by OL Ramos
Chapter 6
“That’s enough boys, break it up!” I hear Jack scream as he rushes toward the scuffle. “Michael, I’m real surprised at you. Ya should know better than to be roughhousing and scrapping in here!”
“Yeah Mikey,” Vincent says as he looks back at Michael with a confident smile on his face. “You should know better than to ruin this guy’s place. He has a good thing going here. Just like you to ruin all the fun everyone’s having, though, isn’t it?”
I watch Michael’s expression intensely as his face tries to hold back all the anger rushing through his mind. I note the veins on his forehead grow. He is incensed. And for a split second, I really think Michael’s eyes change color and shape. It’s for such a short glimpse, had I blinked I would have missed it. But I could swear his eyes changed from their soothing jade to an almond-shaped amber. His eyes almost looked like a tiger’s eye stone…I must be imagining things.
“Let’s take it outside,” Michael says as he smirks and bows his head to Jack before shoving Vincent towards the door. “I’m truly sorry Jack. He’s an old friend, and sometimes, I just want to bash his face in.”
“No kidding?” Jack asks as he shakes and scratches his head. Convinced that the situation has died down, Jack turns around and heads back to the kitchen.
Michael continues nudging Vincent out towards the door until they are both out of the restaurant. I follow them closely, intent on finding out what all the commotion was about. For some reason, I’ve got a really bad feeling. I get the sense that if those two had fought in there, the whole place would have been leveled.
“Just what the hell are you getting at?” Michael says as they reach the middle of the parking lot. “How many lives do you want to ruin? When will enough people be hurt?”
“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” Vincent replies as he squints his eyes and takes a quick look at me. “I just came to inspect my best friend’s love interest, that’s all. Is there something so wrong in that? I’m hurt by your accusations; I’m a real nice guy, after all.”
“Yeah, sure you are,” Michael answers almost immediately. “You’re after the ring? How much have you told her? Do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting her in by telling her anything she doesn’t need to know?! You endanger her family, her friends; you literally just served everyone she knows up on a silver platter by divulging any information to her.”
Vincent laughs as he sits on the brown dirt, unaffected by the dust he’s kicking up. He stares at the moon before addressing Michael.
“If that’s the case, then I suggest you keeper next to you at all times,” Vincent advises smugly before once again looking at me.
Michael tries his best to hide a low growl and fails miserably.
“You going to continue with that? Or are you going to act your age?” Michael asks firmly, his face now emotionless. “You know I’ll help you, with almost anything you need. But what you did here today was completely uncalled for. You risked the town and all of the people in it. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Vincent sits himself up calmly and before I know it, he manages to sprint towards Michael and punch him straight in the nose. Michael does nothing, barely affected by the earth-shattering blow. He merely turns back to face Vincent again and spits blood at Vincent’s feet.
“Never, and I do mean never, talk to me like a child,” Vincent orders in a commanding voice. He was demonstrating a side I honestly didn’t think he had in him. “I am more than twice your age! I will not be spoken down to by a whelp who has obviously forgotten his role. In choosing to live by your code of honor, you’ve forgotten your major charge. To protect the balance. If they succeed, this town you have come to be so attached to will be destroyed. She will be as well!” Vincent points a finger at me, hands trembling with anger. He lowers his hand and adjusts his shirt before turning to address me. He smiles, full of confidence and charm. Once again, he is totally back to his carefree persona. He bows as he gives Michael his back.
“Don’t worry Elizabeth,” he says softly. I have no idea what’s going on, but for some reason, I believe him. “We fight from time to time. A lot of the time it’s even worse than this. But he won’t kill me because I saved his life, and he’s a real stickler for honor codes. And I won’t kill him because…well, he’s just too much fun.”
I scoff at his remark as I run towards Michael to check on his bruised nose.
“I ask for you both to excuse me. Michael, think of what I said. Do what’s truly right. Fulfill your duty.” I hear Vincent behind my back.
Just as I’m about to turn around and completely tell him off, he’s gone. And I don’t mean gone as in he just got into his car. He’s nowhere to be seen. The only evidence of his departure is all the dust that kicked up. He must have sprinted out of here, but I didn’t hear any footsteps, and no one is that fast. I turn back to Michael and examine his face. I wipe off all the blood from his nose and lips.
