Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Adam?” Frank asks.

  “Chased one into the trees. I heard shouting. Think he got him.”

  “Take that truck and go confirm. Should be two in the house as well. Five total. If any are alive, secure them, then clean up here as best you can. No bodies, alright? When Jason and Adam change back, hurry back double time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Omar says.

  “Thank you.” Frank climbs in beside me and shuts the door. “Seat belt, doll.”

  Right. Safety. Important. It hurts, everything hurts, but I manage to secure it. Frank swings the SUV around, and I get one last glimpse at the carnage. House toppling as it’s consumed by fire. Two visible corpses. My lover throws his bloody snout back, howling as we drive away. I feel nothing. Not a thing except tired. So tired.

  “It’s okay now, Vivi,” my father says beside me as the battlefield fades in the mirror. “It’s all over. You’re safe. I’m here doll. I’m here.” He takes my good hand, squeezing it. “We’re going home.”

  I squeeze my father back. Home.

  part ii

  HOME

  eleven

  “Jason!”

  I jolt awake right as Jason literally rips my throat out. The light stings my eyes, and it takes seconds of blinking to clear them. When I’m capable, I glance around the large bedroom I find myself in. Definitely not the skuzzy motel in Ohio from the dream. Billowy white curtains on the bay windows. Handcrafted wooden furniture that matches the brown suede lounge chairs in the corner. Huge TV. California king bed with what I think are Egyptian cotton sheets. I’m alone too. We were making love, slowly this time. Painfully slowly. He barely moved inside me, maybe a millimeter a second for what felt like hours. Amazing hours. Just as he brought me to the brink, I felt him shifting. He wouldn’t release me, wouldn’t leave my body as the slime coated him. As the fur sprouted everywhere. As bone shifted. I screamed and screamed and scratched as his claws pierced my skin. As blood flowed from my back, as he ripped me open in more ways than one before delivering the killing blow, jaws clamping on my throat. I touch it now just to make sure I still have one.

  Damn, my neck’s the one area that doesn’t hurt. My legs and arms ache from working the cage for so long. My stomach feels like it’s been punched, as does my jaw from the fall. My mouth and tongue are still raw from the bites. My splinted pinky throbs. Broken. The worst is my arm. The bullet grazed but still took a chunk out. Gonna leave a scar. It couldn’t be stitched for the five hours it took to drive from Pennsylvania to Adolphus. About a mile from the farm, Frank pulled over to provide basic first-aid. The pills he gave me must have knocked me out because the next thing I knew, we were pulling up to this huge gate, easily twenty feet tall, with floodlights along the top. After passing through that, we continued on the driveway about four hundred feet with RVs and tents setup on the grassy lawn like a shanty town. One or two people came out but most remained asleep. Good thing I wasn’t expecting a parade.

  The main house wasn’t as grand as I imagined. Big, but not a mansion. Two stories with a mix of Colonial and modern architecture. The main house is symmetrical like a rectangle made of white brick, with a gabled roof, paneled door, and maybe two dozen multi-pained windows with shutters. A few more people came out to greet us, barraging Frank with questions at the get go. He handed me off to an African American woman who stitched me up, gave me more pills, and escorted me to the second floor master bedroom. The pleasant narcotic blur returned when I was in the shower. I stumbled to the bed, put on the clothes the woman must have brought, and passed out again. Cue nightmares.

  I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I’ve been asleep in this bed a little over twelve hours. I sure as hell needed it. Still groggy though. And I have to pee like crazy, but there isn’t a force on earth than can make me move from this bed right now. Leaving the bed is the first step to leaving the room, and I’m not ready for that. Meeting the family. Seeing Jason. Maybe they’ll leave me alo—

  “She’s awake, Mommy! I heard her!” a little boy shouts outside the door.

  A woman, I presume the mother, shushes her son. Shit. As the door slowly swings open, I shut my eyes to feign sleep. There’s a rattling of plates and quiet footsteps moving toward me.

  “Should we wake her up, Mommy?” a little girl asks.

  “No! Be quiet!” Mom whispers.

