The Accords Triptych (Book 2): Bloodstream

by Ian Thomas

  Another lie.

  Or another deception. Not one of Matteo’s, Ben believed.

  Sprinting through the foyer of the Plaza, he made it onto the street. Distraught, he didn’t see the man behind him. About to run to Matteo, his path was blocked by a large SUV. A black hood covered his head, zip-tied shut. Hands grabbed him and he was wrestled into the car. Doors slammed and the truck lurched away.

  Someone pressed close to him.

  “This here’s for Dylan, ya feckin’ gobshite.”

  Then a silver blade slid slowly into his abdomen.

  XXXIV

  Another hour max, Mouth thought.

  The response was taking a little more brain power than he could afford. The problem with getting A’s more often than not was that when it came to a task he wanted I do well in, he felt more pressure.

  Particularly with this one.

  Double Indemnity wasn’t just one of his favorites but also his professor’s. Or at least that’s what the hour long gush fest on Friday had indicated. Which left him in the precarious position of writing in a way that didn’t seem like he was sucking up. Mouth decided he’d hammer it out to the best of his ability and then have Rebecca rescue it once he got to the radio station.

  She’d given him the extra time to work on it before the show with the assurance she’d plan the show. With McLachlan.

  Mouth wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Of course, if it meant he could stay on top of his workload, he was willing to accept anything.

  And he could change anything once he got there. He just wouldn’t tell them that.

  Concentrate, he told himself. Less than an hour now.

  Lost in the words and the joy of Billy Wilder’s 1944 masterpiece, he didn’t hear the door open behind him. When it clicked shut, he looked up.

  “Jase?!” he asked surprised. His prodigal roommate had been back a couple of days now but with the attack on Dylan, the revelation about this Colton guy, and the general mayhem that their lives had turned into, Mouth hadn’t had a proper chance to catch up.

  “Hey,” Jason said with a smile. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Because you haven’t,” Mouth replied, looking at his friend closely. “Dude, you look like shit.”

  “Yeah, not feeling so good.”

  “Did you buy cheap sushi again?” Mouth asked. “Or did you forget the teriyaki terror of last April?”

  “Nah,” Jason laughed. “Just the late nights catching up with me. Plus our course load. And the gym.”

  “About that…”

  “Yeah not sure either. Guess I Mitch-judged the fallout of the Mitch-uation.”

  “Stop. Please. You’re puns are sadder than you look.”

  “Got any water?”

  “Yeah, we’re still working through that case from Costco remember. Under your bed.”

  “Cool,” Jason said. He sat on the bed and felt around underneath until he found what he was looking for. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “It’s good to be seen. Though you were the one M-I-A.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No stress. Good to have you back.”

  “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at the station?”

  “Trying to finish my film response. Sophomore year is shit.”

  “It really is.”

  “Are you keeping up?” Mouth knew he wasn’t but felt it was worth asking. Bex hadn’t seen Jason at many of her tutorials but he was still getting the work done somehow. Their RA had apparently had phone calls and emails about him missing other classes. Enough to be noticed by the administration.

  “Barely.”

  “Maybe less time at the gym.”

  “But gains,” Jason laughed, lying on his side.

  “Dude, I think you should go to the medical center. You look terrible. Like roadkill terrible.”

  “I’ll be good. Just…sleep.” Jason stood up and went to his closet. Mouth went back to his computer and rattled off a couple more sentences. Hitting save he figured he was close to done. Anything else would come up in the edit. About 4 in the morning.

  As he packed up, he glanced at Jason getting undressed. Mouth stopped when he saw the bulk to Jason’s body. Having roomed with the guy for a year already Mouth thought he knew Jason’s body. Not knew knew. In a biblical sense. But he’d seen the scrawny beanpole enough to know that the sculpted shoulders, muscled arms and rippling back was not…normal.

  “The fuck!”

  “What?” Jason asked glancing over his shoulder.

  “Don’t ‘what’ me! You. Look at you. What the fuck is up with your body?!”

  “The gym,” Jason said.

