting the room and pulling the door shut behind her.

Katharine listened for Danni’s footfalls and when they ended she untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she perched back on the balcony, her alabaster flesh naked in the moonbeams. In the moonlight filtering through the treetops, she could see the silver refractions of his eyes. She gently caressed her fingers over her body and a small moan escaped her lips. She prayed in her mind that the high priest didn’t barge in. Her situation would be seen as unfortunate and the punishment scared her.

*

Out in the night the wolf paced around the forest’s edge, watching the tower where soft candle light silhouetted a figure on the balcony. He hungered and the knot deep in his gut kept bringing him to the edge of his pack’s hunting grounds looking for food. The local villagers decimated the deer, rabbits, and squirrels leaving him, the alpha, unable to provide for the pack. Gazing back up at the human, he felt the rush in his belly like at the start of a hunt. Alas, it was impossible to hunt humans. The wolf god, Hemming, forbade the wolves from hunting and consuming the man-flesh. His stomach grumbled again. The alpha raised his head to the full moon and howled a prayer to Hemming.

In the heavens, Hemming heard the troubled cry of his beloved alpha wolf. He paced the clouds and like his wolves, he too grew tired of the blood oath between him and the earth-goddess, Demeter. The pact kept the humans from being feasted upon by the wolves. The virgin sacrifice every four years to Hemming grew increasingly less and less fulfilling to him. Hemming, like his wolves, wanted to taste man-flesh again. He hadn’t partaken of a human in over four hundred and twelve years. He looked back down at the alpha that invoked him and noticed he paced on the outskirts of Demeter’s temple complex.

Then he heard the silent longings from the priestess and he smiled. Thinking for a moment, he found his way to break the oath.

*

Katharine sat on the balcony floor panting and sweating. She watched the wolf trot back into the forest and sat down to gather her thoughts before she put her robe on for bed. Her trembling hands gripped the ledge and she pulled herself up and, bending over, grabbed her robe from the floor. The cool silk felt good on her sweat slickened skin. Katharine began to tie her robe when someone cleared their throat behind her.

A man dressed in peasant garb stood on the balcony where she stood a few moments ago. He looked caked in dirt and stank like the waste pit behind the temple. A wolf-pelt covered his shoulders.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Katharine uttered in surprise.

“I only want to answer your prayers, the ones your so-called goddess refuses to grant you an answer to.”

“Answer me true or I shall summon the guards.”

Hemming stroked his chin and smiled, exposing the tips of his fangs. “I can give you what you desire.”

“How do you know what I desire?”

“The cries from your soul reached me, so I brought you a gift,” he said, removing the pelt from his shoulders. “This can give you your heart’s desire, the love you yearn for.”

“What will the wolf pelt do for love?” She asked reaching out for it.

“On the next full moon, when the wolf appears, go to the temple gardens and place the pelt on your naked body. The pelt will then grant you your desires.”

“How do you know what my heart desires? You appear in my chambers and presume to know what I want?”

He turned with a grin, “Oh my dear vestal virgin, the gods can hear all. I have heard your call and I am here to help you.”

Katharine took the pelt from his outstretched hands and rubbed the fur against her soft cheek. She wrapped the pelt around her shoulders and pulled it in tight around her body to ward off the cool breeze blowing in from the open windows. Turning back around to thank the man, she found him no longer standing in her room, but on the balcony. He winked at her and jumped off into the night. Rushing over, she screamed and found nothing on the ground where he would have landed, but she swore she could still hear him laughing.

Thunderous footsteps echoed in the hall outside her room. Katharine quickly pulled her robe on and kicked the pelt under her bed as the door came crashing in and three guards rushed in.

“What is going on? Are you alright?” asked the High Priest, pushing through the guards blocking the door.

“Nothing, Iden, I thought I heard something on the balcony and I found only a big spider.”

“You must be careful; in three lunar cycles you will perform the ritual that is your birthright. We must have you chaste and pure to ensure the ritual works. Many lives depend on you, Katharine.” He turned to the guards and waved them off. “I will keep an extra eye on you for these last cycles I fear. I sense something afoot and the earth-mother is not happy. You will go to the temple now and supplicate yourself to her alter.”