  “She’s awake!” the boy whispers. “I heard her yell for Uncle Jason.” The bed shifts as someone climbs onto it.

  “Dustin get—”

  “Are you awake, Aunt Vivian?” the boy practically yells in my ear.

  “Dustin!”

  Shit. I have to open my eyes now. An Asian woman in white shorts, orange peasant top, and square bangs holds a tray of food. At her hip is her tiny double. The girl’s about five and dressed in a yellow sundress. She stares at me, almond eyes stretched to the brink as if I had claws or three heads. I’m sure I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Holyfield. Her, I assume, brother has no reluctance. He plops down right beside me with a smile on his cherubic face. He resembles Frank more than the girl, with a long jaw and thick nose. Still more of his mother than father. My brother.

  “I am so sorry,” the woman, um … Linda says, as she sets down the tray.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Told you she was awake,” Dustin says.

  “How are you feeling?” Linda asks.

  “Shi—lousy,” I say, glancing at the little girl. Whose name is … Nicole! Thank you, brain.

  “I brought you some lunch. I’m Linda, by the way. I’m, um, I was, um—”

  “I know,” I say, saving her. “Nice to meet you. All.”

  “Are you really Daddy’s sister?” Dustin asks.

  “Seems so.”

  “Our Daddy’s in heaven with the angels and Grandma,” Dustin informs me.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” The little girl peeks from behind her mother’s leg. “And what’s your name, little one?”

  “That’s Nicki,” Dustin says. “She’s my sister like you’re Daddy’s sister.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nicki.”

  The girl retreats into her mother’s leg. “She’s shy,” Linda says.

  “It’s okay. I’d be scared of me too.”

  “Did the bad werewolves do that to you?” Dustin asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Grandpa and Uncle Jason are gonna murder the bad werewolves who killed Daddy,” Dustin says matter-of-factly.

  “Okay,” Linda says, voice rising a notch, “let’s, um, let your aunt rest. Come on.” Linda holds her arms out and Dustin literally hops over me to reach them. She lowers Dustin beside his still uneasy sister before the trio walks to the door. Halfway there, Linda remembers something and turns. “Oh. They brought your suitcase last night. It’s over there,” she says, gesturing to the corner.

  “They? Jason’s back?”

  “Yeah, early this morning. He and Adam are probably still asleep though. A quick change turnaround takes a lot out of them.”

  “But he’s okay?”

  “As far as I know.” Linda smiles. “If you need anything else, there’s a million people around, just ask. I’ll tell Frank you’re awake.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nods and ushers Nicki out. Dustin gives a little wave, which I return, before he shuts the door. I fall back into the pillow with a sigh. Okay, that wasn’t so terrible. I officially have a niece and nephew, not to mention an in-law. Damn. Seem nice enough though. She’s younger than I imagined. Must have had the kids right out of high school. A widow in her early twenties with two small children. Life is so fucking unfair.

  Linda brought me a turkey sandwich, apple, and OJ. I inhale the apple, chug the juice, and since I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, I even devour the whole sandwich. Been years since I last ate meat. Desperate times and all. With fuel in
my body, I think I may actually be able to get out of bed now. I throw off the covers. Even that hurts, but I keep going. It’s gonna be a Vicodin day for sure. Sluggishly, I pad over to my suitcase. Jason’s clothes are on top. I attempt to grin but the pain in my cheek and jaw won’t let me complete the gesture. Still. Perfect excuse to find him.

  I retrieve my own clothes, a bright red sundress and underwear and toiletry bag before going into the bathroom. Fuck. No wonder small children hide from me. Black eye, swollen and bruised cheek, cut and swollen lip. My arms and legs aren’t much better. It looks like someone tapped a message in Morse code using bruises. The bandage on my gun wound is saturated through. When I pull it off, I want to hurl. The black stitches and puckered, exposed flesh are raw and weeping blood. I redress it as fast as possible before changing into the red sundress and slapping on half a bottle of foundation to cover the bruises. When I resemble an actual human, I return to the bedroom, grab a white cardigan to hide the rest, and gather Jason’s clothes. But as I grasp the door handle, I can’t turn the knob. My new friend fear does a jig on the corpse of my nerves again. I really don’t want to go out there. I’ve just traded one House O’Werewolves for another. And Jason’s out there. What if he refuses to see me? Yells? But I can’t stay in this room forever. Fuck it. I turn the handle.

