Draik interrupted, “Why’d she want you to help—”
Xavier stopped him with a look and muttered, “To hide what needs to be hidden. Think.”
Draik didn’t seem to know this, so he hid his ignorance by shrugging and taking another sip from his glass, so I offered, “There’ve always been doctors among…people who keep to themselves.”
“You work at a hospital?” Xavier asked me.
“Yeah.” I told him which one and they all listened like they were memorizing it. Little had I known they would visit me there quite often in the future. Xavier, Curragh and Draik had at that time just begun to take down humans who were engaged in criminal activity. They started in spurts and the hobby grew—they revealed that to me later, when I got to know them. They didn’t care about money laundering or financial crime like that. They stopped the kind of evil doings where people were hurt, especially women and kids. They used their strength and supernatural abilities to fight back when victims couldn’t. And they needed someone like me to hide the evidence they’d been there at the scene, once the damage had been repaired.
But that Friday night all I thought was, they’re listening to me! So I rambled on and on. “There’s so much we don’t about how things work. It’s not just people. Animals, too. Why some seem protective of their packs or kin, and others not. I haven’t done any work on animals, it’s not my field, but I do like watching the Discovery Channel—”
“Shut UP! God,” Curragh finally grumbled before downing the last of his whiskey.
Then a girl passed by who’d smelled of vanilla. All four heads turned. She was wearing tight blue jeans tucked into brown boots, and a really tiny sweater. Her dirty blonde hair swayed as she walked toward the restroom, and bounced when Draik gave her butt a swat. She spun around, red lips parted. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” Draik smirked.
The second she saw him, she relaxed. “If you’re going to do that, you’re going to have to buy me a drink.”
“When you come back from the little girl’s room, come see me.”
Failing to hide an excited gleam, she nodded and continued on, pulling her phone from her purse. She typed a text as she walked, head down. None of us had to see it to know it said something along the line of, Just met someone. I’ll see you guys later.
“What are you smiling at?” Curragh asked me.
Bottles on the back of a bar are something I know a lot about. Since I didn’t want to say anything that would scare them off, I chose that moment to read the labels in silence. Dewers. Absolute. Absolute Citron, Grey Goose, Bombay Sapphire…
“A coroner.” Xavier muttered.
That pulled my focus back, and I looked over at him and nodded with my lips tight. Don’t say anything else that’s dumb. Be careful. Just answer the questions.
“That could be useful.”
“Yeah?” I brightened up and lost the casual look completely. “If you guys ever need anything, just let me know! I’m totally available to help in any way I can. Just say the word.”
“Fuck,” Curragh grumbled, pushing his empty glass away from him. “Don’t get so excited.” Xavier chuckled, and that just made the green-eyed wolf more irritated. “What? He looks like a fucking virgin. Like he’s a…” He stopped himself before saying ‘pup.’ “…kid or something. Except he’s tall. But Jesus, your shoulders are scrawny as fuck. What’d you say you were? Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-two now. And I’m not a virgin. I’m not.” They stared at me and Draik broke into a grin. “I’m not!”
I was.
Curragh muttered, “Well, you make no sense to me,” and I will never forget what he’d said next. “It’s just not what we are. Something happened to you.”
Speechless, I watched him look at the crowd, and I remember thinking, Did something happen to me I don’t know about? Is that why I’m not like they are, not strong, not confident?
The girl returned from the bathroom, her vanilla scent stronger—she must have reapplied. “Hi,” she said to all of us as if we were together. Damn, that made my night.
“I’ll see you guys back at the loft.” Draik downed his glass then dismounted his stool like a cowboy would a horse. He breathed her in as he threw his Viking-sized arm around her slender shoulders. “Mmm. You smell just like chocolate chip cookies.”
She laughed, and they were off.
Wow. I mean, wow.
I smiled and nudged Xavier’s arm. “Lucky.”
He smirked and downed the last of his whiskey. “She’s no prize.”
