Dreams of Gray

by Maurice Lawless

  “At first, I didn’t know what he was. We met in the wild. Hunted together. Ran together for a time. We were—intimate.”

  “He was your mate?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How long was it before you realized he was human?”

  She stopped at a light and rubbed her arms. “Not long. I saw him change at a river to catch some fish. I changed as well. He was very surprised.”

  I giggled. “I bet.”

  “We spoke. It was how I learned much about what we are. He thought he was the only one. He had spent most of his life as a wolf.”

  “He must have been lonely,” I said.

  “We both were. It was good that we had each other, for a time.”

  I almost hated to pry, but I was curious. “Were you a couple as humans?”

  “We were close in both forms, yes.”

  The light went green, and she pulled through the intersection, resuming her alert driving stance.

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer right away. I worried that I’d finally crossed a line. I opened my mouth to apologize and she waved me off.

  “I have not spoken of this to anyone. I suppose because no one asked.”

  I waited. We were going under the interstate, so my hunch was right; she lived somewhere in Spring.

  “He had a pack,” she said, “He met me when he was out scouting. When he brought me back, the other members were not happy. Especially the females. We fought for the right to mate. I won.”

  She paused and took another deep breath. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was on the verge of tears.

  “I bore him pups. Two litters. I asked him once when we were human if he wished to have a baby. He said honestly he didn’t know how to raise one. I was content as a mother by then, so I didn’t try to persuade him.”

  The concept of Slate having wolf puppies confused me. I mean, I guess technically in wolf form, we had all the right equipment, but to stay that way for however long it took wolves to give birth? She must have really loved him.

  “Were the pups normal?” I asked, “I mean, wolves only?”

  “Yes. I was curious as well, but they did not seem to be able to change. Strangely, they recognized me as their mother in either form.”

  “Your scent is the same,” I said, “It took me a second this morning, but I recognized you when you woke me up.”

  She considered it. “That would make sense.”

  After a beat, she continued, “We lived deep in the forest for a long time, but as the pups grew they became restless. They wanted to explore. I was afraid for them, because I knew what the farmers outside the forest would do to a wolf. What I had once done.”

  “You grew up on a farm?”

  She nodded. “I tried to warn the pups, but the oldest male was stubborn. He was much like his father. He ventured out despite my mate’s warnings. I followed him one night. We went far, far away from our den. He was picking chickens out from a hen house.”

  I could see where this was going, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Still, this was the most I’d managed to get her to talk about herself since we’d met. I didn’t interrupt.

  “My mate had followed, too. I did not know until it was too late. The pup was caught, but when the farmer fired, my mate jumped in front of him.”

  She was holding back tears now. Her eyes glistened in the sunlight, but her face remained firm, jaw set.

  “The shot did not kill him, but he could not run as fast as the pup and myself. He fell behind as we fled. The farmer caught up with him and slit his throat.”

  We slowed down and turned into an apartment complex. She rolled down her window and entered a number into the keypad on the gate. She stole a hand to the edge of her eye quickly, wiping away a tear.

  We pulled in two building down and she shut off the car.

  “We are here.”

  “Slate, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She stared into the distance, making no move to get out of the car. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper.

  “It was a cruel winter.”

  27

  As we were getting ready for the evening, Slate retired to the bathroom. I saw her in passing and peeked in. She had a spread on the counter that looked like a surgeon’s table: straight razors, tweezers, gauze. No iodine or anesthetic, though. She controlled her breathing with long, deep breaths as she cut an inch-long slit on the front of her shoulder. It went deep.

  I wanted to ask her what she was doing, but her jaw was set, eyes amber and focused fully on the task. She dropped the razor and picked up the tweezers. They plunged into the hole she’d just made, and she growled a bit as she dug around until there was a faint TINK! of metal on metal.

  When she pulled the tweezers out, a metal ball was clasped inside them. A slug, from Alan’s bullet. She dropped it into the trash, and then she washed her tools methodically. She swabbed the wound with damp gauze, just to clean away the blood, but didn’t dress it. In a few seconds, I saw why: it had already stopped bleeding. I had a feeling even the scar would be gone by the time we got to the club.

  Slate wore the same outfit from when we'd first met. It was just as revealing the second time around. There was a new addition: a pair of wedge heels. I would have questioned the ensemble, but I figured, as with all her clothing choices, she wanted something she could lose quickly for the change.

  I dug around her closet and found a modest halter and jean skirt with some matching sandals that had a slight heel. Neither of us bothered with makeup. Slate looked at the two of us in the bedroom mirror and nodded.

  We left for the hunt.