  “Not in – what? Four weeks?! I call bullshit!”

  Jason kept his back to Mouth, head hanging in shame. “Look, don’t judge okay, but…after the whole Mitch thing. Well, it really messed me up. S-so I was talking to this guy at the coffee shop and…bought some steroids off him.”

  “Steroids?! Are fucking shitting me?!” Mouth yelled. “On what planet was that good idea?”

  Jason finally turned around, embarrassed. “It just got to me is all. No guy I’m attracted to is gonna look at me when I’m some stick.”

  “This is messed up,” Mouth said, startled to see Jason’s swollen chest and six – no what, eight pack of muscles. “That’s why you’re sick. You’ve dosed on something bad and probably screwed up your kidneys, liver, everything.”

  “No, I’m all good,” Jason replied firmly. “It’s just something I ate.”

  Mouth regarded him closely. What little he knew of steroids and jocks from high school told him this change was impossible in four weeks. Even on steroids. Unless he was triple dosing. But Jason wasn’t stupid. Well, not that stupid.

  Then he saw it.

  Scar tissue on Jason’s shoulder.

  “Holy shit,” Mouth swore, the world seeming slow. “You’ve been bit. You’re a werewolf.”

  XXXV

  A nervous glance at the night sky between the buildings told Mills it was there.

  Despite the light pollution of New York City, the full moon hung ominously above. The only consolation was how dwarfed it seemed against the city skyline compared to the countryside of the chapter house.

  The moon held more prevalence for him now. Learning that Somerset was a werewolf in… Was it remission? Denial? Rejection? There really should be a term, he thought. However it was described, learning that Mills had felt an unease around the full moon. And the man.

  His life was much easier when he considered all supernatural beings to be monsters. Other. Evil. The Bad. Lately those waters had been well muddied. Between meeting Matteo and McLachlan and the surrealism of the cocktail party, Mills had literally rubbed shoulders with more supernaturals than he thought possible.

  Truthfully he preferred when the waters were clearer. He understood how ignorance truly could be bliss.

  “So what do you feel like tonight?” Somerset as they exited the modest hotel for the bustling sidewalk. “Greek? Japanese? Moroccan?”

  “What happened to good old American?” Mills complained.

  “It got fancy,” Somerset replied with a smile. “Come on, I know a place. Probably on the young and hip side but you’ll have to cope.”

  “Oh ha ha.” Possibly more unexpected than finding out Somerset was an abstaining werewolf was that he was a foodie. Not that Mills was complaining. He’d never eaten so well in his life. Hardly about to ask where the money was coming from, he just accepted that Somerset had invested in property throughout his long adult life.

  “Shouldn’t we be worried about Milton’s poem?” Mills had asked, remembering the panic it caused among the wolves.

  Somerset’s face hardened. “I realize Miss Miller is quite the accomplished academic but I struggle to take something so calamitous as Colton being alive from a word-find. Where’s he been for the past five years? Colton was far too much of showman to stay out of the spotlight.�
�

  “Unless…”

  “Trust me on this one.”

  After a subway ride downtown they wended their way through the narrow dark streets looking for the restaurant. Mills was sure Somerset had gotten them lost. Especially when they passed Starbucks for the second time. But then there were more Starbucks at intersections in this city than his whole hometown in Indiana. How he missed that simple life.

  “Are you sure you know where this place is?”

  “Yes, it just has a very nondescript exterior. That’s part of the charm.”

  “Ten more minutes of wandering and then we’re heading to McDonalds.”

  “Heathen.”

  Out of nowhere a gust of wind threw them to one side. Mills caught himself on a hydrant but Somerset ended up sprawled on the sidewalk.

  “Somerset! You okay?” he cried, helping the man up.

  “Take more than a rogue wind to do any damage. Now let’s find this restaurant.” They continued to walk another couple of streets when Mills noticed their pace had slowed. He looked at Somerset and saw the man had a light sweat on his brow.

  “Hey, you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should just get a cab?”

  “I’m–” Wincing, he doubled over. Mills caught him and eased him onto a stoop.