“Your nose…your mouth,” I stammer nervously. “I saw you. Your nose was broken and your lip was busted open. But you don’t have a single scratch on you.”
Michael turns to me, lowers his head so his eyes can meet mine. There is sadness in his gaze. His eyebrows are furrowed in shame and humiliation.
“Vincent told me things,” I continue, trying to break the awkward silence. “He hinted that you were keeping things from me. Is it true, Michael? Are you really keeping things from me?”
I look right back at those jade green eyes of his. They are beginning to swell up with tears.
“We should talk,” he says softly, almost as if some of his words weren’t able to make it out of his mouth. This was not going to be a good talk.
“Yeah, sure, of course,” I answer, feeling a little blindsided. “Let me just check with Jack and I’ll meet you right here in two minutes. Is that okay?”
“That should be fine,” Michael answers with a subtle nod of his head. I walk back into the bar and grill and meet with Jack. Needless to say, he’s more than a little concerned for me. But after a little prodding on my behalf, he lets me leave. I meet back up with Michael, who is still standing in the same spot as before. He turns his head without moving his body. His face still houses the same sad expression.
“So, where should we talk?” I ask, trying to sound cheery.
“Wherever you would like.”
“Okay…in that case, let’s go to my house. Come with me, my car’s this way.” I lead Michael to my car and get in. Michael walks slowly after me and finally climbs in. He’s lost that confident stride that is always present. Something must really be eating away at him.
After a short drive, we make it home. Michael refuses to take a tour of my place, insisting that we talk immediately. I lead him to the living room and he sits down on the sofa. He looks at me as if he is waiting for me to sit down as well.
“Would you have a seat?” he asks with his arm outstretched to the couch.
“What kind of hostess would I be if I didn’t ask you if you wanted a drink or something?”
“I’m fine thank you, but you really need to hear this. It’s a long story.”
I decide to bite and take a seat on the sofa next to him. Michael takes a deep breath before turning towards me and placing a soft hand on my shoulder.
“I need you not to freak out, no matter what I say,” Michael instructs patiently. “It’s going to sound completely psychotic, but I can prove everything I’m saying. You just need to give me time, patience, and a little bit of open-mindedness. Can you handle that?”
“I’d like to think I’m an open-minded person,” I answer in mild confusion. “What could possibly make me freak out? I told you my entire story, everything. I put myself out on a limb for you and you didn’t judge me. I’ll never forget that.”
“Yes…well, this is a little different.”
“And speaking of which,” I continue on as if he never spoke, “it’s obvious Vincent wasn’t lying. There’s something you’re not tel
ling me. I want you to know, that is completely unfair. It’s messed up in so many ways, I can’t even begin to count them all. I put my heart out there for you, and you just left me there. How could you do that to me?”
“I know, it was wrong.”
“You made me think I was being ‘courted’ by some gentleman. Well, here’s a newsflash: gentlemen don’t lie. And not telling me everything is a lie by omission,” I once again carry on, not letting him speak. “I thought you said you don’t lie? Weren’t you the one that made the truth out to be extremely important? What could possibly be that important or insane that you would keep something from me after all the insanity I told you? You went back on your own golden rule, buddy and I have to admit, I never expected that from—”
“I’m a werewolf,” Michael says, loud enough to halt my rant before I get to the good part.
I just sit there and look at him in disbelief. I’m waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. We just sit there for two minutes without saying a word to one another. Two minutes is an eternity if you are sitting in silence. Finally I clear my throat, hoping this will be enough of a nudge to get him to continue on with his confession.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Michael continues finally. “I would never do that to you. Nor was it a lie of omission. Had you asked me if I was a supernatural creature, I would have answered yes. The chances of you asking such a question were microscopic, of course, but my point is, I just left out certain details to protect you. I had every intention to tell you after this current crisis was over.”
“Crisis?” I say, my eyes widening.
“Yes,” Michael says as he looks down at the ground. “There’s a huge event going on in town right now, and I was going to tell you right after I had managed to solve the problem. I didn’t tell you in the mean time because I was afraid you would want to escort me. Escorting me would be bad for your health as I try to fix this current…problem. I don’t think you’re ready yet to see my other forms.”
“Your other forms?” I ask incredulously. “And what about the Russian? That was an obvious lie. And you don’t work in anything that’s eco-friendly!”
