Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  This time I don’t chase him. Wouldn’t know what to say or do if I caught him.

  _____

  Even with the headache gone, I’m in a shit mood. Doesn’t help I have to give up my room to the Kahn and Foster families in exchange for a sleeping bag on the floor along with the hyper-twins and my sister-in-law, who I barely know. Sleepover from hell in my future. My present isn’t much better. As I walk down the hall, every ten feet a nervous wife or husband needs assurances we’ll be safe with almost two dozen werewolves running wild outside tonight. I’d be dammed nervous myself if I had the time. I seem to be somehow responsible for tonight’s fortification and all the people inside. Where people sleep, guard duty rotation, a billion different “what-ifs” from various women, they all come to me. Like I have a clue what we’ll do if there’s a blackout and the security system fails. Die most likely.

  Jason doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. A truly selfish person would grab some booze, chips, and a shotgun, lock herself in the master bedroom, and if breached use the escape tunnel and never look back. Okay, I have considered it. Even found some bourbon in Frank’s dresser. But instead I’m cleaning and loading guns, helping people move their stuff inside, and directing people to their temporary accommodations. And Jason’s not around to see me do it, so I get no brownie points from him for all my hard work. I do it anyway, Blondie.

  I mean, I’m a little selfish. So what? There’s honor—then there’s just plain stupidity. If you give all of yourself to others, then what’s left for you? And people have to earn that kind of devotion. It just kills me that the first person who ever earned it with me thinks I’m some manipulative, rotten bitch incapable of genuine change and empathy. And how could I take a wrecking ball to his life? I don’t even have the power to keep him in a room, let alone destroy him or make him a crumbling mess. Our conversation is nowhere near over.

  But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight, werewolf shenanigans. As I’m loading another shotgun at the dining table between Omar and Sam, Tate strolls in. “How goes it?”

  “Almost done,” says Omar.

  Tate’s not really listening, he’s too busy staring at me with a crooked smile. “Know how to work that thing, princess?”

  I load the last cartridge and pump it. “I’m a fast learner. Sunshine,” I say with a shit-eating grin.

  “Forgot. You’ve already got a murder on your ledger.”

  “Plenty of room for more,” I say, my smile unwavering. See? If I were selfish I’d do what I want and shoot this asshole in the leg. Twice. It’d sure make me feel better. Instead, I rise from the table. “Excuse me, gents, millions of things to do. Just make sure no kids come in here.”

  “My, aren’t we thoughtful?” Tate says as I pass him. I glare and his smile stretches farther. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  I keep walking down the hall. My face burns red from the mortification. Jesus Christ, Jason told him. By tomorrow tales of my narcissism will be legendary. This place is worse than high school when it comes to gossip. I know Scott can’t get it up, Tate’s banged three of the married women here, Katie abuses Percocet, and that was just the scuttlebutt from the first day. No one’s outright asked what happened between Jason and I, but I have noticed once or twice women ceasing their conversation as I passed. I thank my lucky stars I spend the majority of my time with the kids. Give me a discussion about Invader Zim over gossip of my love life any damn day.

  “Vivi, got a minute?” Frank calls from his office as I pass.

  Oh, hell. Just what I need, a minute alone with dear old deadbeat Dad. Since the Adam then Seth debacles, we’ve been cordial the few times we’ve had to be in the same room. Smile, nod, update on the day, and off we went to our neutral corners. Right now I stop, take a deep breath, and plaster another smile on before walking in. Frank sits at his desk clicking away with the mouse on his computer. “Your mother e-mailed me. They’re all fine. Enjoying themselves in Jamaica. I copied it to the desktop for you to read.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glances up with a quick smile. “Welcome. Can you close the doors?”

  Great. Privacy. This can’t be good. I roll them shut but don’t move in case I need a quick getaway. “Yes?”

  “I want to go over details about tonight.” He casually leans back in his chair. “How is everyone?”

  “Nervous but generally fine.”

  “Everyone moved in?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What about security measures?”

  “They all know not to go downstairs for any reason unless on guard duty. We’ll have two shifts of two, one person stationed in here and the other in the parlor to cover both front and back, each armed with a tranq gun and shotgun with silver shot. Right now Shante and Sarah are going through the rooms to make sure the curtains are drawn, and everyone knows to keep the lights off and noise down as much as possible so we don’t draw attention to the house.”

  “And if we get in?” Frank asks.

  “The two guards will do their best to keep the wolf at bay as the others retreat into the tunnel.”

  “Jason already showed it to you? Gave you the code?”

  Damn it. Just the mention of his name makes me flush. “Yes. I’ll tell everyone else after you all leave.”

  “Who have you selected for guard duty?”

  “Donald, June, Deandra, and me.”

  “Why them?” Frank asks, I think as a test.

  “We’re all childless, and both Deandra and I have experience firing at actual people.” I jut out my chin in defiance. “So? Did I pass?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “This little test. Did I pass?” I ask, blood boiling so much I think my hair grows even redder.

  His blue eyes narrow in confusion. “This wasn’t a test, Vivian. I’m responsible for this pack. I need to know things are under control. I wouldn’t have put you in charge if—”

  “You didn’t put me in charge, they did. You didn’t want a meddler like me to have anything to do with them, remember?”

