Mr. XYZ clapped his latex-gloved hands as if he’d gotten dust on them, then stepped gingerly back onto the wider shore of the pond.
Before he climbed into his vehicle, he heard a sound that startled him.
Somewhere a wolf howled. Another joined in. The howling went on and on, never quite fading.
He shivered.
How many wolves were out there?
He wasn’t all that unhappy to be heading back home in a few moments, his doors locked.
A good night’s work.
Tannhauser
He always enjoyed washing down the taste of blood and raw flesh with good beer, or even an ale. He swished it around and let it trickle down his throat. Dunkel Acker wasn’t as tasty bottled, but it was better than being forced to drink that swill Americans called beer.
Schwartz was a good man with good instincts. Tef was a hothead, a loose cannon if ever there was one. He was perfect at watching your back in a fight, but boredom was his greatest enemy. He tended to instigate pointless battles whenever he felt bored. Tannhauser knew that without Schwartz to watch his back, Tef would have challenged his Alpha already. Tannhauser’s wolf was a huge, muscular black specimen that would make most humans piss themselves. Tef’s was a thin, sleazy-looking gray coat whose shifty eyes spoke volumes about his trustworthiness—or lack of it.
Tannhauser drank more beer. It blended nicely with the taste of his latest meal. So much the flavor of home. He hadn’t been home for decades, since he and Schwartz had set off on their adventure.
Wolfburg lay on the tree-covered slopes overlooking the Czech border. Over the generations, it had become a place humans whispered about. To avoid.
By the time Werner Tannhauser and his best friend Hermann Schwartz had eagerly joined the Hitler Youth, the Movement was winding down. The Reich had been sold out, but their youthful enthusiasm led them to offer their lives to the Fuhrer. The Hitler Youth was a start, but when Himmler dispatched a certain Major Stumpfahren to Wolfburg, everything fell into place. The major had been charged with recruiting for a new organization that would be code named Werwolf. Hitler Youth and younger SS members would swell its ranks with patriots willing to sacrifice themselves and anything they held dear to protect the Fatherland. And, if the country should fall into Allied hands, they were to harass and assassinate whoever dared call himself conqueror.
So the Werwolf Brigade was born, in its ruler-straight ranks thousands of keen-eyed Aryan supermen ready to lay down their lives for the Reich. Along with those willing warriors were a few citizens of Wolfsburg, whose secret was that they were werwolf when the moon was full and whenever they chose to alter their bodies.
Both Tannhauser and Schwartz survived the war and its aftermath primarily because of their special qualities. Many a traitorous German or American-Soviet-Brit occupier had succumbed to their jaws, and they had learned to hunt together. They combed the ranks of the various squads for fellow werewolves, but no one else carried the wolf inside as they did. Almost every single Werwolf in their unit was felled by machine gun, or hanged, shot, or bayoneted at the side of some road, their sacrifices slowing the Allied enemy advance as a speck of soil hinders the plow’s progress.
When their unit was decimated by an advancing American regiment, Tannhauser and Schwartz changed form and melted away like shadows in the forest, slowly finding their way back to Wolfburg. They left behind the remains of a hundred uniformed meals for the forest scavengers to pick clean.
Once home, they alternated between their twin callings: executing interlopers and procreating. Even though the Werwolf Brigade faded from memory, a small cadre of enhanced patriots continued to cause the occupation puzzling losses the war’s victors chose to cover up, fi ling them under Mysterious.
Remaining elements of the Werwolf had begun penetrating German business society, and in the seventies the various East and West governments. They continued to flourish in secret, hoping to someday attempt the coup that might result in a Fourth Reich. But some disaffected Werwolf members emigrated, infiltrating the Allied armed forces, eventually finding no shortage of wars in which to amuse themselves.