  We hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the ride to her apartment. I was afraid to break the silence, so I concentrated on the darkening night out the window while we traveled to the southeast side of town.

  The night was in full swing as we stepped in to dimmed lights and someone on stage complaining about the price of airline tickets. He had either warmed up the crowd pretty well or they were already drunk because his lame attempts at humor had the room laughing.

  Slate walked confidently to a table in the back of the room where two twenty-something men were sitting, beers in hand. They saw her approach and I could tell by their faces they appreciated every step.

  “May we join you, boys?”

  I caught up with her, a little less confident but otherwise holding my own. They nodded and pulled two chairs out from the table. We sat and made small talk for a while. Well, I made small talk. Slate could project sex without a word. The man closest to her didn’t seem to mind.

  The one next to me, Rob, motioned me closer and spoke into my ear. “Your friend doesn’t talk much.”

  I nodded and tried to think of something to say. The best I could come up with was, “She’s the strong, silent type.”

  Rob laughed. The house lights came up for just a second as the man on stage left to polite applause. Out came the emcee, who did his part to keep the room warm with a couple of quick jokes about some people on the front row.

  The lights dimmed again, and he asked the crowd, “So is everybody ready for the main event?”

  The crowd cheered as did our tablemates. Slate was focused, as usual. The emcee continued, “Give this guy a warm welcome! On loan from The Laugh Shop in Brooklyn, New York, The A-MAZE-ing Lupin!”

  This was it. The one who made us into freaks. The one who took my life but left me breathing. Made me choose between this curse and Alan. Made me a killer. The room was suddenly much warmer.

  Slate reached over and took my hand without looking. As the main attraction took the stage, she squeezed it and held fast.

  The Amazing Lupin was not exactly what I expected in a serial seducer and ruiner of women. He was just barely six feet tall, if that. He wore a pair of black slacks with shiny black shoes and a gray-and-blue striped dress shirt that was open at the collar. He had tattoos on his chest. I
couldn’t see what they were from our table.

  When I saw him scan the crowd, I immediately realized his appeal. He had a handsome face with strong lines. His intense brown eyes were serious but held just a hint of playful mischief.

  I was thankful for the low house lights and strong spotlight. I wasn’t sure what either of us would do if he picked us out.

  “Good evening, everyone! How about that Bobby LaMonde? Isn’t he great?”

  Compliment the previous act. Quick way to win over a crowd. There were whistles and applause, and he took it in like a polished showman. “Now, as some of you probably know I’ve got a little different kind of act for you tonight. You see, I was raised by gypsies.”

  He paused and there were a few isolated laughs. No one was sure if he was serious. “They taught me the arts of seduction and mind control. I’m here to hypnotize someone.”

  There were big cheers to that. He scanned the audience, and I ducked down without thinking.

  “If I might toot my own horn here, I think I’m pretty good at it. But let’s have you good people be the judge of that, how about it?”

  More applause and whistling. “Now, here’s the part you’ve probably all heard before. I need a volunteer. Preferably one not too drunk to stand. I know that’s a tall order.”

  Hands went up all through the club, and a moving spotlight roved around. It focused on the center of the room, safely away from our table. The man sitting next to Slate said, “You should volunteer. Hey! Over-”

  He was cut off by Slate’s free hand on his crotch. It wasn’t a come-on. She squeezed, and he took the hint.

  On stage, Lupin had already picked his next victim. “You there, the blonde with the antennae! Take me to your leader or your bedroom. Whichever comes first.”

  The young lady he picked hopped up. She wore a pair of green blinking balls that sprung off her head and bounced when she moved. She was into the act and more than a little drunk, judging by the way she walked. She announced to the whole crowd, “Oh don’t worry, I always come first.”

  The audience ate it up. Cat calls and yowls all around, coupled with raucous laughter. Lupin helped her up and presented her to the crowd.

  “Okay, folks. Let’s have a hand for-” he pointed the microphone at her.

  “Whitney!” she said, hands behind her back so her chest was on full display.

  Lupin let the applause die down and took Whitney’s hand. “Now, Whitney, not everyone can be hypnotized, so we’ll have to do a little test first.”

  He looked out at the crowd. “Folks, seriously, I need a little quiet for this one to work. Just give me a minute.”

  The club was silent as he looked into Whitney’s eyes. He stowed the microphone on its stand and took her hand in both of his. His thumbs rubbed small circles as he spoke in a low monotone. No one breathed as we saw Whitney sway just a bit.

  A stage hand put a chair down behind her, and Lupin touched his hand to her forehead. She slumped down, looking asleep with her eyes open.

