Get Bent!

by Rick Gualtieri

  “Known what?” I ventured.

  “I’m not particularly happy with you right now, young lady,” she said rather than answer me.

  “I kind of figured,” I replied, remembering that I wasn’t too happy with her either. Yeah, she had just annihilated a group of fairy tale monsters, something I could attest to by the freaked-out stare Riva was still giving her. At the same time, she’d needlessly drugged me for, like, nine-tenths of my life. “Join the club.”

  “You always did have a smart mouth. You get it from your father.”

  “Really? What else did I get? A tail and a tendency to scoot my butt over the kitchen floor maybe?” I meant what I said, but at the same time, it was really hard to push away years of parental love on a whim. “Sorry. That was mean,” I added almost before I realized the words were out of my mouth. Gah! I so wanted to slap myself.

  “The important thing is you’re both safe.”

  “About that. What happened back there? How did you get in? The door was locked. And what was with you glowing? Was that just for show? And when did you learn Latin?”

  “This is really not the time, Tamara.”

  “Really? Because I think it’s a fine time. Don’t you, Riva?”

  She held up her hands and backed up against the passenger side door. “I’m staying out of this one.”

  “Smart girl,” Mom replied. “Good to see at least one of you has some sense.”

  “You do realize I can simply kick this door right off its hinges and jump out, right?”

  Riva turned toward me, her eyes wide.

  “Oh relax. I know it’s your car. I’m just trying to make a point.”

  “Fine.” Mom locked eyes with me in the rearview mirror, but I refused to drop my gaze. “For starters, that wasn’t Latin. It’s Gaelic.”

  “Gaelic? But I thought wizards were supposed to speak...”

  “You’ve been reading too much bad fiction, I see.”

  I couldn’t help but notice we were accelerating, going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit and still increasing. Mom seemed awfully eager to get us back to High Moon, although I kind of understood. It was the first time I’d ever ordered a breakfast special that came with a side of murderous wolf men.

  Regardless, she seemed to be in control, speedy or not, so I persisted. “Works for me. Gaelic it is. Top o’ the morning to ye.”

  “Don’t be a snot.”

  “Okay, I’ve been trying to be quiet,” Riva suddenly said, “but am I the only one who noticed that you...” She paused as if trying to find the right words, perhaps afraid she was going to set one of us off. “...kind of murdered those people back there?”

  Tact never really was one of Riva’s virtues.

  “And I’m sure you noticed that those creatures weren’t exactly playing catch with you two,” Mom replied in an even tone as if this was a normal occurrence for her. “But I guess that’s little more than mincing words. The truth of the matter is, there wasn’t much choice. It had to be done.”

  “But why?”

  “You really have no idea what’s going on here, do you?”

  I raised my hand from the back seat. “Make that two of us.”

  Mom gritted her teeth and, for a moment, I was sure she was going to keep driving and ignore us. However, we passed a sign informing us we’d entered the High Moon city limits and her demeanor visibly relaxed. She applied the brakes and brought us down to a speed that wasn’t likely to get us pulled over.

  “Lycanthropes and the Draíodóir. We’ve been enemies for centuries.”

  I blinked a few times. “Lycanthropes I’ve heard of. But the ... Dreidelor? Did you and Dad convert to Judaism and not tell me?”

  Mom let out a sigh and pronounced it again. “Witches, wizards, magic users if you wish to be banal about it. My people.”

  “So you’re at war with each other?”

  “Not quite. More of a cold war. Things heat up every now and then, but we’ve managed to keep it from spilling over into full-blown bloodshed.”

  “Like blasting the shit out of four werewolves in broad daylight?”

  “That was an ... unfortunate situation, brought upon by your stubborn refusal to heed your father’s warning.”