“Actually, I do work for the environment,” Michael corrects calmly. “A werewolf is a being picked by nature itself. It runs in bloodlines, as most things do. Our job is to keep the order of nature balanced. We seek out evil and corruption and slay it, if need be. The Russian I mentioned is behind this current threat. I just left the part out that would have endangered your safety.”
I exhale deeply as I sit back into the corner of the couch. This is a lot to take in. Is Michael completely insane? He leans closer to me and places both of his hands on my knees.
“Almost everything you’ve ever read about werewolves, about 95% of it,” Michael says softly as he looks into my eyes. “All of that…is completely true, with minor variations here and there.”
“You expect me to believe you’re a wolf man?” I say sarcastically, fear growing inside me. Michael is really creeping me out. “Not a good first few dates we’re having here…”
Michael reaches behind his back and pulls out a very large knife. I recoil and jump up and out from the couch, heading towards my phone. I’m calling the cops and getting this guy away from me before I make the six o’clock news. But before I make it to the phone, Michael is there. He has the phone in his hand and he is offering it to me.
“Please, let me prove it to you,” Michael says as I grab the phone from him. “If you still don’t believe me, I’ll leave you alone and you’ll never see me again. Please, trust me. I would never lie to you.”
I look at the phone hesitantly. Michael backs away from me slowly. I put the phone back down and wait.
“What are you going to do?” I ask nervously as I look at that humongous knife.
“I know this is going to seem crazy, but please, don’t freak out,” Michael says as he goes to the kitchen and comes back with a roll of paper towels. “I’m going to slice my wrists, dry the blood off, and show you why you couldn’t find a scratch on me back at the parking lot.”
“That seems a little dramatic and extreme, don’t you think?” I chuckle nervously. A broken nose is one thing; a foot-long knife was a different story.
Without hesitation Michael slashes his left forearm with the knife and blood rushes down to the ground. I see a blur of movement as Michael stands in place. This definitely ranks as one of the weirdest experiences I’ve ever had. When the blur disappears, I see Michael cradling his left arm. The large knife is on the floor, clean and spotless. But his left forearm has a huge, nasty gash all alongside it. Michael has his right hand inside the wound, and it seems like he’s holding it open.
“What? What just happened?” I ask frantically. “All I saw was a blur, and the knife is now on the floor and I didn’t hear or see anything!.”
“The blur you saw was me using the paper towel to catch all the blood as it left the wound before it hit your floor. After I did that, I used more paper towels to clean the knife and place it gently on the floor to not leave a mess and scratch the finish,” Michael says as he focuses his attention to his wound and his right hand. “And my right hand is holding the wound open. If I wasn’t holding the wound open, it would have closed, and you wouldn’t have believed me when I said I cut myself. Especially after seeing the clean knife and all. This is no trick, please, come see for yourself.”
I trust Michael. And as creepy as this all is, I walk closer and look at his injury. He definitely needs a hospital. Michael looks at me and removes his right hand. As he does that, right before my eyes, I see the gargantuan wound heal on its own. Within seconds, there is nothing there, not even a scar.
“Is that why your eyes changed color?” I ask, starting to piece everything together. “Why you’re so unbelievably strong?”
“Yes, I have many traits that make me unique to humans, all supers do,” Michael says as he picks up the knife and drops it in my sink. “That’s what people or things that aren’t human refer to one another as. Supers. We’ve been called many things since we were written about millenniums ago. But now, humans refer to everything unexplained or seemingly unnatural as supernatural or paranormal. That makes us supernatural beings, to humans at least, so I suppose the term supers just fit. But rest assured, we’ve been here a long time. We didn’t just pop up out of nowhere. What humans consider monsters or urban legends are really just a part of nature. It’s merely a facet of the world that human beings don’t know about.”
“This is amazing,” I say with a gigantic smile. I’m sure I’m blushing, but I’m even more sure that I don’t care at this point. “All my life I’ve been looking for you. Just so that I would know I wasn’t crazy. About my mom, I mean.”
“I know what this discovery must mean to you, Liz,” Michael says with a warm smile. “But you mustn’t out us. It would not only endanger you and all of my fellow supers, but it would endanger the world itself.”
He motions me back to the sofa so that we can continue talking. He sits down, seemingly relieved that he didn’t have to do any more circus tricks to convince me, and that I had taken the news so well.
