by Mac Flynn
"You sure?" she persisted.
"No, but I'm going to do it anyway," I replied.
Sherry stood and shot an unfriendly glance at Roland. "Don't take too much or I might think about going into the vampire hunting business."
Roland bowed his head. "I will be careful."
"I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you two," she promised. She left, and I turned to Roland.
"So now what? You need a straw?" I suggested.
Roland looked me in the eyes with a steady gaze. "You're sure you want to do this?"
I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him. "You want a free tap or not?"
"Very well. There will be some pain," he told me.
Roland lunged at me and grabbed my upper arms. He sank his sharp teeth deep into my neck. I gasped as a searing pain shot through me followed by a paralyzing numbness. It was as if I stepped into a walk-in freezer and had the door shut on me for a couple of hours, but without all the risk of catching a cold-to-beat-all-colds. Roland replaced his fangs with his lips, and I felt the blood flow out of the wounds and into his mouth. I grew dizzy and the world started to blur like an old VHS tape that needed some serious tracking.
"Roland," I croaked. "Remember to share."
Roland reluctantly pulled away and swept me into his arms. He set me in his former chair and stepped back. I watched through blurred vision as the wound in his side closed up and changed to perfect pale flesh.
"Neosporin, eat your heart out," I quipped.
Roland knelt in front of me and pressed his fingers against the wounds on my neck. I winced. "Does that hurt?"
"It doesn't tickle," I retorted.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" I held up my hand between us, or tried to. It flopped between us like a dying fish and the ends of my fingertips caught on Roland's lips. They stuck there.
"I'll live. I think," I assured him.
He pulled off my stuck hand and smiled. "You will."
"Good, and you get to drive us home," I told him.
He bowed his head. "With pleasure."
I snorted. "You forget how many potholes are on these roads. Driving home's like initiating a practice run in a war zone."
I tried to stand, but my legs informed me that they wanted to make the acquaintance of the ground, so I tumbled towards the floor. Roland caught me and lifted me into his arms.
"You'll be weak for a few hours," he informed me.
"I expect some pampering for my blood sacrifice, you know," I insisted. "Some foot and back rubbing, but skip the neck massage. I think you've done enough of that tonight."
Roland chuckled. "Of course."
We stepped outside and halfway to the gate we ran into Sherry. She looked me over and frowned.
"You look like someone dunked your flesh in an ice-cold lake," she pointed out.
"She merely needs food and rest," Roland assured her.
"She won't become a vampire, will she?" Sherry questioned him.
"It's takes more than one hickey to turn someone," I told her.
"Good, now you two better get out of here before the cops come. I can wipe the surveillance footage, but you here will be hard to explain," she recommended.
Roland got us into the car and we drove back to my apartment. My condition was upgraded from soggy cereal to wet noodle, and with Roland's help I got into the apartment and onto the couch. I lay my back down on the cushions and sighed.
"That's the way to die. Metaphorically speaking, of course," I commented.
Roland took his spot in his chair with his trusty soul box at his side. "Did you happen to get a clear view of the creature?"
"I didn't get his license plate, but it was definitely a monster of some sort," I told him.
"Did it resemble a sheep with fangs and split hooves?" he asked me.
I lifted my head and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe. Why?"
Roland pulled out two pieces of wool from his pocket. They were both white. "One of these is from the fence, and the other I witnessed fall from the creature before I heard the metal shelves tip under the strain."
I sat up and shook my head. "What I saw was definitely a black thing."
"The wool was black when it fell off the creature, as well, but reverted to white before it reached the ground," he revealed.
I took the pieces of wool and felt them. "So we're looking for a wolf in sheep's clothing?"
"No. We are looking for a sheep in wolf's clothing," he corrected me.
"Come again?"
"We are looking for a were-sheep," he rephrased.
CHAPTER 6
I blinked at him. "You're joking, right?"
He shook his head. "If only I was, but the difference in wool on and off the sheep shows it's a shape-shifter. To my extensive knowledge there's only one creature a sheep can change into, and that is a were."
I tucked the wool in one hand and held up the other. "Wait. Let me get this straight. You think we're dealing with a sheep with sharp fangs and that howls at the moon?"
