by Chase Connor
“Hey,” I said simply.
Andrew looked up, his eyes landed on me, and his whole body jolted.
“How’re the wounds?” I asked as he glanced around nervously.
“Um…”
“You seem to be getting around okay,” I said.
“Um, yeah, I guess, yeah.” He struggled to find the right words.
“I have questions.”
Swallowing hard, he looked at me, his eyes not quite staying on mine for any length of time.
“I’m sure you do.”
“And I want to ask them in a safe place.”
He looked down at his feet.
“I’m not dangerous now.”
“Were you ever?” I scoffed. “Admittedly, a truck is a big weapon.”
He shuffled his feet.
“I’m not going to attack you.” Andrew looked up briefly, then glanced around. “The moon is waning.”
“Okay.”
Andrew looked thoroughly chastened. Of course, losing control of himself close to the full moon, getting hit by a truck, having to heal, having Oma chew him a new asshole, and getting punched in the face for all of his efforts was probably enough to do that to a person. A lot of activity in a few days time, when you think about it.
“There’s a coffee shop.” He gave an upward nod. “We can talk there. It’s usually busy enough that you would feel safe.”
“I feel safe now.” I shrugged. “But okay.”
I’ll blast your ass with my finger. Apparently, I can do that. Did you know that? ‘Cause I didn’t until recently.
Hopping down from the planter, I allowed Andrew to lead me down the sidewalk in the direction he had been headed, though I made sure to keep plenty of space between us. I wanted plenty of room and options if he decided to get handsy again or—I didn’t know if werewolves could randomly get furry. Wikipedia wasn’t really helpful when it came to situations applicable to fantasy colliding with the real world. But, whatever happened, I wanted to be ready to make my escape. After punching him again, obviously.
The coffee shop was around the corner from his office building, and while there were plenty of empty tables and booths, there was still enough people about that we were safely still in public. If Andrew did anything, it would be witnessed by several people. Of course, that could also mean collateral damage if it came to that, but, and this was cold-hearted, but I didn’t mind if others got hurt if it kept me safe.
“I’ll buy you a coffee,” Andrew said, but it was a suggestion.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Please?”
“Fine.” I looked at him and his wounded expression. “Just a black coffee, please.”
Andrew nodded and headed to the counter while I selected a booth that was private but still in the line of sight of the baristas and a few other customers. It also had an excellent straight shot to the front door if I had to bolt. I watched Andrew as he ordered, paid for, and grabbed our coffees. He had asked for two black coffees, either to make things easy or to not show weakness by ordering something like a frappe or something frou-frou.
“Black coffee.” He said simply as he put my cup in front of me and slid into the booth across from me.
“Thanks.” I dragged the cup across the table towards myself.
Andrew and I stared at each other for a moment as I brought my coffee to my lips. It was barely warm. That wasn’t Andrew’s fault, so I just set the cup back on the table.
“I really am sorry.” He began.
“I’m not here for an apology,” I said, keeping my eyes on his. “I want to know why you said I smelled intoxicating.”
Andrew looked down, embarrassed.
“That means something,” I said. “And I think you know what I mean. You meant I smelled…special. Like you’d never smelled another person who smelled like me.”
Andrew sipped at his coffee, his eyes stayed lowered.
He wasn’t going to be forthcoming easily.
“I’m not scared of Oma.”
Andrew looked up at me, shocked.
“So, if you are, you may as well get over that,” I said. “I want to know why you said I smelled special, Andrew.”
“You don’t understand about Esther Jean. She’s—”
“A witch.”
Andrew’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m not scared of her,” I said. “Maybe I’m lucky. I’m her grandson, so I know she would never do me any real harm. At least not on purpose. But I notice that a lot of people around here are scared of her. I don’t care. I want to know things she won’t tell me.”
“Esther Jean would—”
“I don’t give a shit.” I scoffed. “Someone is going to give me answers, Andrew. And it may as well be you since you’re already on hers and my shit list.”
He grimaced.
“I’m scared of Esther Jean,” Andrew said. “Well, I wasn’t really scared of her until I was sure of what she was. I don’t want to be on her bad side any more than I already am.”
I snorted.
“A werewolf scared of a lil’ ole witch.”
He looked down and sipped his coffee.
“Tell me why I smell special.”
Andrew grimaced, obviously having an internal debate, a struggle with himself.
“You owe me.” Maybe that was low.
I didn’t care.
“I can’t.”
“Then don’t tell me directly,” I said. “Tell me without telling me.”
Andrew’s head rose with a quizzical expression affixed to his face.
“Everyone around here is an expert at speaking in riddles and telling half-truths and using subterfuge to cover up dirty little secrets. Surely, with your condition, you have similar experience. So…tell me without telling me. I’m becoming an expert at deciphering that shit lately.”
Andrew’s eyes darted around.
“Goddamnit. Tell me.” I leaned in to hiss.
“I wasn’t really scared of Esther Jean until I figured out what she was.” He blurted it out lowly. “And I wasn’t scared of you. Until…I figured you out. And I’m scared of you the same way I’m scared of Esther Jean.”
