Hoofin’ It: A Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count)

by RJ Blain

Chapter Sixteen

  Life went on as it tended to do. It took a week to get most of the glitter out of my carpet. During that time, the CDC investigated my personal and professional life beginning from my first day of college. My grades surprised the CDC almost as much as they had my parents, who hadn’t expected me to be so damned good at classwork.

  Had I been a pristine human, one without exposure to the lycanthropy virus, my supervisors would’ve promoted me within a year despite my low magic rating.

  The CDC had a field day with my case, and they rolled my insurance company so hard they begged for a settlement. Their opening offer made the CDC’s lawyer laugh.

  Then he filed to take the case before a judge, naming the CPD as co-defendants in the trial. Two days later, my notice of termination arrived by courier, listing my unavailability as just cause. Those documents went to the lawyer, who added them to the growing pile of evidence.

  In a special hearing the next day, the judge overturned the termination, declared it unlawful, and had it and all related reprimands struck from my record. At the same time, I handed in my resignation, which would at least leave doors ajar rather than firmly closed and locked.

  Without a functioning eye, I wouldn’t be joining any branch of law enforcement soon. I knew it, the judge knew it, the CPD knew it, and the insurance company knew it, too. Yet, we danced in court, and what could have been two hundred thousand dollars in my pocket became a circus in the Chicago courts, one that would either nail the coffin closed on lycanthrope rights or breathe new life into it.

  I hoped for the latter but expected the worst. It was Chicago, after all. My initial payout wouldn’t last forever, so I looked for some way to make a living while the rest of my life was put on hold, at the mercy of a bunch of lawyers and a court system rigged against me from start to finish.

  In the true American way, what started as an insurance fraud case became a circus, one where every last facet of my character was put on trial in front of a jury of my peers and the media. The CDC used every resource at their disposal to shine light on the insurance frauds committed against lycanthropes and those infected—or falsely assumed to be infected.

  They even did a live demonstration of my immunity, cutting my arm open deep enough one of the jurors fainted before injecting me with active wolverine lycanthropy virus serum. I had to admit the demonstration’s effectiveness; the wound took less than ten minutes to close, leaving a pale scar in its wake, and within an hour, I scanned clean.

  The unexpected test came when they drew a vial of my blood while I was still infected with the virus and put it under a microscope for the judge and jury to watch. Outside my body, the virus died within minutes. They performed one final test, requesting the presence of an angel for the purpose of the demonstration.

  Angels creeped me out. Their lack of a head wasn’t the problem; I could deal with that. It was the way they moved, silently lethal and every inch the predator, that got to me. I’d seen enough of them in my life to recognize one. What the angel hunted, I didn’t know.

  Judge Wellington regarded the latest witness with an arched eyebrow. “You’ve done a demonstration Mr. Gibson is, as you claim, immune to the lycanthropy virus. Explain to the court why the presence of an angel is necessary.”

  The CDC’s lawyer rose from his seat and approached the judge, turning to face the crowd packed into the courtroom. “Your Honor, angels share a significant amount of biological processes with humans. They can be infected with many of the same ailments humans can, including lycanthropy. However, unlike humans, they can purge these ailments from their bodies at will. This makes them ideal for certain demonstrations, including the contraction of the lycanthropy virus. Abrahaman has generously consented to the final demonstration we wish to show the court regarding Mr. Gibson’s case. This test will irrefutably prove that Mr. Gibson is—and has always been—incapable of infecting the public he served. His status as a human exposed to the lycanthropy virus led to the police and his insurance company collaborating in a joint effort to force him out of active duty. If he hadn’t been flagged as exposed, he would have received a functional eye and been able to resume his duties as a police officer.”

  “Is this correct, Abrahaman?”

  “It is.”

  I couldn’t even begin to guess how the angel spoke without a mouth.

  “Proceed.”

