Mike The Werewolf: A Humorous Werewolf Thriller, page 16
“Again...”
“Relax. I was getting to it. Hold your goddamned horses. You never were much for pillow talk.” I made a hurry-up gesture, refusing to take the bait. “It’s the same sons of bitches who’ve trapped us all here like rabbits in a cage.”
Her words immediately brought to mind Winston’s brain cage, although that was probably mere coincidence. “Not even remotely clearing anything up.”
She cocked her head as if thinking about it. “Technically they’re calling it a quarantine but potato, po-tah-toe.”
“A quarantine?”
“For Harris County, Barley Hills, and all the space in between. Not that I imagine those trigger-happy Jesus freaks are even aware of it. Anyway, they said it’s for our own good, so we don’t cause no more trouble.”
I had no clue what she was babbling about, but a cold fear began to creep up my spine that had nothing to do with my shirt being only half buttoned.
Myra was afraid that something had messed with my head. She was right on that front. All the same, I couldn’t help but think we were talking apples and oranges. For starters, she kept referring to her unnamed boogeyman in the plural and, quite frankly, I didn’t even want to think of the possibility there might be more than one psychic dinosaur residing in the Hudson. More importantly, I couldn’t quite envision how or why such a massive beast might travel from Manhattan to Elk County Pennsylvania without everyone under the sun noticing.
It was time to stop playing guessing games and cut to the chase.
Myra opened her mouth, probably to spew more nonsense, but I reached over and put a finger to her lips – using my right hand just in case Winston decided to do something stupid. “Who are they, Myra?”
She rolled her eyes as she pushed my hand away. “The Magi of course, you dumb son of a bitch.”
“The what?”
She let out a sigh. “Witches, wizards, and anyone else with the gift. That’s what we’re called. Figured you would’ve picked up on it since you saw fit to team up with a trash witch back in Brooklyn.”
Trash...? Now that she mentioned it, one of Bill’s friends had been a witch. Kelly if I recalled correctly. No idea what a trash witch was, probably an insult on account of her being strong enough to cancel out Myra’s power during our ill-fated battle.
“Okay, and what do these Magi have to do with me?”
“Not you, us,” Myra replied. “Sorry to say, but the world doesn’t revolve around Mr. Michael Walden and his furry behind.”
“His ass isn’t furry, mine is...”
I broke into a cough to cover for Winston. “Sorry. Must be something in the air. Anyway, you were saying?”
She stared at me for a moment before continuing. “Seems one of the elite covens took exception to our little soiree in Brooklyn. Ain’t nothing special about their magic, mind you. No, it’s all about the moolah, just like everywhere else in the world.” She rubbed three fingers together then let out a humorless laugh. “Ah, if only all that bullshit about turning lead to gold were true.”
Myra’s editorial aside, I was finally starting to understand what she was talking about. It wasn’t surprising to hear that our actions had drawn unwanted attention, not with the mess we’d made. Heck, I wouldn’t have been surprised had they sicced the National Guard on us too, but perhaps it was best not to tempt fate by speaking such thoughts aloud. “Maybe they didn’t appreciate all the innocent bystanders you and Hobart killed.”
“Fuck no. Those rich pricks couldn’t care less about a couple dead normies. It was more because we weren’t exactly ... subtle about it. You can blame Hobart for that one. I told him not to start shit in the middle of a big city, but god forbid he listen to anyone with a set of titties.”
I opted to ignore that last part. “Okay, so what happened?”
“What happened is, despite my best efforts to the contrary, they tracked us all the way here and were none too happy with what they found.”
“And that was?”
“You! Or the pack anyway. Seems they weren’t all that pleased to discover a bunch of nasties they were certain didn’t exist.”
That caught me by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“The Magi elite are big on their written history. Always have been. They like it all neat and clean, just the way they wrote it. So, when something pops up that threatens the established narrative they tend to react badly.”
Hold on. Was she saying they didn’t know about us beforehand? “How badly?”
“Bad enough to turn everything in and around Harris County into one giant roach motel.”
“Meaning what?”
Myra shook her head. “Oh, you sweet blockheaded child. I bet they let you go knowing you’d head straight home like a moth to a flame. But now that you’re here, you’re stuck just like the rest of us – those of us with power anyway. You see, they let you check in, no problem, but there will be the Devil to pay if you think they’ll let you check out.”
DEAD END STREET
I should’ve gotten out and walked. Nothing good was to be gained staying with Myra. Of course, that assumed she’d let me go without a fight.
With daylight working against me as well as Winston’s violent unpredictability, that made it a questionable endeavor at best.
Then there was Spud to take into consideration. I wasn’t about to risk him being hurt. I didn’t think Myra was so far gone as to actually use him for target practice, but it was best not to risk it.
So, I compromised. I pinky-swore to go with Myra to wherever she had in mind – which I’m guessing involved a meetup with Hobart. But first she had to take me back home so I could drop Spud off. Fortunately, she knew how seriously I took a promise. And even if I didn’t, she was a witch. She’d found me once. She could do it again.