  From the tone of Mom’s voice, she didn’t sound like she’d be losing much sleep over what she’d done, which kinda freaked me out more than her magic. I mean, this was the same woman who’d once scolded me for running outside with a fly swatter to kill a few bees buzzing around our deck, telling me they had as much right to be there as I did. More than once, she’d caught an errant lizard or mouse that had gotten into our house only to release it unharmed outside.

  She wasn’t quite what I’d call a hemp-soaked hippie, but I’d always gotten a sense that she respected nature. Apparently that respect had its boundaries, though, ones which were currently soaked in werewolf blood.

  What the hell had my life turned into?

  “It’ll be fine,” she continued, as if that made it better. “Your father will take care of that mess.”

  “Take care of it? Those people are dead! And for that matter, why did it even happen? I’ve eaten there before, been waited on by that same woman. She’s never tried to kill me, even when I was a little short on the tip.”

  “That’s because you never smelled like you do now.”

  Riva took a sniff of the air. “I don’t smell anything.” She turned to me. “It’s not like you smell like wet dog. I would’ve told you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Of course you don’t smell it,” Mom replied as if we were stupid five-year-olds again. “Do you know how sensitive a dog’s nose is? Lycanthropes possess similar senses. Even in their human forms, their sense of smell is on the order of ten times that of a normal person’s.”

  “Would explain why Dad doesn’t go down to Chris’s room much,” I quipped before turning serious again. “I still don’t get it. Those things attacked me. They changed and it’s not even a full moon out. And how are you and Dad married if you’re at war? Not to mention...”

  “Enough, Tamara.”

  “No. Not enough. I want answers.”

  Mom became quiet and I could tell from the look of her face in the rearview mirror she wanted to say something snippy back at me, like I was a little kid who’d just mouthed off, but after a few more seconds she said, “Very well. I can’t promise you’ll like what you hear, but the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. But it must wait until we get home, and you have to promise me no more storming out in a snit.”

  I held my tongue. It was a promise I couldn’t make, at least not until I heard what other bombshells they had to drop.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Much to Riva’s displeasure, Mom insisted on dropping her off at home.

  Can’t necessarily say I was happy with the decision either. “She already knows.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Mom replied. “Believe me.” She turned to my friend. “This isn’t personal, dear, but it’s a family matter. Afterward, if Tamara wants to tell you...” She glanced back at me as she said this. “That’s entirely up to her.”

  “But what if...”

  “You’ll be safe, trust me on this. You are not a player in this grand chess match. Neither of our factions has any quarrel with you, nor is there a need for them to know you are aware of their existence.”

  Ignoring our arguments to the contrary, she pulled out her phone and called Dad. He’d gone to retrieve the stuff we’d left in the woods, to save us from having to go back to that hellish place ... and apparently also to erase any traces that we’d been there. He agreed to pick us up on the way home.

  Once she hung up, we both protested some more, but Mom held fast. It basically came down to this: if I wanted answers, it was going to be between me, her, and Dad. If not, then tough noogies.

  Much as I didn’t want to be separated from the one person I felt was truly in my corner, I was forced to agree.

  Riva finally di
d, too ... or she did after we agreed to walk through her house first and make sure there was nothing lurking about. I could tell Mom was humoring her, but I felt better doing so. There were few clichés as annoying as the old “You’ll be safe here” routine. Pretty sure every thriller ever made has used that one to bump off, kidnap, or otherwise terrorize a secondary character.

  In this case, it was fortunately all for naught. Riva’s place was clean, and I do mean clean. Her parents definitely had some OCD issues when it came to clutter.

  As we were leaving, she pulled me aside. “If anything happens, call me.”

  “Same,” I replied before running out to where Dad was waiting for us in his van.

  Just as I was about to get in, it hit me. Holy shit! My mother was a witch, my dad a werewolf, and we owned a fucking minivan. Tell me that’s not just a bit strange.

  Dad greeted us like this was a normal pick-up, but then he looked at me and his eyes opened wide. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  It was only then that I remembered I’d been mauled. In the excitement of our escape and subsequent bickering in the car, I’d almost managed to forget about it. Shit! I was seriously going to owe Riva a full detailing for her car when this was over.