Iden turned curtly around and stormed out of the room, leaving Katharine to prepare herself for supplication. The lashes would leave their marks, but while putting on her prayer robes she glanced down at the pelt and smiled. The lunar cycle for the priestess would be a long one.

*

Outside the window, Hemming morphed into wolf form and ran up into the heavens.

*

On the forest’s edge, the alpha noticed this and slinked back into the woods hoping this meant food.

*

High priest Iden felt Hemming’s presence and watched as the wolf departed back into the night sky. Something was happening and it didn’t please him at all.

*

Meanwhile, in the temple, Katharine accepted her lashings at the altar with a look of contentment on her face.

2

The lunar cycle proved to be long and daunting. The days crept by and the nights brought time to a halt while Katharine longed for the full moon’s return. She slept with the wolf pelt as a blanket and told no one, not even Danni, of her encounter one month ago. Danni left for the night and Katharine immediately hopped out of bed and ran to the balcony. The full moon broke through the last of the cloud cover and illuminated the temple grounds below. She quickly threw her robe off and started to feel the burn in her loins. Her breath quickened, her fingers explored her figure, and then she saw the wolf appear on the grounds.

Katharine wasted no time grabbing the pelt and rushing to the secret chamber door behind her devotional altar. She silently stalked down the passageway leading to the gardens. In the middle where there stood a statue of Demeter, the wolf would meet her, she remembered the man saying. The dreams that had faded away with the waning of the last full moon came rushing back with the appearance of the new full moon.

The gardens were situated in a large circular shape with two entrances on the outer ring of bushes and the path spiraled along a shorter and shorter route until it ended at Demeter’s altar in the center. The shrine contained her totem, areas to pray, and devices for supplication to the goddess. Katharine hurried through the rings, listening for her love. She reached the shrine and saw her wolf pacing along the altar.

Up close she found him breathtaking. Something within her stirred and giving in to her lust, she took the pelt and draped it around her naked body. Suddenly it latched into her flesh and she felt the heat between her thighs rise to an unbearable needing. Her legs gave out from underneath her and falling to the ground, she landed on four legs with a coat of fur. She became a wolf.

The alpha drew back in alarm. What was once human, now sat before him as a mate. He detected the twang of her fertility in the air and cautiously approached. Her new ears perked up at the sound of his paws behind her. She heard him back away, but then he mounted her and his claws dug into her back. For a split second, she felt pressure and a touch of pain as the alpha gave into his animalistic nature.

Within a few seconds the act ended and the alpha climbed down from her. He turned back towards the woods and ran into the darkness. A low growl emanated from her in anger. Every prayer, every oath, every moment and breath of her life were now shattered in her moment of weakness.

*

In the shrine, next to Demeter’s statue, Hemming laughed knowing the pact was now voided.

*

Katharine lay on the ground and the pelt slipped from her shoulders. Without the pelt, she reverted smoothly back to her own human body. She rolled over, hearing the footfalls behind her. Hemming strolled over and patted her on the head like she was still a wolf. He bent over, picked the pelt up, and threw it over his shoulder.

“Thank you my child. We have suffered over four hundred years of hunger under your goddess. I was patient and I waited. Now because of your transgressions, the truce between me and your goddess is over. Now we shall ravage the countryside and feast on the flesh of men again!”

A loud thunder crack shook the shrine as the high priest slammed his staff down onto the garden’s floor. He muttered a few quick words and Hemming found he couldn’t move. Iden moved towards Hemming and got eye to eye with him.

“What have you done?” he screamed at Hemming.

“I have done what my children bade me to do, undo the covenant between man and wolf. We will now take our rightful place in nature!” Hemming stated as he licked the tips of his fangs in the high priest’s face.

Pointing to Katharine he ordered, “Go and clothe yourself. Punishment for your part in this matter will be severe on both fronts.”

Hemming tried to move and found his feet unable to step away; he remained grounded where he stood. He disrobed and wrapping the pelt around him tried to morph, but he stayed in his human form.

“How do you trap a god?” Hemming asked and his fury with the high priest evident in his tone.

“My devotion to my goddess has been rewarded. Now the power to punish you for your deeds also falls to me. You will lead me to the pack; the alpha and his kin must suffer.”

