Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  I hear the crackling of tires on gravel as Frank’s SUV drives up the road. I attempt to quell my tears, try to stand up straight, but I can’t. I’m broken.

  The car comes to a skidding stop. “Vivi?” Frank calls as he jumps out. His voice is like a shot in the arm. I can’t … I leap up and take a few steps toward the trees to flee but the wracking sobs slow me down. “Vivi? Doll face? You’re scaring me, baby. What happened?” he asks, touching my shoulder. “What—”

  I swat his hand away. “Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone! Please …” I take another step to escape, but Frank grabs me, attempting to pull me into his arms. “Don’t touch me. Let me go …” I sob. He wraps those arms around me, and no matter how much I push he doesn’t release me. “Let me go. Let me …” But I have no fight left in me. I used the last of it to win the battle with myself. I let my father hug me, and within seconds find myself even hugging him back as I cry on his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, doll face, it’s okay,” he whispers as he smoothes my wet hair. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

  And my father holds me, smoothes my hair, and whispers everything will be alright until I actually believe him.

  _____

  “At least now I know where I get my drinking gene from,” I say, chugging the bourbon.

  I am getting plastered with my father. It does not suck. It’s actually pretty fucking great.

  He’s been great. Without a word, my father ushered me into his SUV, drove us home, then escorted me up to the master bedroom. As we dried off, he put on an Ella vinyl, pulled out a bottle hidden in his closet and off we went. The alcohol is helping reassemble my pieces, drying the glue holding my heart together. And I’ve learned my father is about one step away from being a lush just like his little girl. This kind of makes me like him more. Turned into kind of a bonding experience, this scene.

  Frank swipes the bottle from me. “Actually, you have alcoholics on both sides. Your grandfathers.”

  “I knew about granddad Cliff. When Mom and I lived with him after you left, he was always waking me at night to tell me stories about the Korean War. He’d cry when he talked about his dead buddies. He was a nice guy, though.”

  “My father was a mean drunk,” Frank says, swigging the hooch. “Beat the crap out of my mom, me, my sister Paula. Fucking bastard. He stopped when I got old enough to fight back, but by then Paula ran off to join an ashram, and we only got the odd letter from her here and there. Mama wouldn’t kick him out even when he put her in the hospital. I couldn’t stand it in that house so when Vietnam started, Pop signed the papers to let me join up. I was sixteen. I only saw him about twice after that when I visited Mama. He died of cirrhosis about two years after I was turned.” He shrugs. “Didn’t even go to the funeral. Went to hers a couple years after though.” He drinks again. “Thought I’d see you there.”

  “I didn’t know her,” I say. “Didn’t even know she died until I asked Mom about her years later. She sent me a birthday card every year, I know that.”

  “You were named after her.” He hands me the bottle. “Your mom wanted to name you Cher.”

  “Oh, I am so glad you won that one,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, I thought fighting gooks was hard. They had nothing on Michelle when she had her mind set on something. Tunnel vision, that woman. I respected her for it, but it could be such a pain in the ass.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Oh hell yeah. She was the whole package. Fun, beautiful, driven, knew her own mind even as a teenager. When her spotlight was on you, it made you feel like a king.”

  I pass the almost empty bottle back. “Then why’d you cheat on her with Jenny? Was she your mate?”

  “No,” he says with a swig. “That’s Michelle. Without question,” he says rigidly. “The second I saw her when I returned, it was as if I was hit by a 2x4, like I usually felt around her but times a thousand. Just pure damn love. But your mom was never one to be alone for long. There was a man there. I smelled him on her. Found him in our bed, and I … fucking lost it. Beat the guy to a pulp. Still hadn’t mastered the whole werewolf strength thing. Or my new animal emotions. Got a whiff of his blood, and the wolf literally bared its fangs. Hair, snout, ears, all started sprouting, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. Your mom had to smack me with a frying pan. Knocked me out.” He finishes the bottle. “When I came to a minute later, she told me I had to leave, that the police were coming. So I ran until I hit the park and let the wolf howl. Came back two days later, met her in a restaurant, and she told me in no uncertain terms I was not allowed to be around either of you. That I was too volatile, too dangerous, that if I did come around she’d convince the man I put in the hospital to press charges for attempted murder. She wanted nothing to do with werewolves, with moving to Maryland, with me. She didn’t want you growing up around monsters. She wasn’t wrong. The things I’ve seen, hell the things I’ve done, no one should be exposed to that, let alone my baby girl.”