  “It looks worse than it is,” Mom replied.

  I was about to retort with something less than polite when I saw my reflection in the van’s window. There was a lot of blood on my face, but it was dried by now. As for the scratches, they had become long, thin lines that had completely scabbed over. I then checked my leg – pants torn and soaked in dried blood, but the teeth marks themselves looked to be several days old.

  I let this sink in as I climbed into the van and we drove home.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Once back at our house, I took some time to clean myself up, again noting that my injuries appeared to be days old instead of an hour or so. My face didn’t even hurt. With any luck, there wouldn’t be much scarring once the scabs fell off, which would be nice because I sure as hell wasn’t going to be making time with Gary if I looked like the loser in a fight with a grizzly bear.

  It wasn’t until we were situated back in the living room that I noticed things weren’t quite as I’d left them. “Everything is fixed.”

  “Of course it is,” Mom replied.

  “You guys had time to buy a new coffee table?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Magic?”

  “Domestic trolls.” She noticed my wide-eyed stare and grinned. “They normally come to tidy up at night when everyone is asleep, but I asked them to pay a special visit. Don’t worry. Your brother slept right through it.”

  “Trolls?”

  “Oh, relax. They’re not like their larger bridge-dwelling cousins. They’re small, but they can really put their backs into it.”

  “Great. So we have garden gnomes cleaning the place. If I’d known that, I’d have been far less careful where I dropped my laundry.”

  “Don’t call them that,” Mom chided. “They don’t like that name.”

  “Of course not.” I stopped short of asking her whether they were actually one and the same with the creepy little stone freaks in the garden out front. The truth was, I really didn’t want to know. “Speaking of trolls, where’s Chris? I thought we were going to do this as a family.”

  Dad shrugged uncomfortably. “Mostly as a family. I sent him to a friend’s house for the afternoon. He doesn’t know about this and I don’t think there’s a reason for him to ... yet anyway.” His pause wasn’t lost on me, but I decided to let it slide for now.

  I wasn’t in the mood to argue. Besides, he was probably right. “So how are we going to do this?” I asked, plopping down in the loveseat.

  My dad made as if to sit next to me but then, no doubt realizing things were still a wee bit tense, thought better of it and sat on the couch instead. Mom joined him. There we were, three freaks sitting around the living room as if we were about to do nothing more extraordinary than watch TV.

  Dad leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. I couldn’t help but notice the cuts and bruises on his face were noticeably less prominent than they had been. I unconsciously reached up to touch my own cheek.

  “I heal fast,” he said, as if sensing my thoughts. “By dinner time, this will all be gone. Judging by what your mother told me, I’m going to guess that’s something else you got from my side.”

  It was the first thing they’d said to me all day that I didn’t want to argue against. I simply nodded, grateful that I wouldn’t be needing a bag over my head when I went out.

  “We talked it over and came to the conclusion that we owe you the truth.” He held up a hand before I could say anything. “And yes, it’s long overdue. Ask anything you want and we’ll answer it.” His eyes met mine, and I saw in them a glimmer of sorrow. “But I want you to know first how sorry we both are. Everything we’ve done, it’s been to keep you safe. The pills, living here, all of it. I hope you can believe that and forgive us one day.”

  Mom, for her part, looked a bit less broken up, but then she’d always been the more pragmatic of the two. While Dad had been the type to give hugs and kisses whenever I fell down and scraped my knee, she was more likely to simply say, “I think you’ll live.”

  I decided to take a page from her book and keep my cool. This morning I’d acted out of emotion, a sense of betrayal, and it had landed me in a diner full of werewolves. Not sure there was any real causality there, but it was best to not tempt fate. Besides, it had already been a long day and I really wasn’t feeling the need to get my dander up again.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with the obvious stuff. You’re a Drei ... witch. And, Dad, you’re a Lycanthrope, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So what does that make me?”