“Well what else can you do?” I say with childish glee in my voice. “I want to know everything there is to know. Are werewolves evil? When you said 95%, were you exaggerating?” Michael raises his hand and smiles gently.
“Let’s take this slowly,” he suggests. “This is like jumping into a new world, an alien planet. Except it’s the real world, one most people don’t think could ever possibly exist. Is there any particular thing you want to know? There’s a lot to understand, and I’ll teach you whatever you want to know, as long as it doesn’t endanger you. Is there a particularly ghoulie that interests you most?” He laughs and covers his face as he leans back into the arm of the sofa. He’s more adorable now than ever. It seems like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.
“Well, I guess my favorite creature of the night is the werewolf…now,” I s
ay suggestively. “Why don’t you tell me more about your people? The werewolves.”
He uncovers his face and tilts his head to the side. “Mostly, we’re the good guys,” he begins slowly, pensively. Obviously, he is putting much thought into his words. “Like with anything else in life, there are a couple bad apples. Werewolves are imbued with their power by nature itself, to protect the balance, just as I said earlier. We make sure that the entire world is protected, from humans and supers alike. Like a secret police, I suppose. I’m not a first generation werewolf: I inherited the power from my father. But if nature itself did not deem me worthy to harness this power, I would have died when the power ‘entered’ me, so to speak.”
“But you said there are some bad apples,” I interject, the curiosity being too much to bear. “How could there be bad apples that were chosen by nature? Why didn’t they die when the power entered them if they were bad people? Would nature allow evil men and women to have the power you have?”
“It’s about balance mostly,” Michael explains. “Eventually, the evil ones will be rooted out and killed. But killing a werewolf is extremely difficult, even for the most powerful of supers. Like Vincenzo for example.”
“Vincent isn’t a werewolf, is he?”
“You’re a keen observer,” he replies with an admiring stare. “Correct, Vincenzo is not a werewolf. He is what humans would call a vampire; one that is close to sixteen hundred years old. He has seen much. And with some supers, especially vampires and werewolves, the longer we live, the more powerful we become. We gain new abilities, take basic abilities to an enhanced form. It gets a little complicated, I suppose.”
“So are you and Vincent immortal?”
“We’ll never die of old age,” Michael answers somberly. “Only a violent death will end our lives.”
“How old are you?” I ask cautiously, sensing this question to be a dangerous area.
“Exactly?” Michael chuckles softly. “I was born in 1478, in Genoa, Italy. It was a port city, fishing and trading was a huge source of income there. So naturally, I became a sailor, and that’s how I met Vincenzo.”
“But I thought vampires and werewolves were mortal enemies,” I conjecture, feeling more than a little silly treating this as a scholarly debate. “How are you two best friends?”
Michael’s expression changes immediately. I can tell that he’s remembering something painful. A memory that flashes him back to a time he had wanted to forget.
“That’s an extremely long story. Vampires and werewolves aren’t natural enemies or anything. There was a time when they were considered to even be the same thing. The two species are just two of the more dominant ones amongst the super community. With our duties as protectors of the balance and the large vampire population, we’re bound to have some unpleasant run-ins. It’s unfortunate, but werewolves are almost universally disliked,” Michael almost mumbles to himself. “And the way Vincenzo and I met…that’s particularly boring.”
“How about you give me the short version then?” I ask as I bat my eyes. I’m truly intrigued.
“Very well, the short version then, but don’t blame me when you find yourself snoring,” he says. “As I mentioned, I was born in Genoa, in 1478. Does that city and time period bring any particular event to your mind?”
“Of course,” I reply instantly. “The Renaissance was in full swing, and Columbus was about to embark upon his journey in about two decades.”
“Indeed,” he replies pensively. It’s as if Michael’s eyes lose their brightness, their light. He is reliving a very hard memory. “Things back then weren’t easy. Lives came cheap; it would later on be known throughout history as this beautiful age of enlightenment. That wasn’t my experience, though. Humans tend to be superstitious at heart, and although the majority of the world had long come to know and accept that the world was round, you still had your naysayers. They were in complete denial. My father was a werewolf, and he taught me all he could about the true world. The world that nowadays would be laughed at by modern-day scientists. He explained to me how dark and dangerous the true world was, ‘the world behind the curtain’ he used to call it.”