  “Is that why you forbade Jason from coming near me all these years?”

  He rises from his chair, and saunters over to his dresser. “Hell, yes. I knew from personal experience that with time and distance, you can start to forget her. Can even love someone else.” He pulls out another bottle and sits back down in the chair beside me. “Maybe not as much, but it’s still possible. But that boy …” Frank shakes his head and takes a swig. “I should have known better. I have never, ever met a person with such a deep well of love inside them. Never. I saw that the moment I looked into his eyes. He’d been beaten, starved, tortured, but that spark, that love was still in there. I knew I could save him. That if I didn’t, that miraculous well could turn to poison.”

  “You did a good job. He’s fucking amazing, Frank.”

  “The only times we ever fought, that he ever disobeyed me, was about you. When you were living in New York he must have driven up to hear you sing a half dozen times before I caught on and put a stop to it. It wasn’t good for either of you.”

  “With all due respect Frank,” I say, pushing myself up in my lounge chair, “who were you to decide that? I get your heart was in the right place, I do, but it was really fucking unfair. To all of us, yourself included. You should have given us a damn option. You should have come to me when I was old enough to understand, laid everything out, and let me choose if I thought the risk was warranted. You should have let Jason be free to love whoever he wanted to with no guilt attached. That man thinks you hung the moon, and you tore him in two. How could you do that to him?”

  Frank studies my face, mouth gaping open a little, before he grins. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, grabbing the bottle. “Not sure I’d recognize the emotion if I came upon it.” I take a generous chug. “I want to be around him all the time. I think about him a million times a day.” I pause to smile as his image springs to mind. “I like who I am around him. I like making him smile. I want him to be happy … even if it’s not with me, I think.” Another swig. “I do know I don’t want to cause him any pain, and it feels like that’s all I do.”

  “Sounds like love to me.”

  “It’s fucking horrible,” I say after another sip.

  He snatches the bottle back. “How do you think I feel? My son and daughter are in love with each other. I’m in a damn Greek tragedy.” He takes another swig. “You don’t care he kills people?”

  “I killed people. Person,” I correct. Yep, so getting drunk. “He protects us. And I know he doesn’t do it lightly or malic—crap, meanly. I feel safe around him.”

  “He’ll never leave this pack,” Frank states emphatically. “Never. And God forbid, he could be Alpha one day. They’re family. They’re part of the package.”

  “I know.”

  He chugs the bourbon again. “Lucki
ly, everyone loves you.”

  “They do?”

  “Hell, I think they like you even more than me.” He chugs again. “I’m failing them, Vivi. I should have found Seth by now. Hell, I should have seen this coming. It never should have happened in the first place.” He swigs. “I saw the warning signs, just didn’t know how to stop it. Still don’t. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Vivi,” he says almost afraid and eyes bugging out. “I never wanted this damn job, but someone had to step up. Tate wanted it but couldn’t defeat Seth in combat. Me or Jason, only options and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna put that on my son.” He grimaces. “Maybe I should have. He wanted me to kill Seth there and then, but I opted for mercy. First of many bad decisions, and they keep fucking coming. The people I love pay the price. Mattie. Jenny. You. Jason. Some days I wish he’d just kill me. I go out there every day, making myself a target, but he just won’t pull the trigger.”

  “He’s afraid of you. That’s why he wasn’t at the farmhouse. That’s why he didn’t come after me and Jason himself. I even saw it in his eyes. He’s a fucking coward. You beat him once, odds are you’ll do it again. All he has is the element of surprise. And the mole. The fucker.”

