Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas ferus lupus luna amor.
Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas ferus lupus luna amor.
Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas ferus lupus luna amor.
Louis tapped the wand three times more on the rim of the bowl. On the third tap, Alex was released. His arms and legs tingled as if they’d fallen asleep. He flexed his hands and shifted from foot to foot to get the blood flowing again.
Louis divided the contents of the bowl into two zip-top plastic bags and sealed them shut. He took a shallow brass dish, a square of white silk, and a box of wooden matches from beneath the counter. He carefully wiped out the glass bowl and the length of the wand with the silk, folded the fabric in half and wiped the bowl and wand again. He repeated this once more and placed the folded fabric in the center of the brass dish. He struck a match and touched the flame to the corner of the silk. It flared with a surprising intensity, like a magician’s flash paper. Not a trace of silk—or even ash—was left in the dish.
Then, Louis was just a college kid again. He took the notebook and disappeared behind the heavy red curtain. He returned with the book and a photocopy of the “Confidence Potion” page. The uneven handwriting looked like hieroglyphics. In the corner of the paper there was a doodle—an inverted triangle with a tight spiral filling the center.
“Here ya go, Mr. McKenzie,” Louis said, sliding photocopy and the plastic bags toward him. “Just follow the steps on this sheet, to make this into a tea. You’re going to steep this in hot water. But before you do that, you’ll want to prepare yourself and your space. First, you’ll want to unplug all your electronics—your TV, radios, computer, cordless phones, everything. Even when these things are turned off, the electrical impulses can interfere.
“Empty one serving into a mug,” he said, tapping on the plastic bag of dried ingredients, “and pour some boiling water over it. While it’s steeping, light a candle, and turn out all the lights. Here’s a piece of chalk. Draw this symbol on the floor. Then you’re going to want to strip down—completely.”
Alex raised his eyebrow at this last step.
Louis continued, “Make sure to get yourself completely centered. Try to block out all the crap—all the needless noise from the day. When you’re feeling it, I mean really feeling it repeat this three times.” Louis indicated the incantation he’d recited earlier.
“Then drink the tea. Totally drain the cup. Then put the cup in a paper bag, hit the bag with a hammer until it’s smashed into powder and burn the whole thing. One dose should do ya, but if you have to you can use the second dose at the next full moon.”
Alex took the photocopy and the two plastic bags then stumbled out onto the deserted downtown street. He heard the door click behind him and when he turned around the shop was dark. Sliding behind the wheel of his pickup truck, Alex felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him and hoped he would be able to stay awake long enough to follow the ridiculous instructions he’d just wasted forty-five bucks on.
Chapter Seven
Two Weeks Later
The pain woke him. Alex’s jaws ached and his mouth was full of grit. He spit into his hands and looked at a half dozen little white and silver pellets.
What the fuck?
The digital clock read 3:19 a.m. He tried to stretch, but he was pinned. He reached down and slid the plump leg off his thigh. Turning, he saw a frizzy mane of red hair spread out on the pillow beside him. Mandy? Mary? Miranda?
He couldn’t remember the woman’s name and it took him a minute to remember how she’d gotten there. The tailor. In the two weeks since he’d drunk the potion, Alex had grown three inches and yesterday when he brought in a stack of pants to be lengthened, she was behind the counter.
She’d been stuffed into a too-small shirt and too-tight jeans. No one would have described her as pretty, but her scent was intoxicating. She’d willingly told Alex what time she got off work and was waiting for him when he pulled up to the curb. They’d come back to his loft and he offered her a glass of wine. She hadn’t even finished her drink when Alex yanked her off the couch and led her to his bedroom. He thought he’d ripped her top when he stripped her. He’d have to remember to slip her a twenty to replace it. Though he doubted that the cheap clothes had cost that much. He had her wet and panting in no time. Poor thing probably didn’t even know what hit her.
