Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  His mouth sets tight as the mask falters, throwing me a glare that’d turn Medusa to stone. “You don’t owe me anything, Vivian.” His eyes lower but the glower remains. “You never did.”

  I never knew subtext could pack such a wallop. My stomach actually lurches. Anger blooms from the sharp point of those words. “After all we’ve been through together, do you still think so little of me?”

  “What?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused.

  “Do you think so little of me,” I say drawing out the words, “that you really believe I only slept with you out of gratitude? To pay off my debt like a prostitute?”

  “No! I … I don’t want to talk about that,” he says, eyes down again.

  “Tough shit, Blondie.” I bridge the gap between us, his body visibly stiffening with each of my steps. “You listen to me, Jason Dahl. I’ve done a lot of low-down shit in my life, but I have never sold my body for anything. Not for a record deal, not for rent, and certainly not because I thought I owed it to someone. I slept with you because you’re sexy and adorable and noble. You’re the best damn man I’ve ever met in my life. That is why I slept with you. Because I wanted you. It meant something to me. Don’t you dare try and sully what we shared with your guilt or fear or whatever is making you act like an ass. It’s beneath you. So stop it. Right now. And just kiss me like we both know you want to. Just … kiss me. Please.”

  His ice eyes have slowly advanced up with each declaration until they finally meet mine. I expect to find lust but see nothing but sadness. Pain. Desperation. Frustration. Fear. His hands ball into fists, I think to stop them from grabbing me. He’s fighting like hell, the war visible in every contour of his face. In every twitch. In every tense muscle and crease in his forehead. Those hands slowly start inching toward me as the turmoil churns like a windmill in a tornado in those eyes. He touches my bruised cheek, my split lip with a feather light caress. “I …” he whispers.

  Suddenly, his eyes abandon mine as his gaze jerks toward the front door. His hand drops like my face was a hot potato. What the … ? I hear wheels crunching gravel a second later. Fuck. Jason steps away from me, eyes on the floor again, almost dazed. “You …

  you don’t belong here,” he says. “Excuse me.”

  Great. Goddamn it.

  I follow him a few seconds later out the front door. Of course. Who else would it be? Frank steps out of his SUV with a smile for his son. His daughter, not so much. The moment he sets eyes on me, the smile briefly falters then reappears, just not as glittering. Haven’t seen that look since high school when my honor roll boyfriend brought me to his house after my first arrest and his parents realized I was that girl. The bad seed sent to corrupt their precious angel. The cracks in those pleasant smiles told all, just like now. On my own father’s face. This stings more than I care to admit.

  “Hi, Dad,” Jason says as he hugs Frank.

  “Son,” Frank says, gripping tight. They break apart. “I was just coming to check on you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of him,” I say with a smirk.

  Both men’s smiles falter, and Jason’s eyes narrow with warning. Frank clears his throat. “Good.” He looks at Jason again. “We have a lot to go over. You up for it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent,” Frank says, patting his back. The pride on Jason’s face could be seen by Stevie Wonder. I compliment him, he pitches a fit. Frank does and it’s word from on high. Frank’s gaze moves my way. “Vivi, why don’t you take my car back to the big house? They’re beginning dinner prep. Could always use an extra hand.”

  “So, I’m dismissed?” I ask with a fake smile. Frank’s expression remains neutral, but Jason’s is a mix of anger and fear. I do bring those two emotions out of him quite a bit. And, as usual, those bring out the guilt in me. I drop the smile. “Sorry. That was bratty. I’m tired. Um, I’ll leave you two alone. You have a lot to catch up on.”

  “Thank you,” says Frank. Jason’s eyes remain downcast as Frank and I wander toward one another. Frank hands me the keys with a quick smile. “Just follow the path.”

  “Think even I can manage that,” I say. “Not one of my strengths, though. Following the right path.” I arrive at the SUV, and the men to the door. “Hey, Blondie?” I call. Both men pivot around. “Just remember what I said, alright? I meant every word. Every one.” I nod to my father. “Frank.”