“So, not only did you have to deal with the harsh environment around you,” I muse aloud. “But you also had to live with the knowledge that things were actually out there, all around you. Things that were much worse?”
He turns to me and swallows hard. He closes his eyes and nods his head sadly.
“More so than anyone could ever understand, even my father,” Michael replies with much melancholy in his voice. “You see, I understood everything my father taught me. He explained much about supers and their legends in our nearby surroundings, but he also knew that our land was not the only land in the world. It was impossible, he thought, especially after Marco Polo made his discovery of the Orient. After that, it became my father’s mission to find out more about other supers, it was his driving force.”
Michael inhales and exhales deeply before cracking his neck. He stares at me in what could only be called confusion. It seems as if he is conflicted with himself. He doesn’t know whether to continue or not.
“Michael, if you’d rather not…I understand,” I say assuredly. And I mean it, too. As much as I need to hear this, the first true breakthrough in my search for what really happened to my mother, I don’t want him to feel strained in telling me his history. He had kept this secret world, the ‘world behind the curtain’ from me, surely he had his own reasons for doing so.
“Can I have a cold glass of water?” Michael asks as I notice him examining me. He’s checking me for body language, I assume. Michael is much more pensive than usual.
I agree and without saying a word I make my way to the kitchen and grab one of the bottled waters I typically keep in the fridge. When I come back he is sitting down on the floor, looking out the window. He takes my offering and thanks me before opening it up and drinking it.
“It’s been a while since I spoke about this to anyone,” Michael continues. “Now that Vincenzo is involved, I think you should know more. Vincenzo likes to…mess with people’s minds and cause a ruckus. It’s fun for him. It’s his way of dealing with his life, I suppose.”
“Why is Vincent’s appearance such a big deal? Is he a threat to you? Could he really kill you if he wanted to?”
“I don’t know,” Michael admits without hesitation and with a hint of fear. “As I said, he is extremely long-lived. He’s gained powers beyond what almost any super can even imagine. By birth, those of the tribe—that’s what werewolves refer to each other as—we are created stronger. We’re more powerful than the vast majority of what we have to face. But sometimes, things like Vincenzo happen, and they slip through the cracks. For whatever reason however, Vincenzo chose to spare my life, one day…very long ago.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that,” I say, trying to make sense of it all. “Why would a vampire save your life? He had to have known you were a werewolf, right? I mean, a member of the tribe?”
Michael looks up at me and grins before taking another sip of water.
“You can call me a werewolf,” he reassures me, still smiling. “I’ve been called worse. There’s a chance he didn’t know I was a tribe member. It’s a small one, but it’s still a chance.”
He turns his attention back out towards the stars and gazes at them almost in admiration. “It’s amazing, don’t you think?” he muses aloud. “Centuries ago, we had no idea of the vastness of the cosmos. Now it’s present day, and we still have no idea of what’s really out there. We don’t even know what’s on this planet; I suppose it’s too much to expect us to know what’s beyond the stars.”
I allow him this brief moment of contemplation before beginning my line of questioning once more. I clear my throat.. “So, this became your father’s mission?”
“Ah, yes, it did,” Michael says as if he were pulled out suddenly from a trance. “My father wanted to travel the world, see new things, experience new supers and se
e what they could do. He felt he had a responsibility to humanity. It was my father’s goal in life to ensure humans came to grow as nature intended them to. But the majority of the supers my father had run into were evil and depraved, and he had to take them down. This was something I feel he never was able to find comfort in doing. But as the years went by, and I grew normally, my father found out about Columbus, and followed his work closely.”
“The Columbus? As in Christopher Columbus?”
“The one and same,” he confirms immediately. “My father placed himself close in Columbus’s entourage. Most of the tribe can sense feelings, emotions if you will. We can’t read minds or anything like that, but we can sense your general disposition. A werewolf that cannot sense feelings is typically being punished for some great wrong he did, and has been cut off from the majority of the powers we normally have access to.”
“Can you sense what I’m feeling?” I say playfully with a large smile as I inch my way closer.
Michael’s expression grows serious as he looks me straight in the eyes.
“No, I can’t sense anything from you,” he confesses grimly before narrowing his eyes. “And I still have access to all my other powers.”