The high priest reached over and felt Katharine’s stomach. Through the insight the goddess granted him, he felt the stirrings of a new life within her womb already. He sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. Deep down he always knew the girl had failure’s taint. The first day she came to the temple, the portents were bad and the omens unfavorable. His doubt got overridden by the will of the goddess and like a sheep, he followed her wishes.

Now everything that stood for four hundred years came crashing down on his watch and he would make those responsible pay. The high priest stood with his head bowed and prayed for the goddess’s intervention. He needed her strength and grace to do what he found himself tasked to do.

“Hemming, you will take me to the pack, now,” ordered the high priest, turning towards the forest.

Hemming laughed and stood his ground. “You can’t force me to do anything, Iden; you are a mere mortal with no authority over us gods.”

High priest Iden turned back to Hemming and tapped his staff on the ground three times. Hemming cried out in pain and dropped to his knees. He looked up at Iden and spat on his feet. The priest slowly raised his hand and Hemming rose from the ground to his feet.

“You will follow me. Katharine, you will join us into the forest. Your actions are an affront to our religion and to the will of the goddess. Your lust and selfishness has ended the peace between us and the wolves. The gates have been thrown open for them to rampage through the countryside eating and devouring all in their path.” He turned from Katharine to Hemming, “and you engineered this. I shall let you bear witness to the punishment Demeter is handing down to your precious pack.”

Iden walked into the forest while Katharine and Hemming followed. Katharine’s head stared at the ground in shame and humiliation while Hemming walked next to her with a mask of rage and anger. He seethed at being pushed around and controlled by a human. He struggled to walk a different path, but his body remained bound to the path Iden walked.

3

Elsewhere in the moonlit forest, the alpha returned to the pack. His arrival back meant food the other wolves thought, but instead he came trotting back with nothing and they smelled the stink of human on him. His mate got up from their young and came sniffing around him. She smelled the fertility blood tainting him and growled. Another large wolf came over and joined her in her protesting barks of anger. Soon the entire pack circled him and howled their disapproval.

“Enough!” shouted a human form walking into their lair.

The wolves turned and barked at him. Not only was the alpha stricken, but he also brought humans to them. Two other forms entered and stood behind the robed man with the staff. The shape in the back with the pelt on his shoulder waved his hand and the wolves sat down silently on their haunches and watched. The other human shared the musk their alpha had on him.

“Your alpha has committed the gravest of all sins and for that the pack must pay the penalty.”

He tapped his staff on the ground and the alpha paced in front of him, ready to pounce. The alpha quickly dropped to the ground yelping and howling out in agony for his god to save him. Hemming reached out to him and Iden motioned for him to drop his outstretched hand. The alpha bayed at the full moon that now was forsaking him.

His skin began to tingle and his dark gray coat started to recede from his body. A loud snapping followed as his paws began to expand and grow out. The claws that once protected and provided for the pack pulled back into his half-formed fingers leaving a bloody path in their wake. The tendons and muscles slid and shifted, separated and formed new configurations. His jaw dislocated with a sickening crack and shortened back towards his face, his fangs retreating into his gum line. His tail folded back and grew into the base of his spine.

The transformation went on slowly for ten minutes while Iden watched, Katharine wept, and Hemming turned his head away so he didn’t have to witness the scene before him. When the change ended, a naked man laid on the forest floor before them. Without his thick coat, he shivered in the cool autumn breeze. His once silver eyes gazed up at Hemming with new brown ones and a look of betrayal. Iden, Hemming, and Katharine backed away from the scene as the pack began to circle their changed leader.

His mate approached him and sniffed the sick stench of his new body making the hair on her back raise. She growled at him and he could see the anger, hunger, and hurt flaming through her amber eyes. He reached out to her to comfort her and she snapped her jaws at his quickly retreating fingers. The other members joined her in her growling.

Iden walked over and stood next to the alpha. He struck his staff into the ground again and muttered an ancient rite. Howls of pain erupted from the pack, their own transformations beginning. They writhed on the ground, each changing to human form, not even the pups were spared.

Katharine rushed over to Iden and pleaded, “Stop this! They’re innocent.”

“My child, none are innocent in this matter. They are receiving their due and you will now get yours. You are hereby exiled to live the rest of your life with them. Your child can be raised by its father and mother out here. You will teach them and integrate them into the world of man.”