  With a wink for both, I climb into the car and start the engine as the men exchange an uncomfortable glance. I leave them in my rearview. That man’s going to ruin all my hard-won progress, I guarantee it. Still got some fight in me, though. To the damn bone if necessary. For once in my miserable life, I’m gonna get what I want. Him.

  No. Matter. What.

  twelve

  Since I’m not in the helping mood, and I could only stand the glances and whispers for all of a minute downstairs, I retreat back to my bedroom. I’m sure they all mean well, but it feels as if I’ve landed in a hippie commune with all the smiles and togetherness, neither exactly coming naturally to me. Of course not even the bedroom is safe. I find that stringy-haired teenager sitting at the small desk in the corner typing on his laptop. He leaps up in surprise when I step in. “Oh, God! I’m-I’m-I’m sorry. I was just … I needed to get online. This was the only place to—”

  “It’s okay. Chill.”

  His bony shoulders lower an inch. “I-I’m Devin.”

  “Viv.”

  “I-I know. We-We all know.”

  “God, been up for two hours and already I’m infamous,” I say, walking over to the bed. I lay down. “It is a gift.”

  “N-No,” Devin says, even more skittish than before. “I just, I meant we all know you’re Mr. Dahl’s daughter and-and you fought like five werewolves and saved Jason’s life, and you’re a singer, and … most of us never knew you were alive, and you’re awesome. It’s … cool.”

  I stare at this strange boy, assessing if he’s bullshitting me or not. The huge brown eyes that match his hair over a small nose continue twitching slightly. No, this boy isn’t capable of tricks. “Really? I thought they all hated me or something.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I almost got Jason killed. I was rude. I’m an interloper. I’m … me. Pick one.”

  Once again his eyes grow double in confusion. “You’re not an interloper. You’re Mr. Dahl’s daughter. You killed to defend us. You’re pack.”

  Jesus Christ, they know I killed someone? Of course they do. No secrets within the pack. I grab a pillow to hug. “Right.” Devin’s quiet for a second, just gawking at me as if he wants me to read his mind and answer some unknown question. “What? Ask.”

  “How did you do it? How did you … fight? How did you not freeze?” The boy asks me this with almost desperation, as if my response will save him. God, everyone’s so intense here. Must be a werewolf thing.

  All I can say is, “I don’t know. Didn’t have much choice really. All I could think of was how Jason was out there. Alone. How it was one against five. That if I didn’t fight, they’d kill him. He was willing to fight for me, I had to be willing to fight just as hard for him, no matter the cost. I was petrified, almost chickened out nine hundred times. I broke a finger, got shot, was beaten to crap, but I had made up my mind to keep going. You just … summon the strength. Find the right fuel for any fire and you can run around the planet twice. Nothing can stop you.”

  The kid’s quiet again, even hanging his head. Great, I’ve said something wrong again. I wonder if they have a muzzle around here before I get myself into more trouble. “I …” he finally works up the courage to say, “my-my dad. They-They s-shot him. In front of me. I just, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get out of the car. His-His head …”

  “Jesus Christ, kid.” I sit up. “I-I’m so sorry.”

  “But I froze! I didn’t chase after th
em! I could have … I should have fought. That’s what we’re supposed to do. He was my dad. He was pack. I—”

  “How old are you?” I cut in.

  “Eighteen.”

  “How many were there?”

  “T-Two.”

  “I assume they had guns. And you had …”

  “N-Nothing, but—”

  “Then without question you did the right thing. Getting yourself killed too wouldn’t have helped a damn thing. It sure as hell wouldn’t have brought your dad back. Now you get to live to fight another day, one where you actually can do something other than get dead. You have nothing to feel guilty about, kid. And it doesn’t make you less of a man or wolf or whatever. It makes you smart.”

  A quick smile crosses his face. “Thank you, Miss Dahl.”

  “I only speak the truth, kid. And it’s Viv.”

  “Viv,” he says with another quick smile as if he’s honored by this privilege or something. “So, I better, um …” he gestures to the computer. “Trying to get into that Marshal’s computer. It’s password protected.”

  “Try ‘evil asshole bastard,’” I say, lying down again.

  Another brief smile earned. “I-I’ll give it a shot.”