It wasn’t exactly a win, but the ride at least gave me a chance to reflect on what she’d told me.
There was a whole community of witches and wizards out there, and some hadn’t taken kindly to Hobart’s antics. It wasn’t because of the chaos we’d caused, so much as us shining a spotlight on the fact that monsters and magic were real – something they preferred humanity at large not know.
I guess that made sense. After all, prior to a few months ago I didn’t have a clue things like me were real outside of movies and Stephen King books.
The first rule of Monster Fight Club was don’t talk about Monster Fight Club. Duly noted.
However, the second rule was apparently not to start a war in front of a bunch of people with cell phone cameras.
She heavily implied this was the sort of thing that would earn literally anyone else in the supernatural underworld an automatic death sentence. But not the citizens of Harris County.
The only reason I was returning to my apartment and not a smoking crater was because somehow folks like me were oddities even among the oddities.
Seemed that secret history Hobart had hinted at was even more secret than I’m guessing even he knew. As a result, the Council of High Mentors, as Myra called them, upon discovering a town full of living, breathing werewolves, opted to quarantine us instead.
As Myra continued to ramble like she was mayor of Crazy Town, I found all of this hard to believe. I mean, why on Earth would witches and vampires be surprised to discover that werewolves were likewise real?
Heck, there were plenty of myths and movies about all three. And since the so-called legends were based on fact for the rest of these make believe monsters, why was it so hard for them to imagine we might exist too?
If Myra had any insight, she either didn’t know or wasn’t sharing. She obviously understood more about the world of the weird than me, but she’d also lived in Harris County for most of her life. A jet-setting socialite she was not. That she was still under the impression these Magi Mentors had been behind my two week vacation seemed to bolster that fact, and I saw no reason to correct her. Fortunately, Winston must’ve concurred since he mercifully kept his mouth shut for most of the ride.
Regardless of the method of my return, I hadn’t sensed anything odd in the woods surrounding Harris County as I’d gotten closer, but according to Myra that was by design. The area encompassing our little town had apparently been ringed with what she called scrying wards – magical thingamabobs designed to activate if something inhuman tried leaving the quarantine zone.
As for what would happen if someone tried, Myra cautioned, “Fuck around and find out, honey.”
Ominous as that sounded, I had to question why Barley Hills had been included within this magical minefield. Far as I was aware, everyone there was human. I said as much once we finally turned onto Chestnut Street, the road where I lived.
“You ever talk to a high Mentor, Mike?” she replied.
“Not that I can recall.”
“Nor are you liable to. All you need to know is this – when one of those hoity-toity assholes gets a bug up their ass, you can be sure as shit everything in sight looks like a fly swatter.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Nope. And neither does warding Barley Hills since those bible thumpers can come and go as they please. But I ain’t holding my breath for an explanation, especially since asking for one will put me on their radar, which is somewhere I’d prefer not to be.”
She didn’t explain further and I had a feeling pressing for an answer would be a waste of time. “So how long are we expected to be the bugs in their little ant farm?”
She let out a laugh as we pulled into the long driveway that led to my place. Returning home at long last should’ve been an emotional moment for me, but I was currently too caught up in our conversation.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“Just your optimism. I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it for you, lover. This here quarantine is almost certainly gonna last until one of two things happens.”
“And those would be?”
“Either they decide to nuke us from orbit, or we push back and give the bastards a bloody nose they won’t ever forget.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Donald and Katherine Haversham were in their late seventies. He’d been a career army sergeant, she a nurse – both of them retired now. Neither were werewolves but they were longtime homeowners. A few years back they’d decided to convert the second floor of their detached garage into an apartment to bring in a bit of extra income.
Yours truly now called that cozy little space home.
It had been a pretty good deal even before realizing I was a monster. It was affordable, spacious, and gave me a place to park my old Jeep Wrangler. They also didn’t mind if Spud did his business in their back yard, so long as I mowed in the summer months.
It was situated far enough away from the main house to ensure some privacy back in the days when Myra was prone to staying over. All in all, not a bad deal for a single guy in this day and age.
It was only after my true nature became apparent that I realized there were some perks which also made it werewolf friendly. The Havershams owned a big lot, one encompassing a narrow stretch of woods running through its far end. Since the stairs leading up to my place wrapped around the rear of the structure, that meant I could come and go in my other form without being seen. Or, as in the case of my first few transformations, get back inside before anyone saw me running around buck-ass nude.
It likewise didn’t hurt that Harris County was one of those towns where you could safely leave your doors unlocked, a major plus since werewolves didn’t come with pockets.
I told Myra to stay in the car while I got Spud settled. I didn’t need her coming up and causing trouble, nor did I have any desire to once again be the meat in a Myra and Winston sandwich.
There’s a visual I could do without.
Fortunately, she was in an agreeable mood, a good thing since I doubted there was much I could’ve done if she’d decided otherwise.
I can’t even explain the relief I felt at stepping foot into my apartment. Nothing had really changed, yet it felt as if a weight were lifted from my shoulder. Doubly so since it appeared everything was as I’d left it ... well, maybe minus a few extra cobwebs and dust bunnies.