Through the pain of his aching mouth, he recalled the way her big, round ass had looked from behind when he had her on all fours on his bed. The pale skin had turned deep red when he slapped it. The heat of it under his palm had almost made him lose control. She was dripping wet and deliciously aromatic when he plunged into her. The yielding flesh felt heavenly against his pelvis. Her thick pubic hair teased his balls with every thrust. She was already so tight that when her slick canal closed down on his cock, he came almost immediately.
When he was finished, she flopped onto her belly and was snoring softly in minutes. He wasn’t interested in cuddling, but sometime during the night she’d slung her meaty thigh over him.
He slid out of bed, careful not wake Mandy or Mary or Miranda. Bob lifted his head from the floor and watched Alex tiptoe to the bathroom. Don’t look at me like that. Not all of us have been neutered, pal.
Bob groaned. Alex slowly closed the door and turned the knob so the latch wouldn’t make a sound. He flicked on the bathroom light and opened his fist. He rubbed the gritty bits under his finger, trying to figure out what they were. Fillings!
Alex brushed the porcelain and silver into the wastebasket then faced the mirror, tilted back his head and opened his mouth wide. The grinding edges of all his teeth were smooth and white. He ran his tongue over his molars and shook his head. Sometime in the middle of the night all his cavities had filled in with natural enamel and pushed out the fillings.
He stared at his naked reflection. The muscles in his arms had grown again. The skin was pulled tight over hyper-defined peaks and valleys. Overnight his chest had become broader and the hair on it was thicker. It trailed down over cut abs before thickening again below his navel. He glanced between his legs and smirked when he saw that his cock had grown again too. Nice.
Turning away from the mirror, Alex stepped on the scale. He’d gained another eight pounds since yesterday, and by the looks of it, it was all muscle—and cock. He couldn’t help it, he had to get another look at the guy in the mirror. Self-satisfaction washed over him and he couldn’t even muster up the illusion of modesty.
Shuffling from the bedroom broke his admiration. Fuck! Why had he brought her back here? That had been one of his new rules. The rules had changed frequently in the two weeks since he’d taken the potion. The one that he tried to follow was that he always went back to their place, never here. He didn’t want any of them to know where he lived because he had no intention of a repeat performance. Now he’d have to figure out how to get rid of Mandy Mary Miranda without having her go all psycho-stalker on him.
Alex pulled a pair of boxers and a T-shirt out of the hamper and slipped them on. The cotton strained to cover his chest. Mandy Mary Miranda didn’t need to see him naked and get all wound up again.
The plan was not perfect, and it was certainly going to sting, but it would get the job done. He pulled open the bathroom door and a shaft of light fell on the redhead’s moony face. “Hey handsome,” she purred. Mandy Mary Miranda propped herself up on one elbow and pulled back the sheet to reveal her big, pendulous breasts. The scent wafted from the bed and Alex’s cock jerked. Keep it together, McKenzie. He dug his thumbnail into his palm until tears sprang to his eyes and his erection softened.
“Listen. You’ve gotta go. My wife works the overnight shift and she’s going to be home any minute.”
Mandy Mary Miranda sat up and covered herself with the sheet. Her beady eyes widened a bit. “Your WIFE?”
Alex shrugged, “Sorry. I usually don’t do this, but you just looked so hot I couldn’t help
myself. I feel awful—so guilty. I really love my wife. She’s everything to me. If she ever found out I’d done this, it would kill her.”
Mandy Mary Miranda scowled and Alex realized he’d made a huge tactical error—a woman scorned and all that shit. He amended his lie. “It would kill her.” He paused to feign a look of crushing sadness. “I mean, it would kill her even sooner. She’s sick, terminal. She doesn’t have long…” Alex let his voice trail off as if he couldn’t bear to continue.
The nameless woman glanced down as if trying to decide what to do. Finally she rose, pulling the sheet around herself, and quickly dressed. Alex grabbed his jeans from the floor, dug out his wallet and held out a bill. “Here. Take this—for a cab and for your shirt.”
Mandy Mary Miranda looked at the twenty, and down at the tear in her top, then back at Alex. “Fuck you, asshole!”