  Dustin and another boy have setup camp in front of my bedroom, Legos carpeting the hallway floor. “Hi, Aunt Vivian,” Dustin says. He turns to the freckled kid. “This is my Aunt Vivian. She sings songs.”

  “Uh, hi kids,” I say awkwardly. I haven’t been around children in years. I’m rusty.

  “We’re building a rocket ship to send Rex up to the moon,” the other boy says, holding up a green dinosaur.

  “Awesome.”

  “Mommy says we’re ’aposed to leave you alone. Why? Are you mean?” Dustin asks.

  “I-I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. My other aunt, Park, won’t let me have sugar. Will you let me have sugar?”

  “It—It’s up to your mom, I guess.”

  “Uncle Jason lets me. Grandma said he wasn’t really my uncle, not like Aunt Park and Uncle Russell. She didn’t say anything about you. Are you my real aunt?”

  “Um, yeah, I guess.” How the hell do you explain genetics to a pre-schooler? You don’t. “You two, um, get Rex to space. Have fun.”

  I leave the future engineers of America to their space voyage. They’re just the first natives I encounter as I walk down the long hall. The four people smile and nod as we pass one another. Two even stop me to say how happy they are I arrived safely, as if they already know me. Everyone’s being so nice. It’s fucking weird.

  Downstairs is worse. Squealing children dash up and down the hardwood floors with parents or older siblings following. Just as I step into the first-floor hallway, I count almost a dozen people, ages fifteen to seventy, of all ethnicities strolling in or out of rooms. I keep my head down but they still smile and say hello. I just wander in a daze, clutching the folded clothes to my chest for comfort. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. Jason, sort of. He’s not in the dining room, where a dozen people can sit comfortably along the huge table. Right now it’s covered with half-full plates and bowls of food laid out like a buffet. Women filter in and out of what I presume is the kitchen, replacing empty bowls with more chips and plates of sandwiches. He’s not in the family room, which is setup like a makeshift pre-school where I think a toy box exploded. The Lion King plays on the TV but only two children watch it. A pretty teenage girl with blonde hair, cutoff shorts, and yellow halter top wipes Nicki’s nose as nearby two male teens, one with sandy hair and the other auburn, pretend to play cards but really scope her out. There’s another boy watching in the corner too, though his laptop does a good job of hiding his interest. No Jason. He’s also not in what I assume is the parlor. This must be off limits to the kids because I only find adults reading or working on their laptops. I leave without making a sound.

  “You look lost,” a man says behind me.

  I spin around. A man about my height with buggy blue eyes, light brown hair, stocky build, and bright smile strolls toward me from the front door. “I, um …”

  “Looking for the laundry?” he asks, glancing at the clothes.

  “No, um, I’m looking for Jason. These are his.”

  “Well, I just left him. He’s still asleep.” The man holds out his hand for me to shake. “Adam Blue.”

  “Viv Dahl,” I say, shaking it.

  “Oh, I know who you are. Heard a lot about you.” He pulls his hand away. “Glad to see we got you out of that house in one piece.”

  “Relatively,” I say, holding up my broken hand.

  Another man steps out of the room with two sliding wooden doors straight across from me. He looks remarkably like Adam, just with brown eyes and maybe an inch or two taller. Must be his brother, Tate. “There you are. Thought I saw you walking up.” The brothers just nod at one another. “You okay?”

  “Barely even a scratch,” Adam says.

  “And you must be Vivian,” Tate says to me before eye fucking me. That is really getting annoying. “I can see what the fuss is about now.”

  Adam clears his throat and mercifully Tate’s attention returns to his brother. “Sorry,” Adam says. “Frog in throat.”

  “Oh,” Tate says. “Viv, go get him a water.”

  “I—”

  “Thanks.” Tate throws his arm over his brother’s shoulders. “Come on, baby bro. We’re in the middle of war counsel. Frank sent me to fetch you.”