Regardless, it gave me a few minutes alone to stop and catch my breath. Or it would’ve had I been anyone else. Sadly, it was the space of seconds for me to once again be reminded that alone was no longer an option.
“I can understand why you like mounting that bitch,” Winston remarked as I tossed my bag onto the counter. “She’s got a certain feral quality to her, despite all the bare skin.”
“I really don’t want to hear about...”
“But I gotta gut her anyway.”
What? “No. She’s not our enemy.” Okay, even I didn’t believe that one.
“The fuck she ain’t. But that’s not the reason why. It’s not her, it’s you. She brings out the pathetic in you extra fucking hard, and that sort of shit is just too embarrassing to deal with.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you, shithead, acting like a poor whipped puppy desperate to suckle at her teat.”
“I did not!”
“You forget, I was there. You couldn’t have been more pathetic had she pissed on your leg and claimed you as her own. No more. And since I can’t kill you without fucking up my day, that means the bitch needs to die instead.”
I tried to wrap my head around his insane logic and failed badly. “I was only ... tiptoeing around her because of Spud.” I looked over to see him already settling onto the couch as if he had no worries in the world.
“I didn’t realize you were taking orders from the snack,” Winston said.
“I’m not. I was keeping him from getting hurt. Also, he’s a dog and dogs don’t talk.”
“I’ll do you a favor and pretend that’s not a thinly veiled insult. Anyway, you convinced me.”
“I did?”
“Yep. Now I need to kill them both.”
“There will be no killing Spud ... or Myra for that matter! Wait. Are you even listening to me?”
The answer was obvious as he forced me to crouch down onto our hands and knees right there on the kitchen floor.
“What are you doing?”
“All this talk is making me thirsty.”
We started crawling forward, our destination: Spud’s water bowl and the algae-ridden mess within. What?! “No!”
I managed to reassert control right before we could drown our sorrows, grabbing hold of the counter and hoisting myself back up. “We have these things called glasses, y’know.”
“I can see just fine.”
“For drinking out of!”
“Why bother when the water is right there?” he replied. “Besides, I like to keep my paws free in case of an attack.”
“Who’s gonna attack us in here?”
Our gaze turned back toward Spud, already asleep in his spot.
“Seriously?” I replied.
“You can’t possibly tell me you trust that stupid thing.”
Over on the couch, Spud let out a long fart in response.
“See what I mean?”
“I trust him a heck of a lot more than...” I meant to say you but realized that wouldn’t help matters. “Than the witch waiting downstairs for us.”
“Which is why I want to slit her throat. Duh!”
“There will be no slitting of any...” I trailed off as my eyes fell upon the bag still on the counter. I wonder...
“Any what?” Winston prodded. “Let me guess. Pussy got your tongue?”
I ignored him as I unzipped the bag, unsure if I really wanted to go down this route.
The truth was I didn’t, but I was already at a disadvantage, and that was just with Myra alone. If she was taking me to see Hobart, as I suspected, that would only dig me deeper into whatever hole I was standing in.
I pushed past the clothes and rolls of cash to the handgun sitting at the bottom. I doubted it would be of much use, but if push came to shove the bullets would still hurt like...
What the?
The gun was no longer alone in the bag. An extra magazine had been placed next to it, along with a handwritten note. I grabbed both, finding only a single line of text on the paper.
Just in case – Hannah.
Curious, I took a closer look at the magazine and the gleaming bullets that had been loaded into it – silver hollow points.
I so could kiss you right now.
“No killing, not if we can help it,” I told my other half, eying the extra ammo. “But would you perchance be willing to settle for some proactive defense instead?”
ENEMIES AND ALLIES
I expected Winston to be old school when it came to weaponry, assuming he’d be all about the fangs and claws. But apparently any violence was good violence where he was concerned.
In fact, he was a little too enthusiastic, wanting to go downstairs, shoot Myra in the face, then hunt Hobart down and ... likewise shoot him in the face.
Needless to say, I made a note to keep the gun on my side to avoid him indiscriminately murdering everything in sight.
Speaking of which, I needed a place to hide it, so I took a few minutes to change into my own clothes, including my old bomber jacket. Oh wow. I can’t even tell you the difference it made wearing my own stuff again.
I know it probably doesn’t sound like much, but it finally felt like I was truly back home.
Sadly, this was not the time to relax and put my feet up. Myra was still waiting outside, and I had little doubt her patience was limited.
God, there was still so much to do. I needed to call my parents, talk to my job, check the mailbox, dust everything, and a thousand other tiny things just to get my life back in order.
That would all have to wait, though. I didn’t even have time to sit down and crack open a beer. Instead, I settled for checking my voicemail.
Unsurprisingly, there were several from my parents. All of them were eerily calm and measured, as if they were being mindful of what they said – which they probably were. I didn’t envy the self-control it must’ve taken to keep their emotions reined in. It ended with a mention from Dad talking about dropping some stuff off with an unnamed friend of mine. I was no codebreaker, but that was almost certainly about taking Spud to Barley Hills.