Taken aback by this, I sit down on the back of my legs and sigh. Why can’t Michael sense my feelings? Did he do something wrong? He claims to have the rest of his “powers” intact…
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Michael says as if he is able to read my mind. “I still feel nature’s will. If I were not able to sense it, I would never have made it here to resolve the problem haunting your town.”
There’s so much I want to know. I’m careful, however; I don’t know how much he will be willing to tell me in one single sitting. But this latest development really irks me. Why can’t he tell what I’m feeling? Had I done something wrong?
“Do you know why you can’t sense my emotions, Michael?”
“I have a very good idea,” Michael answers, once again clearing his throat.
“Why? Why can’t you sense my emotions?”
“I will not answer that question,” Michael states firmly. “I won’t lie to you, and there’s no chance of me telling you what the answer is. I suggest you drop it. I’m doing what’s best for everyone here.”
“Everyone?!” I argue in outrage. “What about me? Don’t I have a say in this? Don’t I count as a part of everyone?”
“You do,” he says calmly, never losing his temper. “However, I will not tell you the truth. As being overly honest is one of my glaring faults, I’d rather be upfront and direct and just say I refuse to tell you. At least for now.”
“How sure are you?” I ask growing in desperation. “You say you have a good idea, what’s a good idea? You’re sure to what extent? Like 80%?”
“I’m 99.9% sure, Liz…” Michael answers as if ready to be bombarded by me. And he will be bombarded.
“99.9%?! That’s not a ‘good idea,’ that’s you being as sure as you could possibly be, isn’t it?! Never could it be something else. So what is it? Why can’t you read my feelings and emotions? I want you to! I need you to know what I really feel.”
“I say ‘I have a good idea’ because I also believe in ‘never saying never’,” he replies, unaffected by my tantrum. “And I’d also like to think I know how you feel. I would like to believe I can trust you. Personally, I feel as if I know I can trust you.”
I sit there silently in frustration for a few moments as Michael gazes up at the stars.
“All right well, then what happened?” I ask, finally giving up. “Your father became close to Columbus, did he sail with him?”
“Yes, yes he did, and I went with him,” Michael answers, seemingly relieved that I’ve given up, for now. “As I’m sure you know, it was a long voyage. Columbus was a brilliant navigator, able to steer clear of almost every weather condition we could’ve encountered. But we sailed for so long, every day; the crew spoke more and more of mutiny. My father and I had no idea of what to do. For weeks we slept uneasily, wondering what would befall us if Columbus was murdered. Luckily however, we found land. We disembarked and greeted the indigenous people, and I’m sure you know the rest.”
“Yes, I do,” I say confidently. “The natives there worshipped the landing party as gods, and they offered up gold, clothing, even their wives. But there was a misunderstanding.”
“Eventually there was, yes,” Michael says. “As I said, Columbus was a brilliant navigator and sailor, but he was a terrible leader. After a while, he decided to go back to Spain and bring some of the natives with him as proof of his discovery. Those poor people thought they were being carried to heaven. In Columbus’ absence, the sailors grew even more ruthless than before. My father wouldn’t stand for that.”
A sudden pause in Michael’s story foretold his pain. I believe I see tears escapes his eyes as he relives what must have been a horror for him.
“My father stood up to the sailors, defending the natives there. He refused to hurt the men, though, as he had promised to never harm a human,” he continues, speaking in a low tone. “Eventually he was shot and stabbed, many, many times. They tried fire, decapitation, hanging…but he would not die; he was a tribesman, after all. So they turned their attention on me, knowing me to be his son. They accused my father of being a witch; they accused me of being a demon’s offspring. And then that’s when it happened. My father, perhaps by nature’s own hand, gave me all of his power. His memories and experiences, everything, in the blink of an eye. I vomited immediately; it was too much to handle. My father then taunted them, one last time. They ran a bayonet right through his heart, but this time, he was not a werewolf…he died that second.”
“Wait, wait,” I say, befuddled. “I thought you were a member of the tribe? Why would he need to give you his power? Didn’t you already have it?”