  “For this demonstration, we will inject Mr. Gibson with a high quantity of the lycanthropy virus, sufficient to ensure infection in a standard human. We will use a cell count of approximately half that required for a first shift. This is the equivalent of the virus incubating for an excess of ten years, which is sufficient development for the virus to spread. As angels have biological processes on par with a human’s, within an hour of exposure to Mr. Gibson’s blood, should Mr. Gibson be a contagious risk as claimed, Abrahaman will have detectable amounts of the lycanthropy virus in his bloodstream.”

  “You have the court’s permission to proceed.”

  As the primary test subject, my job was to stand around and do as told. To either drive home the point of the case or to make the more prejudiced squirm, a cougar lycanthrope in hybrid form handled the injections. She showed her teeth to the ground while her muscles ripped under her glossy tawny fur, a not-so-subtle reminder of her inhuman strength.

  The lawyer had explained to me the reasoning for the extreme experiment. First, it would establish without the shadow of a doubt I was immune to the lycanthropy virus. Second, it would establish the humanity of lycanthropes, as only humans could be infected with the virus.

  Angels transcended humans, but their bodies were still human in certain ways. They could contract lycanthropy. Unlike humans, they could cure themselves of it.

  The lycanthrope injected five large syringes into my arm; after the third, the fever kicked in. When I wasn’t sweating, chills ran through me. Worse, it made the slow-healing bite on my shoulder throb.

  “Unfortunately, such a sudden, high-level exposure to the lycanthropy virus has consequences, including general malaise and fever,” the CDC’s lawyer explained. “This has been recorded in susceptible humans.”

  I wanted to find somewhere nice, quiet, and private so I could throw up, but I clenched my teeth and waited for the cougar to finish her injections. She gripped my left shoulder, ducking her head to my ear. “You have our thanks,” she growled.

  Not trusting myself to speak, I acknowledged her with a nod.

  “In ten minutes, we’ll draw a vial of blood and inject it into Abrahaman. This will interrupt proceedings for approximately five minutes.”

  The judge acknowledged the lawyer with a nod. Efficiency mattered to Judge Wellington, and he wasted no time shifting gears and bringing up another element of my life. “You requested for your witness to take the stand during this phase of the trial. You have the court’s permission to call your witness to the stand.”

  “Objection!” the insurer’s lawyer squeaked.

  Of all the species of centaurs I’d ever met, the rats amazed me in their variety. Most of them were nice people, as close to angels as humans got. Unfortunately, the ones who became lawyers gave demons, devils, and vampires a run for their money.

  It said a lot the police had gone to the worst of the worst for their defense.

  “Denied,” the judge barked. “You had your chance to question the prosecution’s selection of witnesses at the start of the trial. I have the discretion to approve the prosecution’s request to call their witness at this time. Sit down, Mr. Ulsra.”

  “I call Carey, Francois, and Hubert Telleman to the stand,” the CDC’s lawyer announced.

  I only recognized the family because of a few newspaper articles reporting on the traffic accident that had almost claimed their lives and had cost me my right eye. The father, Francois, carried his two year old son in his arms. The boy was hard at work sucking on his thumb.

  Carey flashed me a smile, Francois nodded, and Abrahaman startled the entire c
ourt by bringing a stool to the witness stand so all three could sit. It was a tight squeeze.

  Traditionally, they would have been questioned individually. The judge, with one unusual move, had turned the questioning from the events affecting one person to those affecting involving an entire family—a family still alive because of me.

  In the ten minutes before I was subjected to my blood being drawn so Abrahaman could enjoy a hefty dose of infected blood, my lawyer had transformed me from a man classified as a public health hazard to someone who’d crawled into a burning car and pulled three unconscious people from the wreckage.

  At my lawyer’s invitation, Carey pulled her shirt over her head to reveal her stomach and chest, which were covered in burn scars, a permanent reminder of the accident that had almost taken her life. I coughed and found somewhere else to look, as Mrs. Telleman had forgone wearing a bra so the jury could get a good look at the evidence she brought to the stand.