“Our child?”

“Oh, yes, I can already sense it growing within you. My work here is finished, I shall return to the temple and meditate on our goddess’s new intentions,” he said while he turned and walked off into the night.

Katharine rushed to the alpha’s side and brushed his hair from his new beautiful human face. She looked around at the rest of the pack and sighed, her prison for the rest of her life. A tear fell down her cheek.

Hemming bent down and whispered in her ear, “I still have some say in this my lady. I can’t undo what has been done, but I can grant a small reprieve.”

The wolf god stood back up and began whispering to the full moon. Katharine got up and came over to him.

“What did you do?”

“I have given my wolves a gift. On the full moon, those humans who descend from this pack’s bloodline will be granted the power to return to their native form when the moon shines full and bright. For those days, they can be wolves until the moon begins to wane again. I wish I could grant them more, but I am limited in what my power as a lesser deity can do.”

“Thank you,” whispered Katharine as she lowered her head and returned to the human pack.

Hemming shifted into a wolf and ran off into the approaching dawn.

4

“That is some story,” the psychologist said, putting her pen down on her desk.

“Look Dr. Shelby, it’s true. My grandmother told me the story when I turned ten, to… you know, explain certain changes in my body.”

“So, your family can change into wolves on the full moon? I think you need further evaluation, because it sounded more like you found hair in new places.”

“You have no idea honey,” the man said sitting upright on the couch. Dr. Shelby picked her pen back up and began writing. Jonathon stood up and paced the room, his eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The moon remained hidden behind the blanket of clouds. He felt his rising agitation and broke out into a sweat, drenching his tee shirt.

“Beth, look I just want to clear things up between us.”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided it was a good idea to ask me out months ago.”

“You have to know that story from my grandmother wasn’t a euphemism for puberty. She was telling the origins of my kind and about my curse.”

“I guess you were bitten or something?”

“Beth! You have to listen; my curse doesn’t transfer through a bite. It is transferred through my bloodline; only my family can change from man to wolf and back. My family’s name ‘Whalen’ is Celtic for wolf.”

“Why are you telling me this shit? Ha, ha, very funny, do you want me to leave and this is your way of forcing me to end it, with some story about you being a werewolf? Jesus, Jonathon, I love you and right now you need help! Let me help you,” Beth pleaded on the verge of tears.

In the sky the moon rays started to sneak out from behind the clouds. They danced on the floor in front of Jonathan’s feet. He felt the heat rise within him like his blood was boiling. He shook violently and fell to the floor.

“Oh my god, are you okay, Jonathan?”

“You will…be…protected. You carry our child. I can’t hurt…you,” he grunted and rolled over.

“Our child?”

“Have…to…show,” he screamed in agony and looked up at Beth, his eyes an amber hue.

“No, no, no,” she repeated over and over while she watched her lover sprout hair and claws in front of her. Jonathan let out an ear splitting howl towards the window and ripped his tee shirt and jeans to shreds.

Then she felt something in her stomach move.

AFTERWORD

The mythology of werewolves can be traced back to the 2nd Century BC, when a man named Lycaon was transformed into a werewolf after ritually murdering a child. Shift forward a few thousand years, to 1981, when a little-know director by the name of John Landis (with the help of Special-Effects guru, Rick Baker) created one of the most amazing transformations ever committed to celluloid. An American Werewolf In London will long be remembered for that Oscar-winning scene, and it is one of the reasons why I wanted to put together this anthology.

I'm a firm believer in werewolves, or at least the folklore surrounding them. As a child, I dreamt of sprouting hair all over my body and howling at the moon. I can honestly say that I have achieved the first part of that dream, but that can be attributed to middle-age creeping up on me quicker than I'd anticipated. I have yet to howl at the moon, though there is still time.

I would just like to thank the authors for their terrifying and twisted tails (yes, I know it's tales, but I'm working on a werewolf theme here). And thank you, dear reader, for purchasing/borrowing/stealing (delete as applicable) this book. I hope you had fun along the way. I have to go, now, for the moon is shining bright in the sky, and I'm pretty sure I've left the back door unlocked.

And remember, keep off the moors, stick to the road, and next time you see a massive pile of shit in the road, just take a moment to ponder its origin.

Adam Millard

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