  Lupin grabbed the mic and spoke to the crowd. “Well, looks like she’s a cheap date.” The crowd laughed and the noise levels came back up to normal. There was a chorus of cheers. He walked over to the foggy Whitney and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Whitney?”

  The mic lowered, and a dreamy Whitney answered, “Oh yeah. I’m cool. Chilly Willy.”

  That brought another round of laughs, and Lupin chuckled as well. “I swear I didn’t put her up to that one. Okay, Whitney. We're going to have a little fun, but I want you to know you can stop at any time, all right?”

  “Okay.”

  “Whitney, when I snap my fingers, you’re going to lose any and all memory of the number four. Do you understand? You’ll forget it exists completely.”

  “Okay.”

  A heckler in the crowd yelled, “Boring!”

  Lupin took it in stride, and gave a wink to the crowd. “We’re all adults here tonight, right?”

  Cheers and applause answered.

  “Okay. Whitney, on top of not remembering the number four, every time I say that number, you will open one button of your blouse. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  The crowd was cheering and hooting now, mostly the men. Our tablemates were no exception. I looked at Slate, but her expression was unreadable. I was pretty sure this kind of thing couldn’t be legal, but maybe the rest of the club thought she was a plant, like his assistant.

  “Okay, Whitney. Stand up for me, please. Good. Now on three I’m going to snap my fingers, and you’ll wake up. One, two, three!”

  Whitney perked up immediately. Lupin took her hand. “How are you feeling, Whitney?”

  “Umm, when’s the test start?”

  Giggles came from the crowd, and Lupin gave them an indulgent grin. “You already took it. You passed!”

  Whitney’s eyes went wide. “Oh, cool. So do I cluck like a chicken or something?”

  “No, no. I need your help with something though.” The same stagehand who brought out the chair set up a collapsing stand with a big tray on it. It was the kind of thing a waiter might use to bring out your food. Instead of plates, it had a row of six shot glasses.

  With a little dramatic flair, Lupin grabbed a bottle and a lighter from off stage. He took a swig from the bottle and spat it out in front of him, using the lighter to ignite a fireball over the drinks. The crowd gasped and clapped as the shots glowed with blue coronas of flame.

  “Now, Whitney. How many shots do you see? Count them out for me.”

  “Really? Okay. One, two, three, five, six, seven.”

  There were snickers from the crowd. Whitney looked at them with an incredulous smile.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Lupin guided her over to the tray. “Okay, so there are seven?”

  “Yeah. I’m not stupid.”

  More laughs from the audience. Lupin winked at them again. “Whitney, let’s have a drink. You and me, what do you say?”

  “Um, okay.”

  He handed her one shot, and he took a second. They blew out the flames and downed them together. Applause and cheers. One of the girls at Whitney’s table yelled, “You go, Whitney!”

  “Okay.” Lupin handed the empty shots to his stagehand and returned to the tray. “So how many are left? Count them out for me.”

  “Is this a trick or something? One, two, three, five.”

  “Five then?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lupin looked out at the crowd. “Not four?”

  Whitney looked flushed and her hand flew to her blouse. One button down. “What’s that? That’s not a number.”

  The crowd was in stitches. A couple of guys threw out cat calls when she opened the button. Lupin laughed with them and continued.

  “What’s two plus two, Whitney?”

  “Five. Duh.”

  “Not four?”

  One more button gone. Someone yelled, “Woo, take it off!”

  Whitney was very confused. “I don’t get it. That’s not a number. I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, no. Of course not, Whitney.”

  The tray was removed, but not before Lupin distributed the remaining four shots among the people at the front table. “No sense wasting a good prop. Cheers.”

  Lupin addressed the crowd. “Now, never let anyone say you didn’t learn something tonight. You see, I’m a bit of a student of history. One of my favorite speeches is the Gettysburg Address.”

  The crowd didn’t see where it was going, but I did.

  With as much dramatic flair as he could muster, Lupin circled around Whitney and recited, “Four score and seven years ago, our four fathers brought onto this continent a new nation. Four days later, they discovered moonshine, and all bets were off.”

  Whitney was down to one button now, and her lacy black bra was on display to the crowd. I saw why Lupin had picked her. There was a lot to show.

  “You’ve been a great sport, Whitney. C
ome over to the chair and have a seat.”

  He touched her forehead again and she went slack. “Whitney, you can button your blouse back up now.” A couple of guys in the crowd booed. He waved them down with a smile.

  “Whitney, you’ve done a great job tonight. I want you to forget all of the suggestions I’ve made to you, and when I snap my fingers, you’ll remember everything that just happened. You’ll feel refreshed and happy. Is that okay?”