  Only an idiot would believe she could have escaped the car on her own. Her husband shared similar scars, although he wasn’t quite as dramatic about showing them off.

  Hubert had escaped unscathed; I’d pulled him out first, and his mother was eager to show the jury how her little boy wouldn’t carry a single mark from the accident, although he had some lingering vision problems from a hit to the head.

  The CDC’s lawyer to finished with his questions in forty minutes, and as though understanding he’d dig his own grave, the defense passed on his chance to ask additional questions.

  On their way to their seats, Francois stopped beside my seat and set his son on my lap. “Hubert, this is the nice police officer who pulled us out of the car. Say hello.”

  A pair of wide blue eyes regarded me with a complete lack of fear. “Huwwo, Meester Police Officer.”

  Hubert put his thumb back in his mouth, staring at me while I floundered. I had swallow several times before I could force myself to reply, “Hello, Hubert. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Taking his thumb out of his mouth, he balled his small hand into a fist and patted his chest. “Me be a meester police officer, too.”

  Words failed me.

  Two hours following the injection of my blood, Abrahaman scanned clean of the lycanthropy virus, as did I. Unfortunately, my fever spiked and lingered, something the CDC blamed on excessive exposure to the virus in a short period of time. My fever came with a fringe benefit.

  Since the live demonstrations were complete and the Tellemans’ testimonies had been given, I was no longer needed in the courtroom, which meant I could get on with my life while waiting for the verdict. The CDC compensated me for the trial time, the public testings, the risks associated with virus exposure, and the unanticipated consequences of their in-court experimentation.

  If I was careful with my money, I had six months to find a new job.

  For the first time since returning to Chicago, I felt good about going home, until I got in my door and faced the remnants of the glitter apocalypse. Sighing, I shook my head at the shimmering carpet, dug out my phone, and called my mother.

  “Are you dead?” she asked.

  “What sort of stupid question is that?”

  “Just wondering, as it’s early evening and you’re calling me. That’s a reason for concern.”

  “I escaped court without anyone killing me,” I announced. Although I’d had the boxes for weeks, I hadn’t opened any except my parents’, although the one from Marian sometimes tempted me. “Let’s say you received a bunch of boxes from unknown senders or distant acquaintances. Would you open them?”

  “Do they tick?”

  “No, Mom. They don’t tick. If they ticked, I would call the bomb squad, not leave them unopened in my apartment. I’m not an idiot.”

  “I’d open them.”

  “The last time I opened a box, glitter exploded in my face. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Don’t be a baby. Open the boxes and tell me what’s inside. Your dad’s working. I’m bored. This sounds like a good cure for my boredom. How long have you had them?”

  “They were waiting when I came back to Chicago from Des Moines.”

  “That was weeks ago.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “We’ll come back to the boxes. How did your court session go?”

  “The jury has no idea how close I came to throwing up on them today.”

  “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “The CDC happened. They decided to bring in an angel for an experiment involving giving me enough live lycanthropy virus to match someone who’d been infected for a decade. I have a low-grade fever. Exactly no one is surprised. At least they limited the number of times they cut open my arm. Juror Number Ten’s a fainter.”

  My mother sighed. “Are you serious?”

  “About Juror Number Ten? If she saw blood, she dropped like a rock. I’m still not sure whether it was the blood or if she’s a lycanthrophobe.”

  “I meant about the virus injection.”

  “Those jurors have no idea how close I came to throwing up on them. I think the angel knew, but he was too polite to say anything. I’m pretty sure the angel was a male. His name was Abrahaman, and he found us mortals amusing.”

  “What angel?”

  “The one they injected with my blood to demonstrate I wasn’t a contagion risk.”

  “Have they lost their minds?”

  I snorted. “That thought had occurred to me. I think they were pushing the point lycanthropes are humans, as only humans can be infected with lycanthropy. Since angels can be infected with the same diseases humans can but can purge themselves of just about anything, it was the only safe way to do the demonstration. Oh, I met a cougar lycanthrope today, too. She was about as big as Dad, and I’m pretty sure her hobby’s working out.”