I watched as he and Curragh rose up to leave. “Heya…where do you guys live?”
Xavier turned for the door. “Don’t worry about that.” They headed out. Curragh didn’t look back and didn’t say goodbye. I turned around to discover the bartender eyeing me with her hands on the counter, arms spread out.
“What?”
“They just left you with the bill.”
I blinked at her, knowing she was right, and it had been done on purpose. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Sorry, buddy.”
“S’okay.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her a card. “They kept me company. It’s the least I could do.”
With a sympathetic look she turned for the register, and left me to contemplate Curragh’s words. Did something happen to me? Was this fixable, my less-than-impressive stature and overall appearance? What would it be like to be comfortable and proud, in my own skin? To walk into a room and feel like I had something to offer were bad shit to go down? What would it be like to be a real werewolf?
And until Kruglov’s, I could only imagine.
4
Howard
A couple months before tonight, my fate changed, because I changed it.
It’s a story that Curragh has told, but the crux of what happened on my end was this: Curragh and his pack were after the head of the Russian mafia, an organization so out of control they were asking for recruits. One of my packmates from my youth confided in me he was going to join them—the very ones who’d just tortured and nearly killed Draik. I had barely managed to save his life when Xaiver called me, desperate.
Apparently one of the Russians ran into Tahl one night, liked his size and strength, and told him where he could go to join up. “You’d better bring a gift,” the Russian had told him.
“A gift?” he’d asked, not getting it.
“An offering to show we can trust you,” the Russian had sneered.
As I listened to the privately relayed story, my jaw was wide open. “You can’t be serious, Tahl! Kruglov’s a monster. I mean, you’ve always been an asshole, but you’re not a freakin’ monster!”
He rose up from his futon and waved a hand around his one bedroom apartment. “I deserve more than this shit. Look at this place! I can never get where I wanna go on the money I make.”
“At least you’re free,” I told him in earnest. “There you’ll just be his slave. His errand boy. You’ll be the equivalent of Satan’s errand boy!! You can’t do it!”
Tahl leaned down at me. “Go where the winners are, Howard.”
That’s when I knew he was toast. There was no un-cooking him. Might as well slap on some peanut butter, too, because what he was saying was nuts.
Then it hit me. He knew where Kruglov was. Viktor Kruglov, the baddest Russian around, the boss of the mafia himself, the evil prick who’d been impossible to find! Here was Tahl, given the phantom’s whereabouts! It was like seeing gold shimmer in a pile of shit.
After two long years, it might be my way into Curragh’s pack!
So I said, “You have a point.”
Tahl was heading for his keys. He stopped cold and cocked a suspicious eyebrow at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, look at me. I’ve never been anything but a laughingstock. Being with someone powerful, who everyone fears, I mean…that could really serve me, too!”
Tahl, always the first to make fun of me when we were pups, saw the logic, and because he wante
d someone to back up the horrible thing he was doing by coming with him, his suspicion vanished. “Damn straight. Come with me!”
Even though I’d wanted him to say that, I didn’t mean to go right now, so I stammered, “Can’t. I have a date tonight.” Yeah right. I had a date. Sure.
Tahl’s eyes went wide. “You do?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a date. So hard to believe?”
He chuckled, “You know the answer to that, Skin ‘n Bones.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a rare thing. So I have to go. I want to see what happens.”
“Me too,” he smirked, heading for the door. Twisting around, he pointed at me. “Don’t you dare tell anyone where I’m going!”
“C’mon Tahl! You know I’m not a snitch!”
He hesitated, then backed off. “True. You’re not.”
“If my date doesn’t go well…where is Kruglov? I’ll head over then.”
“You’ll probably be right behind me then,” he chuckled, insinuating my date would last all of two minutes. Asshole.
“Yeah, Ha. Probably.”
Tahl’s hazel eyes glimmered. “You’re not going to believe where he lives.”