  “That was not what I meant, and you know it,” he fires back.

  “No, I don’t know that. How the hell could I? I don’t know you. I do know when I’m being played, though. It’s a skill I had to learn very early on,” I spit.

  “I wasn’t playing you, Vivi,” he says, matching my harsh tone. “I wasn’t the one manipulating people. Despite your motives, you stepped out of line. I was merely alerting you to that fact.”

  “I am not one of your wolves to boss around, who if you snap your fingers will stand at attention. Who think you hung the damn moon. You are just the asshole who abandoned me. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground, at least not with me.”

  “I did what I thought was best for you at the time.”

  “Yeah, because growing up thinking your father didn’t want you is always for the best. Really boosts a girl’s self-esteem. I’m sure every woman working a stripper pole agrees with me.”

  “I wanted you, Vivi. I—”

  “No, you didn’t. Not really. If you really, truly did, you would have come for me. It wouldn’t have mattered what Mom said. You could have snuck around her, snuck around your werewolf pals. You would have found a way. You bend over backwards for every person in this house. Hell, you adopted a violent boy and treated him as your own. All I apparently got was a letter once a year I wasn’t even allowed to know about. What? Were you afraid I’d come in and wreck your new, perfect family? Corrupt your precious little boys with my dysfunction?”

  “Now you’re just saying things to be cruel,” Frank says through gritted teeth.

  “Am I? Then why did you forbid Jason from being in the same room as me? I know you did. He all but told me so. You don’t want me around him, you don’t want me around Adam, I’m shocked you haven’t locked me in one of those damn cages to k
eep me from my niece and nephew.”

  “Listen, I understand you’re angry with me, and I do not blame you one iota, I don’t. But despite what you may believe, what I did, what I still do, is for the good of the people I love. That includes you. It always has. You were never far from my thoughts. Never. Not for a single minute,” he says intensely. I almost believe him.

  “Gee wiz, Dad, you thought about me. Want a medal?” I stalk toward him, every muscle close to locked with indignant fury. “I needed you. You have no idea how much I needed you. I was your little girl. I needed you to hold me after I had a nightmare. I needed you to pick me up after school and ask me about my day. Help with my homework. Go to my recitals. Make me feel safe. Secure. Loved. Worthwhile. You didn’t save me from the wolves, you left me to them.”

  “I am sorry, okay? I am sorry. If I could go back and change it, I would. I would give up my life to change it. But I can’t. I was doing what I thought was best to protect you. I never wanted any of this for you. You were shot. Kidnapped. Had to kill someone because of me. Because you’re my child. I’m sorry I made you feel as if I didn’t care, that I didn’t love you, but I am not sorry for trying to give you the best life possible. And I will continue to do that for you, for everyone I love, until I draw my last breath. So if you need to hate me, if that’s what fuels you, then go right ahead. All I ask is that you try to extend the same courtesy to the people in this house who have all embraced you, that they’re giving you: respect. Kindness.”

  “Selflessness?” I ask with a sneer. “Yeah, your son already gave me this speech. Well, if I am a selfish bitch, you should be proud. I’m

  carrying on the family tradition established by both my parents.” I shake my head. I’m about ten seconds from either punching him or bursting into tears. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of either. “You can play the big man all you like, but don’t pretend you really give a shit about me. Don’t pretend you’re proud of me when you really wish I’d crawl back into the hole I came from. And really don’t pretend you love me. You can’t love a stranger. Have a nice night with your family.”

  I throw open the sliding doors only to find the last person I want to see standing down the hall but close enough to hear every word said. The moment I lay eyes on him, fury vanishes and mortification rears its ugly head. Jason reveals nothing whereas I grimace and rush off in the opposite direction outside onto the front stoop, away from silent judgment.

  I should feel relief. Closure. I’ve wanted to have it out with that man for decades. Didn’t go quite as planned but still I released the poison. Got it all out there. The demon should be exorcised. The weight lifted from my soul. Then why the hell do I feel like I’ve just added two tons?

  sixteen

  Howling. Must they continue that incessant howling all fucking night long? It’s messing with my already fragile nerves. I mean, what do they have to talk about? Don’t mark the tree I just did? Stop sniffing my butt? Rabbit, ten o’clock? I’m not going to get even an hour of sleep tonight. But hell, even without the chorus outside I doubt I’d be able to drift off. This floor is not comfortable in the least. The snoring boy curled up against me doesn’t help either. He snuck out of his mom’s bed with pillow and blanket two hours ago when the howling began. Light sleeper, not like his sister and mom. Dustin wrapped my arm around his tiny body and fell right back to sleep. I was glad to be of comforting assistance for once.

  This is my penance for earlier. I kept snapping at everyone, kids included. Need, need, need everywhere I went. Pleading with their words and eyes for me to make it all better. To save them from their imagined terrors. To protect them. Best I could do was stick to the script: remain in your rooms with the curtains drawn and run if the shit hits the fan. Some leader I am.