Alex tried to look contrite, but was awash with relief. The redhead slid on her shoes, grabbed her purse and stomped out. He stayed in the bedroom and listened for the front door to open then held his breath waiting for it to shut again. Instead he heard, “Oh, and don’t bother coming back into the shop for your pants. If you want them, they’ll be out back in the alley. Asshole!”
The door slammed and Alex listened to the heavy footfalls, a pause and the rattle of the elevator. He relaxed as soon as he heard the doors slide shut.
“Dodged that bullet. Huh, Bob?”
The dog cocked his head. You have a wife?
* * * * *
The Next Day
The morning after his run-in with Mandy Mary Miranda, Alex had found his pants in the alley behind the dry cleaners—exactly where she’d said they would be. Unfortunately, she’d cut the zippers out of every pair, rendering them unwearable. He sat in the prison waiting room in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
When his name was called, Alex slid the battered sports magazine into his manila file folder then followed the rail-thin guard down the corridor. She led him to a room filled with round cafeteria-style tables and colorful plastic chairs. Small groups were huddled in hushed conversations beside an absurdly cheerful seascape wall mural.
Even if Desdemona Lustre weren’t sitting alone, he would have been able to pick her out of the crowd. Her waist-length plum-colored dreadlocks were pulled back in a tie-dyed scarf and her loose gypsy clothing hid the curves of her full body. He took a seat across from the fortune teller and tossed the file folder on the table.
“Dr. McKenzie,” she said quietly, a serene expression covered her face.
“Miss Lustre.”
“What brings you to visit?” she asked, but Alex had the distinct impression that she knew the answer to her own question.
“I stopped by your shop a couple of weeks ago at the recommendation of my friend Diana Wallace. I met with your employee, Louis. He set me up with a confidence spell.”
Desdemona’s dreadlocks bobbed as she nodded. “Yes, Louis is coming along nicely. He’s been a wonderful apprentice. I trust he was able to help to your satisfaction?”
Alex clenched his teeth. He wanted to smack that serene look right off her round face. “You trust wrong, Miss Lustre.”
The fortune teller leaned in on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands. Her fingers were covered with mismatched rings and rows of bracelets jangled at her wrists. “How so, Dr. McKenzie? Have you not seen your confidence boosted? Louis should have provided you with a second dose of the tea—”
“Yeah. Confidence boosted. Second dose received. But there have been some…unexpected side effects.”
Alex opened the file folder and pulled out the photocopy of the spell. He slid it across the table. Desdemona lifted reading glasses from the beaded chain around her neck and situated them on her nose. She picked up the paper and read aloud, “A pinch of rosemary, and one of thyme, a grain of dried wolf’s blood. It all seems in order.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “A grain of wolf’s blood? Not a gram?”
Desdemona looked over the top of her readers. “Heavens no! Not a gram of wolf’s blood, that would be—” She stopped short and the serene expression fell from her face. Her eyes widened and her brow rose. “A gram, Dr. McKenzie? Are you quite sure Louis measured out a gram?”
Alex sat back and crossed his arms over his ever-expanding chest. “Yes, Miss Lustre. I’m sure. We discussed it. He had a hard time reading your chicken scratch and reasoned that it must be a gram because a grain would have been nearly impossible to separate out from the jar.”
“Oh dear.”
Alex uncrossed his arms and leaned in. “‘Oh dear’? That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh dear’? Did he poison me or what? What the hell was in that jar, lady?”
“Dried wolf’s blood. A very potent ingredient.”
“C’mon. It looked an awful lot like paprika to me. There’s no way in hell it was dried anything blood. What was it?”
Alex realized he’d raised his voice when the policewoman pushed away from the her spot beneath the two-dimensional palm tree painted on the cinderblock wall and began walking toward them. Alex raised a hand in an apologetic gesture and the guard stood down.
“What kind of side effects have you been experiencing, Dr. McKenzie?”
“Well, let’s see. I’ve put on forty pounds—of pure muscle—in two weeks. I’ve grown three inches. My bald spot has filled in. My hairline has inched forward. Hell, I’ve got hair all over my body. All my senses have grown incredibly acute—”
Desdemona nodded and smiled. “Well, those hardly seem like negative effects, Doctor.”