  Before I can tell Tate where to shove his water, he maneuvers Adam back into the room and slides the doors closed. O-kay. As I’m thirsty too, I retrieve water bottles from the dining room before returning to the sliding doors with muffled voices on the other side. I knock.

  “Come in,” a man says.

  Okay, I feel like I’ve just walked into a scene from The Godfather. Frank sits at his desk with a portrait of two wolves running under a yellow moon behind him on the wall. Lots of those types of paintings on the walls around here. I recognize the three other men in the room. Adam on the antique couch in the corner with Omar, the sniper from last night, and Tate in the chairs directly across from Frank. Wonder if Al Pacino’s just running late.

  “Vivi,” Frank says with a smile.

  “I was just bringing Adam his water.”

  “Come in. Sit. We were just discussing last night.”

  Yeah, sounds like fun. Talking about the worst night of my life. Can’t wait.

  I slink over to Adam, sitting beside him and across from the giant bay doors that look out onto the shanty town and field. He gives me a reassuring smile as I do. “Thanks for the water,” Adam whispers.

  “As I was saying,” Omar continues, “I salvaged one computer along with two cell phones, including the Marshal’s, but as of this afternoon all the pertinent numbers are out of service. And the computer is password protected.”

  “Have Devin start cracking that password,” Frank orders.

  “What about the bodies?” Tate asks.

  “Threw them in the house as it burned. I smashed out the Marshal’s teeth so he couldn’t be ID’d.”

  “And his car?” I ask. The men all glance at me as if they’d never heard a female voice before. “What? I was seen leaving in it by police with a Federal Marshal who will now be missing. If he’s ever tied to the house and other bodies, it’s a one-way trip to Deathpenaltyville for me.”

  A quick, proud smile passes over Frank’s lips. “She’s right. The others have no real link to us. A Marshal and federal fugitive going missing will attract a hell of a lot of attention.”

  “I took off the plates and rolled the town car into a nearby lake,” Omar says. “With him burnt and without teeth, it’ll probably take weeks to ID him. By then, this should be over. We can ask George Black to delete
the warrants for her and Jason.”

  “This Donovan was supposedly on vacation,” Adam adds. “He had

  a friend altering records. None of his bosses knows what he was up to. He won’t be reported missing for a while.”

  Really doesn’t make me feel much better.

  “So, we’re fairly clean on last night,” Tate says, “as long as the princess here doesn’t get her ass arrested again.”

  I’m about to sling some choice words at this asshole, but Frank beats me to it. “Watch your tone, Tate Blue. That is my daughter, your pack member, you are speaking to. Apologize.”

  Frank stares at the man, mostly neutral but with a hint of menace in those blue eyes. Tate returns the gaze for a second, fighting for dominance but loses and looks away. “I apologize, Vivian, for my disrespect.”

  “Um, okay. I forgive you.”

  “Good,” Frank says, neutrality returning. “Now, Vivi, I need you to tell us everything that happened when you were alone with Donovan and the others. Everything that was said or done in as much detail as possible.”

  The men listen, faces impassive, as I recount my living nightmare. There isn’t a lot of intel I can give them as I was either asleep or locked in a cage most of the time. They listen as if I were telling them about a trip to Bermuda, like what I went through was just another day. Either they’ve been through a lot worse or I’m surrounded by sociopaths. I hope the first because I’ve reached my limit on sociopaths, thank you. Only Adam throws me a few sympathetic smiles.

  “I don’t know,” I conclude, “I just got the impression that they didn’t really want me. Even in the parking garage, I was incidental. Bait.”

  “What else struck you as odd?” Frank asks.

  “Couple things. I mean, how did they even know it was Jason you sent to California? They came there looking for him not me. And Donovan mentioned our pit-stop in Kansas for weapons. Unless that vampire NARC’ed to Seth, the only people who knew we went were you guys. He also knew you were on your way to Pennsylvania. What he was saying at the time didn’t make sense, but it does now. I think he even asked how many of you were coming. Add all of that to the bowl, plus Jason said you never advertised my existence, Frank, and I’m thinking there’s a rat among the wolves.”