The grandsons of Tannhauser and Schwartz, both raised in the strict Spartan environment of former SS men—and werewolves—had sought their fortune in the US Special Forces and eventually sought greater freedom. They’d heard of security firms such as Blackwater, code words for mercenary forces. They had connected with a KKK-Aryan militia in Georgia (where they had picked up Tef, a true believer and also a werewolf, to their delight) and had found themselves recruited into the ranks of Wolfpaw, a smaller security subcontractor with sufficient contracts to keep the three happy.
The symbolism of the name Wolfpaw tickled them. They had conducted missions in Azerbaijan, Afghan istan, Kurdistan, and eventually Iraq. And then they had rotated out and one of their KKK contacts had mentioned an indy job in the North Woods.
From the beginning, Mr. XYZ, their secretive employer, had been clear: they were to terrorize the tribal council until the casino project was killed.
Mr. XYZ had gleefully laid out their campaign. A few violent deaths and the council would crumble. The members who remained would seek a different direction and the project would die.
Tannhauser didn’t much care why their weird employer wanted the project deep-sixed, but he understood well enough the how. And so they had waited to be unleashed, and now they, like the lightning, could not be called off.
Schwartz and Tef were still romping outdoors. Tannhauser smiled as he finished his beer.
Time enough for another before the boys came home.
Time enough to develop a hunger for the next target.
He already knew who it was. Who she was.
He popped another beer and toasted the dark woods.
Lupo
By the time his body told him it was day, the smell of bacon and eggs had penetrated the cedar-paneled bedroom. He awoke, fully aware, the scent of Jessie still in his nostrils. He let himself enjoy it before the food called to him. Then he levered himself off the bed to clean up.
The night spent in the forest had replenished his strength. There was a strangely restorative effect from the moon’s silvery cold light, from the feel of the forest floor, from the taste of blood in his jaws. He washed it off now, remembering how he’d returned at dawn, tired but aroused, and how Jessie had reacted to the waves of musk he emanated.
She had cornered him and they’d shared mad, passionate love again before seeking sleep in each other’s satisfied arms. Now her scent overlay those from the woods, and the memory brought him almost erect again.
He slapped himself gently. “Down, boy.”
He remembered all too well what the Creature had discovered out in the woods. Best to keep his thoughts to himself for the moment. He had to learn more while in human form. The Creature was all instinct, but Lupo’s intellect would inform its decisions.
He shivered at the thought of other werewolves.
But why should he? If one existed, then others were distinctly possible. Creatures of myth, perhaps, but the scents he had caught were no mere mythology.
“Hungry?” she said when he climbed down to the cozy kitchen.
“Famished.” He sat, watching her economic movements. She knew her way around a kitchen and stove. And she knew her way around him by now. She was perfect.
He couldn’t help smiling a dopey smile. He pushed his darker thoughts away.
But when she turned to serve him from a large skillet, she seemed grim.
“What’s wrong?” His heart sank.
“Tom—Sheriff Arnow called. There’s been another attack.”
Her eyes held his a second too long. “Another murder, and it looks a lot like the first one.” She served herself, but didn’t pick up her fork. “Nick?”
“Yeah, I know what you want to ask, but no, it wasn’t me.” He ate slowly, methodically. His enthusiasm for the day had leached out of him.
Her eyes were wide, fixing
him intently. “No, I didn’t mean that—I don’t think you—No, Nick, no! I was wondering where you’d been, if you had caught a scent or seen or heard anything while you were out.”
He could have confessed then, but he didn’t.
“Tom?” he said, chewing a bacon strip. He half smiled around the crisp meat to show he was only teasing.
“Sheriff Arnow is kind of a friend now, Nick. He wants me to assist the autopsy.”
“Or he just wants you.”
“Hey!” She threw her napkin at him. “Well, if you don’t want me—”
Lupo remembered the early morning lust. How could he not want her?
“I want you to meet Tom. Maybe you can offer to help with his investigation. Unofficially, of course.”
“That’s exactly what the sheriff wants, I’ll bet, is some hot-shot city cop messing up his tight little world. Where’s he from, anyway?”
“Chicago and Daytona Beach, I think. Why?”
“Just wondering how much of a hick he might be.”