“My mother was human,” he explains remorsefully. “When I refer to us as members of the tribe, it might make things vague and confusing. You can have two werewolf parents and be born without any sort of power. Your body will be a bit sturdier than most, you’ll be healthier and stronger, but that’s it. You don’t have the powers they do, but you’re still a member of the tribe. You still have the potential of one day being tapped by nature to serve the balance, as a werewolf. There’s hundreds of thousands of members of the tribe, we all share the same DNA you could say. But only a couple hundred members of the tribe are actual werewolves, if that. The werewolves are the ones primarily responsible for keeping the balance, the ones with powers. A werewolf is made only when nature feels one is necessary. When that time comes, a tribesman will be tapped. There are other ways of becoming a werewolf, but that’s not really something to talk about for now.”
I nod sympathetically. I know exactly what it feels like to have a family member taken from me right before my eyes. I stop myself from weeping in front of him. His pain strikes very close to home for me.
“And your leather jacket?” I ask in an attempt to get my mind off of all the sadness. “You said it was your father’s.”
“I fashioned myself that jacket from the little belongings he left on this earth,” Michael explains sadly. “Every few years I rework it, patch it up as needed…it becomes my father’s less and less as time goes by. I try not to wear it anymore.”
After a horrible attempt at clearing the air, I allow him a breather from his story. If he wants to continue, he will. But I want him to do it at his own pace.
“Regardless, that’s when Vincenzo came in,” Michael continues, his head hanging low. “He ripped the throats out of all of the sailors, picked me up and carried me away. He even taught me more than my father did. I still remember him talking about how at his age, the old feuds seem childish. As a matter of fact, he even taught me how to master my werewolf abilities.”
I shake my head in disbelief. How could the Vincent I just met be the Vincent that Michael was now describing? It didn’t make sense.
“You shake your head?�
�� Michael questions whimsically. “It’s just that Vincenzo has phases. He goes through periods of being extremely bored. At least I can say that he doesn’t feed on humans.”
“Oh, jeez, is he one of those vegetarian vampires that feed only on animals?” I say in disbelief.
“Not exactly,” Michael replies, lowering one eyebrow. “That stuff in the movies is getting closer and closer to fact, but vampires don’t feed like that. They could, I should make that clear. But they consume blood for life. It would require an obscene amount of animal blood to get the same effect. At least that’s the way Vincenzo describes it.”
“So how does he do it? Is it even safe to be around him?”
“Vincenzo is so ancient, he requires very little blood to survive,” Michael explains. “That’s another reason I feel he doesn’t affect the balance of nature much. He can go months without a single drop, but when he does feed, he goes to blood banks. There’s a heart somewhere in Vincenzo’s chest, he’s just…not comfortable showing it. He feels he’s superior to humans and he puts on that air of superiority. But he hasn’t killed a human in centuries. I would know, because of the balance. He owns major blood banks around the world. And even without them, he could very easily get the blood he needs from willing humans. There are plenty of ordinary people who know about the world behind the curtain.”
I sigh in relief. But with all these things being laid out on the table like this, all it does is to serve up even more questions. The term “world behind the curtain” doesn’t even begin to describe this for what it truly is. My thoughts race back to every memory, every word that I’ve experienced these last few weeks. The more I think about it, the more it confuses me.
“Could you sense what Vincent was feeling today?” I have to know if he can keep me safe from Vincent. I also wanted to know if supers could use their powers against other supers. I was intrigued by his bad boy image, but after hearing Michael’s story about Vincent…a vampire? I was very concerned.
“I could,” Michael says. “I’ve never told anyone that I could sense Vincenzo’s emotions. I’m also relatively certain he thinks his elder status makes him immune to my abilities; but Vincenzo underestimates the tribe.”
“Well, are you going to tell me what Vincent was feeling?”
“Desperation…fear,” Michael answers, almost as if he shares Vincent’s dread. “It would seem that he’s obsessed with the ring. It’s making him nervous, and he’s about to become unhinged. We don’t want Vincenzo to fly off the handle. That would certainly cause a public spectacle. Many people would get hurt, or worse.”
“What’s the ring?” I turn to study Michael’s face. I know that expression. His brow is furrowed and his mind is racing. He doesn’t know if he wants to tell me. After hearing what he had just said about Vincent, I’m not sure I want to know. But I press on.
“Michael, are you going to tell me what the ring is?”
I ask again in hopes of softening his resistance. But Michael only looks me in the eye with the same uncertain look. Now I know for sure. I know I don’t want to know what the ring is, but I need to know. But will Michael budge?