Alex leaned across the table and waited for the voodoo queen to bring her ear close to his mouth. “And I can hear dogs,” he whispered, “Not just barking. I can hear what they’re thinking. And I can communicate with them.”
Desdemona sat back hard and the smile faded from her face. “When did you say you met with Louis?”
“Almost two weeks ago.”
The woman looked toward the ceiling as if making some sort of calculation. “Two weeks. That was the full moon. It will be full again in another fifteen days.”
Alex pulled the waiting room copy of Sports Digest from the file folder and turned it so the fortune teller could see the cover photo of retired Russian basketball phenomenon Sergei Markov. He tapped the image of the imposing center’s upper-arm tattoo. “And what’s this all about? I’d never seen that symbol before Louis gave me the photocopy of your spell and then I’m sitting in the visitors room waiting to see you and there it is again . What does it mean, the triangle with the spiral?”
She fidgeted and her face flushed. “The inverted triangle represents the head of a wolf. The spiral symbolizes the intertwined connection between man and beast—their spirits, their essences—flowing in and out of one another.”
“So why does this guy have it tattooed on his shoulder? What the hell? Did he stop into your little shop too?”
Desdemona reached out and touched Alex’s hand. She removed the glasses from her nose and let them dangle on their chain, and met his gaze and held it for a long moment. “No, Doctor. Sergei Markov did not gain his—power—from a potion or a spell. He got his…special abilities the old fashioned way.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “What ‘power’? What ‘special abilities’? and what the fuck does ‘old fashioned way’ mean?”
“Dr. McKenzie, you must remain calm. It is the only way you will—”
Alex glanced at the guard and turned back to Desdemona, struggling to keep his anger in check. “How did Markov get his ‘powers’?”
Desdemona chewed her lower lip. Her blush faded and her face went sheet-white. “Sergei Markov was bitten by a werewolf.”
* * * * *
That Evening
The tattered mailing label bearing the prison’s address crackled under the heel of Alex’s hand as he slid his computer mouse across the magazine cover. He’d logged onto the Internet as soon as he’d returned home from his visit with Desdemona Lustre and he’d been
staring at his computer screen for the past three hours.
There were plenty of websites devoted to lycanthropy. Werewolf lore was a popular topic on the internet. He’d brought up the images in his search engine and cringed at the snarling, red-eyed man-beasts. When he typed in werewolf symbol and werewolf totem, none of the results featured the spiral-in-a-triangle design. He turned his attention to tracking down Sergei Markov.
The search of the athlete’s name netted more than a million results. Alex learned that the Russian had retired after just a few seasons. He’d invested most of his basketball money and rolled a portion into a huge tract of land in Talbot, Minnesota. Markov eschewed the press and fans in favor of a quiet life far from the limelight. He now ran Luna Farms—a small but successful organic farm producing gourmet meats and cheeses.
Alex punched in the web address for Luna Farms and pored over the site. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in all ten digits of the toll free number before realizing he had no idea what he would say if and when he got Markov on the phone. He clicked on the “contact us” icon then stared at the blinking cursor for twenty minutes without typing a single word. No, this was not a conversation to be had via phone or email. Alex closed the email window and lowered the laptop screen.
A thousand disjointed thoughts flitted through Alex’s mind as he shoved a few days’ worth of clothes and toiletries into his carry on. His black Lab lay on the floor following his master with his eyes. Alex zipped shut the bag then yanked his keys from the hook by the apartment door. C’mon, Bob. Road trip.
* * * * *
For the past hundred miles, Alex had been rehearsing what he’d say to the basketball-star-turned-werewolf. Bob shifted in the backseat and Alex voice commanded the cell phone to connect with his office. When his secretary Janice answered, he told her to cancel all his appointments for the rest of the week and refer patients to Dr. Tristan in Bloomington. He hung up without saying goodbye and glanced at the GPS. He’d been heading north for nearly five hours and was within thirty minutes of his destination, and, hopefully, some answers.
Animal Behavior Page 9