She put down her fork. “Tom Arnow is not a hick, Nick Lupo. What is it, some kind of cop jealousy?”
“More eggs?” he said, pleading with his plate.
“Yup, cop jealousy.”
“No, I’m sure he’s not jealous. He’s probably eating enough, too.”
“Nick Lupo, you’re impossible.”
“That’s what you love about me.”
She spooned more eggs onto his plate. “Eat and shut up.”
He saluted. “Yeah, can’t wait to meet that Tim Arnold—”
“Tom Arnow.”
“What ever.”
She sighed.
“What?”
“Nothing. Can we get serious for a minute?”
“Sure, for a minute.”
“The second victim is also a member of the elders’ council.”
“Shit. Any other stuff we should know?”
“Not yet. But we’re heading out to the crime scene as soon as you’re done stuffing your face.”
He pushed the plate away. “Lost my appetite anyway.”
“Believe me, from what I saw yesterday, you got that right.”
Lupo watched her put dirty dishes in the dishwasher and refill coffee cups, all without looking at him. When she turned back to face him, she tried to hold back tears.
“I think something bad’s going on, Nick. Something worse than we can imagine.”
He wanted to hope she was wrong but his hope seemed naïve even to him. He steeled himself for the kind of day he hated, a vacation day gone bad.
PART TWO
INTERMEZZO
CHAPTER THREE
Lupo
1977
Nick slapped a mosquito on his forearm and squashed it flat.
Damn bugs. Vampires.
He squirmed. Ever since the incident with his neighbor Andy and the terrible thing that Andy had passed on to him, he felt new empathy for the movie monsters he once enjoyed hating. Now that he, too, was a monster, he couldn’t help pitying himself.
He flattened another mosquito. This one left a blood splatter.
Goddammit-fuck!
He liked to string together obscenities when he could. His few friends found it amusing.
But his biggest trick he couldn’t share with them, could he? When the moon was full, he could show them a thing or two. But he had no control over himself, and what he became still scared him. Quietly he had abandoned his beloved Creature Features on WGN Saturday nights.
The ammunition in Frank Lupo’s shotgun still radiated heat and pain from the gun cabinet. After the neighborhood men had “put Andy to rest” (killed him! they had killed him like a rabid animal!), Nick’s father had kept the handsome Beretta loaded with silver-coated bear slugs. Nick didn’t know where they’d come from, and he didn’t care. The pain kept him away. The fear kept him wary.
Maybe Frank Lupo suspected Andy Corrazza had passed on his curse to someone in the neighborhood, so he was ready to deal with it.
What would the elder Lupo do if he knew his son had been the one cursed? Nick figured he would have shot the monster no matter who he was.
Nick had suddenly become a joiner as far as his parents were concerned. He had sought unusual extracurriculars so he could use once-a-month late meetings or group activities as excuses. His parents believed their son had volunteered to clean up parks or referee evening games. His nighttime romps had gone mostly unnoticed, his bedraggled returns explained away.
But still the shotgun waited for a moment of clarity. Maybe it would be best for everyone if he was put down. But he was a coward and he wanted to live, miserable as he was.
Also he wanted to see Beth Ann as often as possible. A year older, she lived across the street and mostly ignored Nick. But Nick was smitten. All it took was one look at her in her flowered bikini and he was gone…
(sinning in thought, word, and deed—as Sister Louise would say in catechism)
Beth Ann often sunned in her weedy front yard, but she couldn’t know her across-the-street neighbor Nick had developed the delicious habit of hiding in the overgrown arborvitae in front of his house, climbing the springy branches until he was nearly as high as his living room windows and gazing on Beth Ann’s sweet flesh through the Montgomery Ward binoculars his father had bought him last Christmas.
Today she was late returning from summer school. His teenager’s animal lust had only increased under the curse of the moon. He wondered what exactly he did in the dark woods of the park he frequented. His memories of being a wolf were like snatches of film, strobing imagery that scared him. But there she was, finally returning to her empty house (a latchkey kid like he was), backpack dragging, and then out again in five minutes flat, her pert young breasts poking proudly through the flower print.