  I switch on the TV, surfing until I find a mindless action flick as my new buddy taps away on his laptop. This is nice, doing something normal like watching Angelina raiding tombs. I need a week of laying here, veging and—

  The bedroom door opens with a sobbing Nicole being carried into the room by the pretty blonde teen. Guess werewolves aren’t big on knocking. The teen sets her big gray eyes on me and stops dead three steps in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s fine,” I reply over my niece’s sobs.

  “I just, she fell in the mud and the other bathrooms are occupied, and—”

  “Do what you gotta do. The more the merrier.”

  “Thank you.” The teen rushes into the bathroom, not even glancing at Devin who, despite his lowered head, steals glances at her. Someone has a crush.

  The water begins running in the bathroom. “Um, Miss Dahl?” the teen calls a minute later.

  Shit. So much for my adventure with Angie. With a sigh, I force my aching body out of bed. Nicole’s still sniffling in the tub as I walk in. “Yeah?”

  “I forgot her new clothes. Can you watch her while—”

  “Oh, I don’t really think she wants me—”

  “Thanks,” the teen says, rising and walking past me.

  Fuck. Nicole stares up at me, lower lip trembling as she sniffles. “O-kay,” I say, stepping toward her. Those dark eyes bug out of her head as I approach and bend down to her level. “Um, is the water okay?” She barely nods in affirmation. “Right.” Okay, I have zero experience with kids. I can barely keep plants alive. I’m at a loss as to what to say or do next, especially when the kid in question seems shit scared of me. “So, um, how’d you fall in the mud?”

  “Mason pushed me,” she says quietly. “He was chasing me, and when he caught me, he pushed me.”

  Oh, boy troubles. We’ve reached my wheelhouse. “He probably did it because he likes you. Boys are weird like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They chase and chase you, then when they catch you, they don’t have a clue what to do with you. They don’t get much better

  as they get older either,” I say, making a silly face. The girl smiles. Score. “If he does it again, just cry and tell him how much you hate him. It’s the girl equivalent of a punch. He’ll feel really bad for days.”

  “I told Miss Claire. She put him in time-out.”

  “That works too.” I grab a washcloth, soak it, and start cleaning her face of the mud. “I can see why he likes you. You’re a very pretty girl. You’ll be fighting them off with a stick in ten years, I guarantee it.”

  “Eww. Boys are icky. Dustin wipes his boogers on me!”

  “Yuck. Well, he doesn’t count. He’s a brother, not a boy. Not all boys are icky.”

  “Yes, they are,” she says with certainty.

  “Is your Grandpa icky? Uncle Jason? Your da—” I stop myself on that last one. “They’re boys, they aren’t icky.”

  “Uncle Jason pulls the guts out of fish with his hands. Daddy too. They’re icky.”

  I think Linda should start saving for law school with this one. “That is pretty gross. Okay, all boys are icky. Congrats, you’ve sold me.”

  The teen, I assume Miss Claire, rushes back in holding another flowered sundress. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “If you want, I can finish up here for you.”

  “What? Really? Oh, thank you,” Claire gushes. “I don’t really trust Mac or Troy to watch the others. It sounds like World War III down there.”

  “Yeah, go. We’re bonding over the ickiness of boys.”

  “I sold her,” Nicole says with pride.

  “Okay,” Claire says with a nervous chuckle. “Thanks, Miss Dahl.”

  “Viv.”

  “Viv. Nicki, be good for your aunt, alright? Bye.” The harried girl scurries off again. Bet this isn’t how she imagined her summer, chasing after werewolf children.

  I turn back to my niece with a grin, then grab the shampoo. “Let’s wash your hair, huh?”

  “I can do it,” she says triumphantly.

  I hand her the bottle. “Knock yourself out, kiddo.” I watch as she expertly performs the task. “You have pretty hair.”

  “You have hair like Grandpa. It’s pretty too.”

  “Thank you.” She dunks her head to rinse out the shampoo. When she surfaces, I wipe the remaining soapy water from around her eyes. “There. Can you do the conditioner too?”

  “Yep.” I slap it in her hands.

  “Thank you, Aunt Vivian.”