He told me, and he’s right. I couldn’t believe it.
Like I said, the whole tale of what happened is Curragh’s. He told it well. But my part is mine, so let me just say that going after my dream changed me. In less than two hours, I’d grown in size and width to what I’d always been meant to be. And as it was happening I didn’t even notice because I was too busy fighting, something I’d never done. Finding the courage to rise up to take down Kruglov and save my chosen family when they needed me, it made my body grow. My face fill out. My muscles stretch and harden. For once in my life no one could laugh at me or call me scrawny. I became a full-grown wolf. I joke about it, but it is true that I saved the day.
Eleanor Roosevelt famously quoted, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
Facing my fear made Curragh say on that horrible night, the words I’d been waiting for ever since Rossi’s, and thought might never come: “Alright, you can join us.”
I’m one of them now. It’s a fucking miracle. And we’re all still getting used to it.
Turning a key in the lock of their building I take the stairs two at a time, the heavy industrial door closing behind me. It’s one of those old brick office buildings converted into residential lofts, but barely. Not the fancy kind. There’s exposed brick walls on the inside, drafty glass windows painted over too many times, an antique elevator that’s broken down more often than not. But nobody really cares, because there are only four floors and the place is very cool.
As I get to the third floor and start walking up the hall, I hear Xavier call out from the couch, “It’s open.” I can’t believe I can hear him this far away, and through a closed door. My abilities are growing more each day.
Grinning, I swing the door open, lock it behind me and walk in to find he and Draik kicking back with take-out containers opened in front of them on their new coffee table. Bits of lettuce are strewn about and the air smells like burgers.
I slap down a brand new bottle of Basil Haydens between them.
Draik chuckles, mockery gone for good. “What’s this? And why the proud face?”
“It’s uh…” Pausing, I stare at the bottle and consider whether or not I should tell them it’s what they were drinking the night I met them. I brought it to celebrate me being in their pack, finally. I can get a little sentimental, and they aren’t like that. “Nothing. I was just thirsty.”
Xavier’s keen stare tells me he knows why I brought it. “Well, grab a glass. Let’s lube up that throat.”
Draik laughs outright. “What are you gonna do, stick your cock down it?”
I mutter on an easy laugh, “Yeah, right,” heading for the kitchen to grab three glasses. “Is Curragh at his place?”
“No, he’s in Costa Rica,” Draik calls over. “Left days ago.”
“Oh, right!” I walk back to them and start pouring, handing each a full glass as I recount my week. “We had that tour bus accident and things were crazy. Strathers still hasn’t retired, and the other coroners are saying it should be them who replaces him. That I’m too young. They don’t say it to his face, but I hear them through the walls.” Exhaling, I add, “It’s been rough, and I have to admit it—I’d like to see a little less death for awhile.”
Draik agrees, “Especially after Kruglov’s,” smile gone.
“Right. I envy Curragh. The sun and the water and the girl. Lucky guy. So, what are we gonna do tonight? Why’d you call me over?”
Throwing his legs up, Draik stretches his now-healed body and holds up the whiskey to the light, turning the glass around to admire it. “Look at that. I never get tired of it.”
Ignoring him, Xavier lifts his glass and announces, “We’re going to get you laid.”
I stare at him. “I’m not a virgin!”
Both pairs of eyes narrow on me. They lean forward and wait.
“I’m not!”
“You’re a terrible liar, Howard.”
5
Alisa
“How much?” the baller asks, handing me his coat.
I try hard not to roll my eyes at his superior tone. “Five bucks. Just like the signs says.” I take the expensively heavy thing from him and go to hang it up. Behind me, I feel his sneer. I’m really bad at hiding how I feel about someone. And I go on instincts, which I’ve honed. I can smell the truth in people, that stuff they’re trying to hide even from themselves. It’s a skill you learn growing up in “the shadow of alcoholism,” as the Al-anon meetings call it. Being raised as I was, you need to be awake to the moods of other people so you can make it through the day or night without being stepped on, beaten, or sometimes, if your sick-ass cousins are over, touched. No parents to protect you when they’re drunk. And often they’re the ones you need protecting from anyway. Say the wrong thing and WHAM. Black eye. Bruises you can’t explain to your fifth grade, sixth grade, seventh grade teacher. You get the idea.