If Beth Ann knew she had a spy—
(an admirer)
—no, a stalker—
—she didn’t acknowledge it. She spread suntan lotion in all the right places, turning so the invisible audience could enjoy the whole show, allowing Nick to gaze into the wondrous region of her groin.
The mosquitoes kept feeding on him, but Nick barely felt them.
Beth Ann flipped in the afternoon sun, and he could clearly see the sweat-darkened patch of material covering her treasure trove. Nick felt the reaction down below.
Am I a pervert?
He thought about it. Beth Ann wanted to be seen, didn’t she? He was secretive because he didn’t want her to mock him.
Embraced by the giant hollowed-out arborvitae, Nick watched as the object of his affection rolled over and untied her bikini top. The side swells of her breasts made his breathing more difficult.
Then he almost dropped the binoculars. She flipped again without refastening the bikini string, proudly aiming her bare, stiff nipples at the sky.
Perfect handfuls for some lucky guy! Never Nick Lupo. But at least he could watch.
A short hedge ringed her front lawn, but did not provide cover. He wondered at the brazen, rebellious act committed in view of anyone.
Maybe she knows I’m here. Maybe she’s taunting me!
The street was a backwater, adults were still working, and the other kids were elsewhere.
Nick dreamed about crossing the street…
But wait, what was this?
Coming down the sidewalk was Leo Sokowski, a barrel-shaped schoolyard bully Nick had learned to avoid years ago. Leo lived way down the street and mostly picked on his own public school mates, but wasn’t picky when a neighborhood kid like Nick landed in his sights.
Rumor had it that Leo’s father beat him to within an inch of his life at least three times a year, and that was why he had become such a bully. Shit trickles downward, they said, and whatever shit he was forced to swallow, it was only natural he would share with those lower on the food chain. Nick was grateful they attended different schools.
He watched as Leo approached the unaware Beth Ann. Her eyes were closed against the sco
rching mid-July afternoon sun. Her bare breasts seemed to reach for the sunlight like mountain peaks on a poster, or like those other posters, the ones Nick had to conceal rolled up in the corner of his closet. Her face was placid in his lenses. But when he swiveled the binoculars and caught Leo, he saw trouble starting to brew.
It was like Rear Window, Nick’s favorite movie.
Leo stalked the sidewalk as if already bent on some destructive task, and when he caught sight of Beth Ann’s lush, supine body only a few feet away, the storm-cloud expression that crossed his face made Nick shiver.
His grin was crooked and evil, and he licked his rubbery lips with his fat tongue.
Leo spoke and Beth Ann’s eyes snapped open, blinking in the harsh sunlight.
Instead of covering up, though, she saw who it was and forced a half smile, keeping her nipples pointed right at her new audience.
Nick was astounded.
The two knew each other? This just wasn’t right.
His hands sweaty on the binoculars, he could no sooner have stopped watching than he could have driven toothpicks into his own eyeballs. Leo and Beth Ann were both in view now, Leo partially obscuring her smooth body.
No tan lines, he thought, forgetting about Leo for a second.
But then Leo stepped over and through the hedge toward Beth Ann. She suddenly got angry, waving him off dismissively. Nick’s binoculars were full of a Leo-shaped obstruction, but when he could glimpse Beth Ann’s features she seemed more afraid than angry. She scooted away, then gracefully half rose. But Leo had reached her and…Nick couldn’t see.
Leo was pushing her back down on her knees.
Nick stared at her trembling breasts, mesmerized by their perfect beauty. The bulge in his jeans caused a flash of shame, but he couldn’t look away.
Leo’s hand came down on Beth Ann’s crying face once, twice. Her tears glistened in the sun. Nick’s excitement waned quickly. In the binoculars’ field, Leo’s threatening hand was huge. She flinched, and he backed her up farther, toward a small pine tree in the middle of the lawn.
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