  “I’m getting a cab,” Mills stated firmly, turning to the empty street. Million cabs on every other street but not when he needed one.

  Behind him Somerset moaned in pain. Forgetting the cab, Mills went to the man, his basic first aid training from the academy coming back to him.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

  “Everywhere,” the man said, his voice firmer as he clutched his mid-section. Mills put a hand to his forehead, amazed at the heat coming off Somerset’s skin.

  “Here,” Mills said, look at me. He needed to connect with the man to take his mind off whatever pain was consuming him. Except when Somerset looked up, Mills recoiled, falling back onto the pavement.

  Before him was a man who looked like Somerset but easily twenty, no thirty years younger. Somerset cried out again, balling up against the pain. Suddenly his clothes strained as his body filled out, seams tearing, fabric stretched to ripping point.

  “W-what’s h-happ–” But his words were cut short by another grunt of pain. Desperately he looked at Mills, his face now smooth, wrinkle free, youthful, his hair jet black.

  Mills had no words for him. He stared incredulous at the twenty-something man who sat where his eighty-plus year old mentor had been, and in the same clothes now stretched tight.

  The pain seemed to ease. Somerset’s young face now etched with concern at what had happened. He held up his hands looking at the smooth, supple skin, flexing the joints and enjoying the mobility. Then his eyes widened in terror.

  “My ring.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  “No, idiot! My ring. It suppresses the curse. Makes me human.” Somerset stood, wild-eyed with fear. “It’s gone.”

  “Looking for this?” a pale young woman asked, appearing suddenly near them. She held up the ring between her fingers, a cruel smile on her lips. “Mine now.”

  A vampire, Mills thought. Anger rolled through him venomously. He started for her but she was gone.

  “M-Mills,” Somerset grunted. Looking back, the now younger man doubled over again. What now, he thought, how much more Benjamin Button could this night get? “R-r-run!”

  Somerset’s head popped up, eyes gold and black, teeth extended into fangs.

  XXXVI

  Jason laughed.

  “Nice one,” he said. “I think I’d know if I was bitten. Or a werewolf.”

  “Then what’s that scar on your shoulder? Looks a lot like a bite mark to me.”

  “Because you’re a complete expert on werewolves now, huh?” Jason threw back, his anger growing. “I knew this was gonna happen. The minute we found out about werewolves and vampires, I knew you’d get all fanboy and shit. Bro, you’re my best friend, but how about we just accept the more reasonable and actual case that I took steroids.”

  “Only in your head would taking steroids be reasonable. And don’t call me bro.”

  “How to put this nicely, oh yeah. Fuck you.”

  “Jason, listen to me. You’ve been bitten. You are a werewolf. And it’s a full moon. And this is a crowded dorm. Fuck!”

  “Seriously, dude. Chill.” Jason grabbed his gym bag and rummaged through it. He found a tin pencil box and opened it. “See, here. A vial of trenbolone and one of testosterone. Swabs and needles. There! Happy? Now you see my dirty little addiction.”

  “Jase,” Mouth said, suddenly scared for his friend. “There’s nothing in there.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Jason said, his hand shuffling around the empty interior of the metal case. He withdrew his hand and held up his fingers a couple inches apart. “I’m holding a vial.”

  “Y-your hand is empty.”

  “What’s your problem?!” Jason demanded angrily. “You know wha–”

  “Jason!” Mouth shouted. “There is nothing in your hand. There is nothing in the tin. You have not been taking steroids. You’ve been sired.”

  Angrily, Jason threw the vial at Mouth. When he didn’t duck nor anything actually struck him, Jason started to understand the words.

  “No,” he said absently.

  “Hey, maybe we should get out of here?” Mouth suggested. “Head to Matteo’s he’ll know what to do.”

  “How?”

  “Guessing Ben?”

  “The alley,” Jason said, realization hitting him. “Behind the coffee shop. Not Ben. His friend. And the vampire. She did this. She made me believe…lies. Oh god, Malcolm.”