“Bitch,” he mutters, loudly enough for me to hear.
“That’s right…buddy.” I almost called him asshole, but had to stop myself. I need this job. It’s my third in a year.
“Just because your hair is dyed blue doesn’t make you cool,” he sneers at my back.
I hold my tongue. For a whole second. “Just because your hair is going to fall out before you’re thirty doesn’t mean women won’t still fuck you. Let it go.”
I wait until the feeling leaves me that I am being watched by this guy who would love to hit me if I weren’t female, to turn around and sigh. Pushing a short lock of dusk-blue hair away from my face, I glance around for the next person who might need their coat, and attitude, checked. The place is packed inside. Not many late arrivals on a Wednesday. People need to get their drunk on and then go home to sleep it off before showing up at work at 9:00 a.m. the next morning.
So, it’s just me in this booth with only a barstool, a tip jar, orange claim checks and a ton of stranger’s coats behind me to keep me entertained. If I were a less secure person, I’d be bored. But I like my own company. I like quiet. I like to sit and stare at a wall where I can escape into the stories that hide in my mind, of magical things that don’t exist in the real world. Things that Harry Potter experienced in all his adventures. In my mind, he was real. So were all the kids from Narnia. I can’t watch Game of Thrones without sobbing when one of my beloved characters dies. The Hobbits, Gandalf and the Shire? All real. God, wouldn’t that be something?
Taking my seat on the red leather bar stool, I hook my toe around the footrest and smile. What if they really were all real? What if that’s how the authors knew about them? What if they just rattled off their memoirs to someone with a gift for story telling, because someone had to tell the stories, for history? For when the world won�
��t be afraid of magic, anymore…for when it won’t call it bullshit, or silly. What if sitting beside me right now in an invisible, parallel universe is a goblin trying to look up the skirt of my blue dress, pissed off because I’ve got it modestly tucked around my legs. A small chuckle escapes my lips and suddenly my daydream is interrupted by a very real male voice.
“Something’s got you smiling.”
My eyes flutter slowly over and land on three guys standing outside my little closet-of-sorts. It’s so hard to come back to reality when I’m daydreaming, but when I lock eyes with the shaggy, mop-headed younger one in the middle, I slam into present day in a heartbeat. He’s smiling at me. I’m not smiling back. Something happened inside my chest at the sight of him that I don’t like. And that something yells to me now, RUN.
“You don’t have any coats.”
The bearded one shoots me a sexy smirk. “No. We don’t.” There’s something about how he’s standing in that suit that says it’s new, like he never wore one before it. It looks great on him, though. On all of them. Their suits have expensive cuts and are well tailored, all by the same designer. In fact, now that I think about it, they’re the same suits.
Blondie pushes Mophead onward into the club. The bearded one is already walking ahead and he turns, holding the door. Mophead glances back to me over his shoulder, kinda awkwardly, which is a-fucking-dorable. We lock eyes. I want to tell him to come back, which is bizarre. I don’t tell guys to come back. I tell them to go away.
I manage to keep my big trap shut.
As soon as they vanish, I sink back onto the barstool, staring at the closed door. There’s a low beat of Hip Hop music vibrating it, and somehow that beat is in my blood all of a sudden. Before, I couldn’t even hear it, conditioned to ignore the sound from so many nights of working with it as my background. My eyelashes slide toward my hands and that’s when I see that I am shaking. I touch the soft skin the covers my heart, pick up my purse from the floor, and leave.
Werewolves of Chicago: Howard: The Underdog Page 2