  “You’re welcome, Niece Nicole.”

  She starts working the conditioner into her black hair. I remove the stray goop from her face with the washcloth. “Am I your only niece?”

  “My one and only.”

  “Then why didn’t you ever send me a birthday present like my other aunt and uncles?”

  Oh, boy. “Because I didn’t know I had a one and only niece until a few days ago.”

  “Oh. Well, will you give me them now?”

  “I will. I promise. Now, dunk.”

  She takes a deep breath and goes underwater again. When she resurfaces, I hand her a face towel. “I want the big Barbie where you put makeup on her and brush her hair and give her jewelry. My birthday was two months ago, but you can buy her for me now.”

  “We’ll see. I’m sort of grounded at the moment. Not much shopping in my future. Are you all clean? Ready to get out?” She nods. I grab a towel from the rack and lift her from the tub. This kid stuff isn’t so terrible after all. Kind of fun actually. After I dry her hair, I pick up her dress. “Need help putting your dress on?” She shakes her head no. “Here you go, kiddo. I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Vivian.”

  “You’re welcome, Niece Nicole,” I say, walking away.

  Oh, goody. When I return to the bedroom, Devin is still clacking away on the computer, but we’ve gained another visitor. Dustin has made himself at home on my bed, flipping through the channels. He’s even nested, spreading Legos around like a fan. I feel like I’m in Grand Central Station minus the winos. “Uh, hello. You need a bath too?”

  “I hate baths,” Dustin says. “I want to watch The Fairly Odd Parents. I can’t find Nickelodeon.”

  “Um …”

  “Channel 163,” Devin says.

  “Thank you,” Dustin says, turning to the cartoon.

  “Aunt Vivian,” Nicole says, walking in fully dressed, “can you brush my hair?”

  “Don’t be a baby, you can brush your own hair,” Dustin chides
.

  “Don’t insult your sister,” I warn. “It’s not nice.”

  “Well, Aunt Vivian’s gonna buy me a Barbie and she’s not gonna buy you anything cause you’re mean and icky,” Nicole spews back.

  “Nu huh! She’s gonna buy me a super-soaker and I’m gonna soak you!”

  “Both of you stop it or I won’t buy you anything,” I snap. “Nicole, my brush is in the bathroom. Go get it.” I walk to the bed as she obeys. “You. Scoot.” Dustin moves to the right so I can sit down again. I pick Legos out from under my butt while Nicole returns. She leaps up and scooches between my legs before handing me the brush. Dustin lies back to watch the TV. When I finish with her hair, a hundred strokes at her insistence, we follow her brother’s example. The show’s inane but not terrible. Before it’s over, Dustin dozes to my right and a few minutes later to my left his sister follows suit. They don’t wake as I change the channel back to Lara Croft or when Devin slinks out. I think they missed their naps.

  Not even Lara can keep my mind off Jason. As usual guilt and mortification are the predominant emotions as I conjure up his face just before Frank arrived. I mean, I understand he doesn’t want Frank to know he banged his daughter, and it’d be hard to hide our trysts now we’re here, but he was downright petrified to kiss me as if I’d suck out his soul if our lips touched. I just don’t get it. He likes me, the sex was phenomenal, we can be careful, this is do-able. I’ll just have to make sure I’m around him as much as possible whether he likes it or not. I literally fought to the death for that man, he isn’t getting away from me now. Especially when I know with every one of my cells he doesn’t really want to. I’ll show him who doesn’t belong.

  Tomb Raider ends, switching over to Men in Black. As Will Smith chases an alien, Dustin whimpers softly and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Bad dreams. Lot of that going around. Poor kid. Poor kids, Devin included. I know what it’s like, growing up without a father. The twins will be lucky if they have even a few memories of him. They’re probably too young to know what death really means. That he’ll never tuck them in again. Never kiss them. Maybe that’s a blessing. No grown-up should have to deal with all the shit raining down on us let alone a child. Even if the adults are making this seem like summer camp, kids aren’t stupid. They know something’s not right. They sense it like an animal does a natural disaster. It prickles their skin, but they’re powerless to do a damn thing. I know exactly how they feel.