  “Hey, Jase, you need to calm down,” Mouth said, reaching for his phone. “And we need to go. Grab some clothes. You’re disappearing for three nights.”

  Hearing the urgency in Mouth’s voice, Jason grabbed his gym bag and started for the closet.

  “Huge problem,” Mouth said into his phone. “Jason’s a werewolf.”

  “What?!” Rebecca cried down the line.

  “Full on boy bander, abs and all.”

  “Where are you?!”

  “The dorm.”

  “Shit!”

  “No, really?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Because now’s when I turn into the boy who cried werewolf. Seriously?!”

  “Pull the fire alarm,” she said. “Clear the hall. Can you restrain him?”

  “What with? My charm and personality?”

  “I was thinking more belts and ties. Maybe to the radiator.”

  “Not everyone one has a radiator in their dorm roo – never mind, I see one.”

  “Right, let’s go,” Jason said, his voice less lost than it had been. “That Bex, tell her I say hi.”

  “Jason says h – fuck, who gives a shit?!”

  “Mouth, listen carefully. Is there a pentagram scar on his hand? In the palm?”

  “Check your hands,” Mouth said, pointing at Jason. He looked at the backs when Mouth gestured for him to turn them over. Jason’s eyes widened when he saw the scar on his left palm. “We have a pentagram.”

  “Shit, this is really happening.”

  “You think?!”

  “Shit. You’re gonna have to pull the alarm,” Rebecca said. “None of the War Wolves will be around. Being the full moon and all.”

  “No really? I had no idea.”

  “Do you want my help?”

  “Do you want me to be Fido’s dinner?”

  “I’m right here,” Jason yelled, his anxiety rising.

  “What else you got?” Mouth asked desperately, fiddling with the handycam on his desk. He didn’t know why but he had a sudden urge to be like everyone else in his generation and record the moment for posterity. Considering posterity was going to be a lot sooner for him than he had expected.

  “Alarm! Now!” Stumbling across the beds, Mouth lurched into the desert
ed hall and found the fire alarm. He took a breath and pulled it. Instantly the siren filled the air. Before students started out of their rooms, he flew back into his suite and slammed the door. “Good. Now restraints.”

  “Ungh,” Jason grunted, clutching at his stomach. Eyes clenched shut in pain, he staggered and fell against bed.

  “Oh shit,” Mouth said, making sure the camera was getting this. “We have grunts.”

  “He-help. Mouth, help m-me.” Desperately Jason looked at Mouth, but his eyes were now black with gold irises in the middle. Struggling to stand, Jason clawed at the bed. Actually clawed at the sheets, sharp talons slicing through the fabric. He looked in terror as his fingers grew into claws. More pain doubled him over. A deep cry slipped out on the next breath.

  Dropping the phone, Mouth pulled out his dresser drawer and scooped up a handful of belts. Body-checking Jason, he knocked him down against the radiator. He struggled with one wrist and then the other. Jason seeming to register what he was trying to do and helping, despite the painful transformation.

  “S-sorry f-f-for being a d-dick.”

  “Being a dick’s the least of your problems.”

  His skin slick with sweat, muscles started to pulse and swell beneath the surface. Bones popped as his vertebrae enlarged and lengthened.

  A knock at the door startled Mouth.

  “Mouth?! Jason?! You in there?!” It was Rob, their RA.

  “Just me,” Mouth yelled back.

  “Come on. We’re evacuating.”

  “Shit, now what?” Mouth demanded over the phone.

  “You can’t leave him.”

  “I know that. But the RA’s at the door.”

  “It’ll be chaos,” Rebecca said, her voice calm. “Leave the room and then double back when no one’s looking.”

  Mouth did as he was told, phone in his pocket. Rob was in the corridor, decked out in a fluorescent safety vest and clipboard. He attempted a panicked half smile when he saw Mouth emerge from the room.

  “No Jase?! I heard shouting?”

  “Called my family,” Mouth said. “Never pretty.”

  When Mouth saw Rob had cleared their section of rooms, he ducked into a doorway and waited for the crowd to thin. Then headed back to his room.