  “I’ve been going out, Jason’s been going out with the potential suspects, nothing. One of them should have tried to kill us. We were alone. Vulnerable. But nothing. I don’t know what else to do. We can’t stay here forever. I know people are a hair’s breadth from leaving. Maybe that’s his plan, wait us out. If it is, it’s damn sure working. I’m so tired of being on the defense. Of not being able to keep my people safe. Of making bad call after bad call.”

  “Well,” I say, “you made at least one brilliant decision. You sent Jason to look after me. You saved my life.”

  “I did it for you both,” he admits. “To get him out of the danger zone. Now I send him out into it every day. Besides,” he says, pushing himself up, “I couldn’t keep that boy from running after you then even if I’d locked him in a damn cage. He was halfway out the door already when I gave him permission to go. I wish you two hadn’t gotten so … close,” he says with a grimace, “but I am so glad you’re here. I’m glad I get to see what a strong, caring, loving woman you’ve become.” He smiles sadly. “And I am so proud of you. So proud.”

  “But I’m not any of those things,” I whisper. “Not really.”

  He brushes a wet strand of hair from my face. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, doll face.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Probably get that from your side of the fam—”

  A woman’s shriek downstairs stops me mid-sentence, but the rapid fire of gunshots instantly sober me. Frank too. He leaps up, head whipping first toward the door as more people scream and holler then the opposite way. What the hell? As I find my feet, my father launches himself toward the bathroom. I don’t realize the secret panel inside the room is open a fraction and growing until Frank throws his body against it. “Run!” he shouts.

  For an instant, I can’t move. There’s too much going on to focus on one event. Screams, gunshots, howls from outside, but really, I don’t want to leave him. They’re here. The clock’s run down to doomsday. Death is coming through that door. I have no weapon. They’re stronger than me. Frank slides down the panel just as three shots cut through the wood where he stood a moment ago. “Baby, run!” he pleads, voice cracking like kindling.

  Shit. My body overrides my brain. I take off toward the hallway. Just as I throw the door open, the panel spreads wide enough for the barrel of a rifle to poke through, pointed right at me. The bullets hit the frame just as I pass it into the hallway. Into the mouth of madness. Chaos. Screaming. Crying children. Devin clutching Mason as he dashes into a bedroom. Katie shrieking as Dahlia shoves her into another bedroom. Panicked pack members running up the stairs, down the stairs, toward me, all as frightened and bewildered as I am. Then I realize they’re moving toward the tunnel. Toward the gunfire behind me. Not safe. I hold out my arms to act as a barrier. “No! Hide!”

  Those women sprinting my way quickly change course, diverting into nearby bedrooms. The idea to join them in hiding barely crosses my mind. Frank. Frank needs help. Weapon. Need a gun. Sam races from the stairs, holding a pistol. “Sam, help Frank! Tunnel!” I point behind myself. Like all of us, the man is aching for direction, order in the anarchy. He immediately sprints my way, then past me toward the master bedroom. Need a weapon.

  I reach the staircase and come to a skidded stop. The gates of hell have opened downstairs. Omar lies at the foot of the steps, chest nothing but viscera and bones with another man, I can’t tell who because his face is gone, laying nearby with blood and brain splattered on the wall. Cries of intense pain from both men and women ring out even over the automatic and single-fire gunshots. Like upstairs, pack members and men I don’t recognize holding giant guns, run to and fro. A huge black wolf darts after Scott, and I freeze in place. Downstairs, not an option. I don’t know what to do. I—

  “Viv!”

  I turn right and almost break down from relief. Him too. Jason stands down the hall holding not only a pistol but the twins with their faces buried in his neck. He starts running toward me, toward the carnage downstairs and behind me, and all the fog burns away by that now familiar calm. “No!” I shout as I begin moving toward them. I grab Jason’s arm and spin him the way he came. “They’re using the tunnel.”