  “Well...” He let the word draw out to an uncomfortable length.

  “You’re a hybrid,” Mom said matter-of-factly. “A mix of the two races.”

  “Great. So I’m a mutt.”

  “Not quite the term I’d use,” Dad replied.

  I leaned back and sighed. “I don’t even know what that tells me. You just said I’m a hybrid, like I’m not human or something.”

  “Of course you’re human, dear,” Mom said in that tone parents use to let their kids know they think they’re special. “At least mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  She nodded and sat back. “Our legends say that the Draíodóir were once devout worshippers of the great court of the fae. In return for our devotion, Queen Brigid touched us and bestowed upon my ancestors a minute portion of her power, power which has been passed down from generation to generation. Those legends also say that whereas we were born of the Spring, the Lycanthropes came from the court of Winter as a check against the spread of our divine influence.”

  “If you believe that sort of thing,” Dad interrupted, “but my grandfather told it a bit different. According to him, the first lycanthropes came about because of Valdemar. He’s the master of the Wild Hunt. In Germanic lore, anyway.”

  “The Wild Hunt?” I asked.

  “Yes. Back in the olden days it was kind of a big deal. So the story goes, Valdemar got bored with the usual game he and his hounds hunted: boars, stag, bears, that kind of stuff. None of them presented him with any challenge. He wanted prey that were strong, but also smart, creatures worthy of a god of the hunt.” Dad leaned forward in his seat. “So Valdemar reached into the souls of the fiercest creatures and pulled out their essence, which he then placed into the hearts of warriors who had impressed him on the battlefield. They became the first shape shifters. And of them all, the wolves proved to be his favorites.”

  “Are there other kinds?”

  “Not as many as there once were. But yes. Werewolves are the dominant shifters on this continent, but there’s some small pockets of bear-kind in the northwest. Tiger shifters are more prominent in Asia, as well as...”

  “Werebears,” I repeated. “Guess that
novel I downloaded last week wasn’t total crap after all.”

  Mom reached over and patted Dad on the knee. “It’s a ... cute story, dear.”

  “And yours is better?” he countered.

  “At least the creation tale of the Draíodóir takes into account Lycanthropes. Your story pretends that we just met randomly out in the fields one day.”

  Mom and Dad continued to argue about whose gods were real and whose were figments of their imagination for a few more minutes until I held up a hand. “This is all fascinating and, if I take an ancient mythology elective back at school, I’m sure I’ll want to hear all about it. What I’m more interested in, however, is the here and now ... mostly, why four werewolves tried to gut me over breakfast.”

  At this, both of my parents stopped their quibbling. They looked at each other for a moment, and I sensed that Mom was giving Dad the go-ahead to tell me something.

  “Those werewolves last night,” he said. “You know some of them.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned Melissa.” I stopped short, not really wanting to think of how she was in a hospital bed because of me. How was I supposed to know?

  “She’s not the only one.”

  “Okay, so is this a revenge thing?”

  Dad shook his head. “Not quite. After things calmed down, I explained to the pack that I thought you were ... a doppelganger.”

  “Hold on. You told them I wasn’t me. I was just someone who looked like me?”

  “Not someone,” he explained. “Doppelgangers are rare. They’re shape shifters, too, but not like the rest of us. They’re demonic in nature – powerful, evil, and capable of taking on the form of pretty much any human they care to. Their true selves are, well, somewhat less pleasant.”

  I tried to make sense of this, but couldn’t. “Okay, so you told them I was a demon instead?”

  “In a nutshell.”

  “And that’s why they tried to kill me?”

  “Yeah. We normally attack them on sight. You have to understand, I panicked a bit. I also didn’t expect you to leave High Moon this morning.”

  I stood up. “Hold on. One thing at a time. Why the hell did you tell them I was a demon?”