I stared at him.
“That’s why you smell special.” He lowered his eyes. “But I wasn’t aware of the reason when I said it.”
This would be the moment where I should tell you that I sat back in shock, as though slapped across the face with a sudden realization. That my whole world came crashing down, and I had a sudden existential crisis—that I suddenly realized my entire life was a lie. That I’d been swindled. Bamboozled. That I didn’t know how I could go on living knowing what I now knew. That’s not what happened. I just picked up my coffee and brought it to my mouth. What Andrew said only confirmed the theory I had swirling in my brain.
“You don’t seem affected by that.” Andrew’s brow furrowed.
“It’s been kind of hard to shock me for a few days now.”
Andrew just watched me.
“Okay.” I tipped my coffee cup at him in thanks. “See ya’ ‘round.”
I started to rise from the booth.
“Wait.” Andrew frowned at me, his brow furrowing so deeply I thought that his face might crack wide open. “That’s it? ‘Okay’? That’s all you’re going to say to something like that?”
“If I had something to say, I wouldn’t say it to you.”
Harsh? Maybe. The man had turned into a werewolf and tried to attack me—after assaulting me in his car. Fair’s fair.
“Ouch.”
“I don’t trust you, Andrew,” I said, settling back into my seat. “I don’t trust pretty much anyone right now. And the fact that you actually tried to kill me doesn’t help your case for leniency.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Werewolf.” I nodded, got it.
Andrew glanced around nervously.
“How does that work, by the way?” I sipped my coffee. “You turn at the full moon, obviously,
against your will. But how’d you become that, silver bullets, all of it? Tell me about your people.”
Andrew glanced around again.
“Oma said there’s a ‘were-community’ and they’re all about everywhere, so I’m curious about that.” I couldn’t believe I was having such a discussion in such a mundane place as a coffee shop. “I mean, do you have a pack? Like real wolves? Give me Werewolf one-oh-one here.”
“I mean…I guess…it’s the least I could do.” Andrew mumbled.
I snorted, amused.
“I was…that…from birth.” Andrew began. “My mom and dad were, that, so, of course, I am, too. I’m a birthie, I guess.”
“Birthie?”
“It’s just kind of an unofficial term people in the community use.”
“Ah. Being werewolves, you’d have thought they’d be more creative with their nomenclature, right?”
“Like the uniqueness of a name like Jacob Michaels?” He replied impishly before looking down.
I stared at Andrew. That had shocked me. But I refused to show it externally, even if my heart started beating rapidly and I was tempted to glance around to see if anyone had heard him say my stage name.
“So, you’ve known.”
He shook his head.
“No.” He said, still looking down. “I didn’t recognize you until you decided to assault me at Esther Jean’s.”
“Fair is fair, right?” I snorted. “You try to grab my junk I punch you in the face.”
“We’re even?”
“Not by a long shot.” I glared at him.
“You’ve punched me twice.”
“And you deserved it both times.”
Surprisingly, Andrew just nodded and reached for his coffee tentatively.
“There are a lot of other werewolves around, then?” I asked.
Andrew sipped his coffee slowly as he thought of how to best answer that without sounding like a total weirdo. We were way past either of us sounding like weirdos, as far as I was concerned, so it was pointless to try to pretend to be otherwise. I was a grandson of a witch who had run off to Hollywood and had come back to find out the world as he knew it was a lie. Andrew was a werewolf. That’s just weird no matter how you look at it.
“I mean, I guess.” He said slowly. “I don’t really know a lot of werewolves, per se, but there are a lot of weres all over the country. Probably the world, too.”
“But you haven’t gotten outside of the country much, have you?”
He shook his head.
“Hard to travel when you’re not sure if you can safely be…this…somewhere else.”
“You the only one in Point Worth?”
“No.”
“Who else?”
He frowned at me like I was stupid. Fair enough.
“It’d be like ‘outing’ someone, right?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” I sighed. “Fine. I just want to know that when the next full moon comes, you won’t come looking to eat me or mess with me and mine.”
Andrew’s face twisted up in disgust.
“That’s not how it works, Rob.” He sounded put out. “I was just in the beginning of the full moon cycle and wasn’t in full control of myself. That’s why I did what I did. We don’t turn into werewolves and then suddenly have thoughts of revenge or vengeance. Basic, primal instincts take over and, while you have some cognizance about being human the other days of the month, urges sometimes take over and make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. I’m not plotting out some nefarious plan to come get you or Esther Jean or…anyone.”
I nodded. “Fine.”
“The were-community,” Andrew chewed at his lip, “is secretive. And strict. I’d really appreciate it if you kept it to yourself about what happened. Jacob.”
I laughed loudly.
“Do you think threatening to expose who I really am is really that big of a deal that you can use it negotiate with me?” I snorted. “I mean, sure, it would make me have to avoid going out in public, but must be a Tuesday, Andrew. You have nothing to negotiate with or threaten me with so don’t embarrass yourself by pretending you do.”
He turned red.