  He nods and changes course with me a step behind, leading us into Linda’s bedroom two doors down. I shut the door as Jason continues toward the closet. He sets the children down and they immediately attach themselves to me as Jason shoves suitcases and clothes on the floor aside, revealing a tiny door inside the closet. A crawlspace.

  “Jason?” I ask.

  He grabs Nicki. “Get in there, Nic.” Without a sound, she climbs into the dark hole. “You too buddy.” He helps Dusty in too.

  “Jason—”

  He rises like a shot and grabs my face, eyes burrowing into mine. “Keep them safe, get them out. If I am not back in an hour, leave without me.” He presses the gun into my hands. “Kill anyone who gets in your way.”

  I shove the gun back. “No, you need this more than I do. Frank’s at the tunnel and—”

  He squeezes my face harder, eyes going Antarctica cold. “Keep them safe, get them out by any means necessary,” he says through gritted teeth. “I will be fine.”

  “You fucking better be,” I say, voice quaking.

  He pulls my face toward him, kissing me as deeply as I do him. “I love you. Keep our family safe.”

  “You too.” He kisses me again before shoving me down. I get on all fours and crawl into the dark, tiny space. If my fear meter hadn’t already reached the top by the siege, being stuck in this dark, cramped room would bust the damn machine. But I don’t have the luxury of fear. The children immediately grab me for solace. I wrap an arm around each and tug them into my sides as much for my comfort as theirs.

  “No noise,” Jason says as he closes the door. “I love you all.”

  “We love you too,” Nicki says.

  And we’re plunged into almost total darkness, the only light emanating from the outline of the door. Soon even that dims as Jason replaces the suitcases and clothes then shuts the closet door. I hear his footsteps fade into nothingness. A minute. I think only a minute’s passed since this began. Less. I clutch the twins tighter and tighter as the screams, the gunshots, the horror of the people I care about continues all around us like Satan’s symphony. Ten seconds later another instrument of terror joins the others. I hear the door open again. Quick footsteps toward us. I stop breathing, the kids too. More footfalls. Shit. I point the gun right at the door, willing my hand not to tremble. The intruder scurries around the room before the closet door slides open. My finger finds the trigger. By any means necessary. They’re not touching these kids.

  The light shifts as the in
truder moves, searching the closet I think. Then, as quickly as they came, the footsteps run the opposite direction. Gone. He’s gone. I let out my breath in ragged spurts in time to my shaking body. I wait ten seconds before allowing my gun arm to lower.

  “Aunt Viv,” Dusty whispers, “are we gonna die like Daddy?”

  “No, baby,” I whisper back. I kiss his hair and his sister’s. “They are.”

  By any means necessary.

  seventeen

  Five minutes. It takes approximately five minutes to storm a castle and seize control. I’m guessing on the time because when you’re stuck in the dark crawlspace, it’s hard to check your watch. It feels like five minutes as the gunshots and shouts begin to space out before stopping all together. Five minutes. I think we lost.

  The silence is almost as bad as what came before. Every creak, every voice in the hall keeps me on a razor fine edge, but it’s nothing to the random woman’s scream or plea for mercy from a nearby bedroom. I cover the children’s ears, then say a silent prayer that they don’t know what those sounds signify. They’re terrified enough as it is. I’d do something—God, do I want to do something—but the children are my priorities. If I can help I will, but first I have to figure out how to get these kids the hell out of the house. Nothing else matters. No one is laying finger one on my niece and nephew. They try and I’ll bite the damn finger off.

  Our best bet is still the tunnel. It served its purpose to the invaders, they shouldn’t be guarding it too heavily. Just have to get to it, that is if Jason doesn’t return. But he’ll come back. He will. Just covering all the angles. I start calculating the frequency of the footsteps in the hall by counting the seconds between them, like gauging the distance of a storm from the thunder and lightning. About every two or three minutes someone walks past our door, but who knows how many more are in the bedrooms? Fuck. Too many unknown variables. Jason, please hurry.