  There was no escape from the need, even in my own room. Linda folded the same batch of clothes twice. Dusty kept bouncing on the bed even after a dozen chidings and warnings. And Nicki kept showing me what she was placing in her emergency backpack for my approval. Then Dusty chimed in even louder than his prattling sister, wanting to show me his flip on the bed, and I screamed at them to shut the hell up. Even I was shocked by this outburst. I apologized, played seven rounds of Go Fish, letting one or the other win every time, and even sang five songs to lull them to sleep. Still feel like shit about it. Guilty conscience, frayed nerves, wolves literally howling at the gate, no wonder I can’t drift off. I’ll bet most of the house is awake too. At least I have a task to perform.

  I mastered the art of extraction without waking my companion for a quick getaway years ago, so Dusty doesn’t stir as I peel him off me. Deandra’s getting off her shift early. I need something to occupy my mind, might as well be guard duty. At least then staring into dark space has a purpose. And it comes with a fun accessory that fires bullets.

  With all the lights off, the house is as creepy and still as a cemetery. Over the howls I hear snoring, crying, muffled talking on TV, and the creaking of an old house. I might as well be in an old Hammer Horror film. Peter Cushing’s just around the corner, ready to stake me for being a bride of Satan. The flashlight helps keep the ghosts at bay, among other things.

  I check on Donald in the parlor who watches a movie on his computer with the tranq and shotguns resting beside. The floodlights outside are motion sensor operated, our first and only warning system. One lights up, we grab a gun and pray. The twenty-three-year-old jerks when I step in the doorway. I smile, nod, and walk back down the hall. I find Deandra, Omar’s mate and former Army medic, peeking out of the curtains in the office.

  “Problem?” I whisper as I step in.

  Deandra spins around. “Thought I saw something in the tree line. It was nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. With the full moon we have good visibility out there,” she whispers.

  “Good. I’m here to relieve you. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been literally jumping at shadows all night. I’ve patched up soldiers in Kabul with anti-aircraft fire all around and not been this on edge.”

  “Over in a few hours.” Deandra hands me the tranq gun. “Thanks.”

  “Someone left you a present on the desk,” Deandra whispers.

  “Really? Okay, thank you. Sleep well.”

  She nods, switches on her flashlight, and leaves me alone. At last. First stop is the curtain, which I pull back a little. Deandra was right, I can see the expanse of the field through to the tree line. The glow of the moon makes it all seem so peaceful, pretty. Haunting. I shut the curtain and rest the gun on a nearby chair. At this point I doubt the wolves are planning to attack the house. Probably would have done it already. I click on my flashlight and move over to the desk. Sure enough there’s a stack of VHS tapes with “Home Movies” written on them along with a folded note on top.

  You’re wrong. It is possible to love a perfect stranger. Us being here proves it.

  —J

  Jason.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I grab the tapes, tranq gun, and rush across the hall to the living room. After making sure all the curtains are tightly shut, I switch on the TV and turn the volume down low. “Home Movie 2” first. I pop in the tape and pull up a chair close to the TV. This should be interesting. After static, an image of Frank and a young Matt, I’d guess around age seven, on a street fills the screen. Frank holds the back of his son’s bicycle.

  “Okay, it’s on,” a woman, I assume Jenny, says behind the camera.

  “Let’s show Mommy,” says Frank. “Ready? Go.”

  Frank chases after my baby brother, holding the back of the bike steady, then let’s go. Matt zooms down the street, wobbling a little at first as his parents applaud and hoot. Yeah, if this is supposed to make me feel better it ain’t working. I didn’t learn to ride until a camp counselor agreed to teach me when I was twelve. I begged Barry when he was teaching Jessica, but she learned
before me, and then he got busy. I was too proud to let my baby sister take over the instruction. Oh, happy childhood memories.

  I fast forward past Jenny cooking in the kitchen, a huge Christmas party in this house then another at Frank’s with just the three Dahls, a family vacation at the lake. More fast forwarding of boys jumping off the dock, a backyard barbecue with Frank at the grill, Jenny sunbathing in a bikini, ugh. Don’t know what exactly I’m supposed to be getting from this. Maybe Jason wants to torture me for attacking his precious Alpha. Frank playing poker with some familiar pack members, an excited and smiling Matt and a young Adam sitting on some stairs chatting. The camera swinging toward the front door. The cameraman and boys race outside as a frowning Jenny and grinning Frank climb out of their Buick. Matt stops by the cameraperson, but Adam rushes to the back of the car, as does Frank. I push play.

  “… be afraid,” Frank says to the passenger in the backseat. “You’ve been here before.”

  “He’ll come out when he wants to,” Jenny says impatiently. “Don’t rush him.”

  “Don’t you want to see your new room?” Frank asks. “It has a TV just for you.” He holds out his hand. “Come on, son. There’s no reason to be afraid. I’m right here.”

  After a few seconds, Jason climbs out. I’d know those cheekbones anywhere. His blonde hair reaches mid back and with a blanket of it covering half his face, but his scowl is still visible. That, coupled with his ramrod straight back and squared shoulders telegraphs the boy is ready for a fight. Even at eight, one false move or look and there would be blood.