“Except,” I sighed, “no one would believe me.”
Andrew looked hopeful.
“And I wasn’t planning to say anything to anyone who doesn’t know anyway.” I sighed. “I mean, what good would that do?”
As I slid from my booth a second time, Andrew didn’t try to stop me. I grabbed my coffee and stood next to the table end and looked down at him.
“As long as I don’t have to worry about you doing that shit again, we’re square.” Andrew gazed up at me. “And stay away from my grandmother. I still don’t fully trust you. At all.”
“She’s going to think it’s odd if I don’t talk to her at the center.”
“You’re smart. Think of an excuse.”
Andrew watched me for a moment and then nodded. Obviously, we had an understanding.
“Thanks for the coffee.” I motioned with the cup and started to turn away.
“Rob.” He stopped me.
I turned back to him, my face a mask.
“Esther Jean isn’t the only thing you have to worry about.” He said lowly. “I wasn’t kidding about the were-community. They’re very secretive and strict. It’s best if they don’t know what happened between us. It wouldn’t be good for me.”
I stared at him for a moment.
“I’m not looking to cause you trouble, Andrew,” I said evenly. “I just had questions.”
And then I walked away.
Outside, the day was warming up, but it was still far from what normal people would refer to as Spring. I walked down the street, dropping the disposable cup into one of the city trash cans as I walked by. I hadn’t really drunk any of the coffee. I had just pretended as Andrew and I chatted. I still didn’t trust him in the slightest. Andrew had believed I drank it, though, so maybe I really could act.
Chapter 13
Ernst was on my bed, folding pairs of my jeans from a pile of laundry when I entered my bedroom, wanting to just be alone and have peace and quiet. After my early afternoon in Toledo and finding out very little useful information from Andrew, I wanted to go home and just think. Ernst or any of the little Kobolds being on my bed would distract from that activity. When I entered the room, a freshly purchased cup of coffee from a coffee joint in Toledo in hand, Ernst started at my appearance. He began folding the jeans quickly, obviously about to make a quick run for it.
“Once you’ve been seen it’s easier to be caught in the act again?” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I went over to the bedside table to place my wallet and keys.
Ernst was frantically finishing the folding of my pants.
“I dunno, sir.” He squeaked.
I rolled my eyes at the title.
“Don’t call me that,” I said evenly. “My name is Rob. Or even Robbie. Don’t call me ‘sir,’ okay?”
He didn’t respond verbally, but he nodded frantically. I sat down gently on the bed beside him. He barely made a dent in the bed where he stood. I watched as Ernst folded pants, watching me out of the corner of his eye yet pretending that he didn’t know I was there. He was shaky and nervous, and I couldn’t blame him after what I had inadvertently done the previous night. The guilt was rising up as I watched him do his, chores, I supposed. I reached out to grab a piece of clothing to help, and Ernst jumped. He topped over, falling to his ass on the bed in a tangle of gangly limbs as a t-shirt fluttered down to cover him as he lay there.
Not that I wanted to, but I found myself laughing. It was quite a sight seeing something, er, someone like Ernst fall out in such a way. Ernst looked ridiculous and comical, flailing wildly under my t-shirt as though he expected something or, more specifically, someone (like me) to attack him at any moment. I felt guilty that he was obviously assuming I meant him harm, and for having harmed him the night before, but the whole thing was ridiculous. Reaching out,
I gently pulled the t-shirt off of Ernst, disentangling him from the fabric. Ernst jumped to his feet and moved to the foot of the bed quickly, getting out of arm’s reach.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” I held the t-shirt up. “I was just going to help you fold the laundry.”
Ernst eyeballed me suspiciously. Instead of saying anything else, I began folding the shirt. Then I laid it down and grabbed another to fold. Ernst watched me for a moment, his body language indicating his desire to flee. After three more shirts, Ernst expression turned from fear to that of concern and annoyance. I continued folding laundry from the pile.
“No, no, no.” He stomped over and swatted the shirt out of my hand. “You’re doin’ it all wrong, sir. ‘Tis a disgrace. Haven’t ya’ ever folded laundry for yourself before?”
I smiled as he proceeded to show me the proper way to fold a shirt.
“I usually hang my clothes up in the closet at home.” I laughed. “Except for my underwear and socks, that is.”
“Well, I can tell.” He shook his head as he started in refolding the pile I had made. “These won’t do at all, sir. There are certain ways things should be done and this innit it.”
“Please call me Rob or Robbie.”
Ernst looked pensive as he folded a shirt.
“That’s not the way things are done either.” He barked.
“Well, then just don’t call me ‘sir,’ please.”
“You’re the master of the house are you not?” He scoffed. “It wouldn’t be prudent to call ya’ anything but ‘sir’ now would it, sir?”
“This is my Oma’s house.” I frowned. “I’m just visiting. So, as a guest, you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ do you?”
Ernst continued folding as his brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry I hurt you last night, Ernst,” I said, wondering how I could be so comfortable sitting there next to a mythological creature and act so calm about it. “It was entirely unintentional. I swear.”