  “Are you sure you’re fine?”

  “It’s just a fever, although I’m queasy enough I’ll probably skip dinner tonight.”

  “Eat soup.”

  “Mom, I can skip dinner tonight if I want to. I’m an adult.”

  “So am I, and I’m a bigger, badder adult than you are. Eat your dinner, or I’m driving to Chicago. If I have to drive to Chicago, you aren’t going to like it.”

  What sort of monster had I been in a previous life to deserve my parents? “Fine, Mom. I’ll have some soup.”

  “When’s your next court session?”

  “I’m done. The judge declared they’ve had sufficient chance to evaluate my character and isn’t entertaining any more personal questions or demonstrations. Then he mentioned something about cruel and unusual punishment while glaring at the CDC’s lawyer.”

  “So you can come home for a visit?”

  “Is the fridge clean?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m going to spend the next few days looking into job prospects. If the fridge can be verified clean by a reputable source, I’ll consider a drive to Nebraska to entertain you for a period up to a single week.”

  “I’ve produced a cruel and unfair human being.”

  While I knew Mom expected me to laugh, I couldn’t manage it. “Hey, Mom? Riddle me this.”

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “They had the family from the accident on the stand today.” I clacked my teeth together and inhaled long and deep before exhaling through my nose to calm my fraying nerves. “Mrs. Telleman decided the best way to show what she’s survived was to take off her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra.”

  “Your poor virgin eyes. I bet that was not the sort of thanks you wanted, huh?”

  “Well, Mr. Telleman showed off his chest, too, although his wasn’t quite as…”

  “Nice? Feminine? Curved? Beautiful?” My mother snickered. “Voluptuous?”

  “Scarred.”

  “Ouch. That bad?”

  “That bad. They put their son on the stand, too. I think he’s two. Cute kid.”

  “They usually are at that age. Little devils, but cute little devils. Were you
okay? No flashbacks?”

  “On their way back to their seats, the kid’s dad put him on my lap and introduced me as the nice police officer who pulled them out of the car. Apparently, the kid has decided he’s going to be a police officer when he grows up.”

  “Oh, baby.”

  “Yeah. I handed in my resignation last week. They tried to fire me for not responding to some bogus request for information. The judge overturned it, but the CDC lawyer had my resignation prepared so I would have a chance to return to law enforcement.”

  The distinct sound of my mother cracking her knuckles worried me. “Do I need to come over there and start banging heads together?”

  “No.”

  “But I’d enjoy it.”

  “No, Mom.”

  “But I’d really enjoy it.”

  “No, Mom. I’ve already done something even worse.”

  She grunted and kept cracking her knuckles. “Like what?”

  “I sent the CDC after them. The CDC’s lawyer laughed at the insurance company’s settlement offer, and the CPD has already had one smackdown in court. I’m moving on, and that doesn’t mean bailing my mother out of jail for smashing heads together. And no, you can’t send Dad, either. Or Lewis. Or anyone else. I don’t need you or Dad coming here and ruining the CDC’s chance to give other lycanthropes equal rights in Chicago and other prejudiced cities. Stay out of it.”

  “When did you become such a good man, Shane?”

  “I’m pretty sure my parents had something to do with it. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.” I hung up on her, shook my head, and turned my attention to the stack of boxes waiting by my couch.

  I started with the boxes Michelle had identified as gifts from an unidentified sender. The first contained a set of pot and pans, the second had a coffee maker expensive enough I searched the box top to bottom for the sender’s name with no luck. Whoever had sent them had decided I needed a kitchen upgrade; by the time I’d emptied the final box, I had more stuff than I knew what to do with, including a set of dishes elegant enough even my grandmothers would approve of them.

  Out of excuses to avoid them, I opened the first of Marian’s packages, cautiously peeking inside.