"It bleats, not howls. Their vocal chords don't change enough to allow a howl," he corrected me.
"Maybe it's just a sheep high on grass," I suggested.
"And changes into a gluttonous creature with sharp teeth?" he pointed out.
I sighed. "Okay, let's assume there's a puff of wool running around that transforms by the light of the full moon. How dangerous can a were-sheep be?" I asked him. "I mean, it's only attacked a bunch of squash, and I gotta tell you, I'm not really a fan of those things, either."
"We've been fortunate that a human hasn't interrupted its meal who wasn't armed," he explained. "Otherwise it could have killed them, or worse."
"What's worse than pushing up daisies?" I wondered.
"If a were-sheep bites a human, and that human survives, then they, too, change into a were," he revealed.
I frowned. "A were-sheep or a were-wolf?"
"A were-wolf," he replied.
"But if it's a sheep that bit you, wouldn't a human turn into a sheep-were? Or maybe a were-sheep? And how bad can that be? I mean, wouldn't a human crave grains or something?" I pointed out.
"The curse is canine and remains canine even if passed on indirectly from different species," he told me.
"All right, so we have to stop the fanged flock from sinking their chompers into a human. Where can we find it?" I asked him.
"We'll need a map of the local area, and a red pen," he replied.
"You really need to branch out on colors, and on this century," I told him as I stood and stumbled over to my computer. I slipped into the chair and clicked on my browser. "Maybe get into pink. You might love pink," I told him as he came up behind my chair.
"I would rather be staked," he quipped.
"Fair enough," I returned.
I brought up an online map of the affected countryside and used a tool to circle the three attacks.
"Okay. These are the places we know about. Old Ben's farm, my aunt and uncle's place, and the Depot." I leaned back and frowned. "My aunt and uncle live close to the squash patch, but the Depot's pretty far from those two."
"Then we might assume that during the day the sheep resides somewhere between them," Roland guessed. He used his finger to circle the area between the Depot and the squash patch. "Do you know of anyone in that area who has sheep?"
I snorted. "Only about two dozen hobby farmers. Even with Mary's little lamb hanging in a meat locker after the fair, there's still a bunch of people who raise them for their wool."
Roland pursed his lips and his eyes flitted over the screen. "Then we can make no further move until the sheep does."
I shook my head. "I can't believe we're playing chess with a were-sheep, and losing."
"We'll lose badly if we don't find the sheep tomorrow night," Roland added.
I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Why? Is he going to skip town?"
"No. Tomorrow night is the last night of the werewolf's full moon. It won't cha
nge for another month, and we may lose its trail entirely if the farmer has it killed," he explained.
"So if a human eats its flesh-"
"Then they, too, become a were," he told me.
"So what are we looking for here? Is this a foreign invasion or what?" I wondered.
"The sheep might be local, and was attacked by a wandering werewolf," he suggested.
"So now we might be dealing with a hobo werewolf who's creating a flock of the damned?" I guessed.
He shook his head. "I don't believe so. You saw only the one. If there was more they would travel as a pack. More likely the sheep somehow survived an attack by a werewolf passing through the area and the curse was transferred into its body."
"All right. Let's assume we do find this leggy lycan. What do we do with it? Sprinkle its wool with silver and it goes back to munching on straw instead of squash?" I asked him.
"Silver is the only element that will kill it, and it must be destroyed. There's no cure for those afflicted with the werewolf curse," he revealed.
I frowned and looked past him at the soul box on the coffin table. "I don't think killing a sheep was in the soul box contract."
"Would you rather your aunt and uncle live in fear of their lives every four days out of the month?" he countered.
I glared at him. "That's low, and even lower because that argument makes sense. So what do we do?"
"Perhaps the farmer reported an attack on his sheep. The police would consider it an attack by a wild dog and there would be a report filed," Roland pointed out. "You must find the report and learn the location of the farm where the sheep resides."
"And then what? I don't think I could convince the farmer to let me use his sheep for silver-bullet target practice," I argued.
"Don't go to the farm until I can go with you. Even in its normal form it can still pass on the curse with a single bite," he warned me.
"But I have work tomorrow, and I don't think Ralph's going to let me off if I tell him I'm trying to save everyone from a woolen sweater that's rampaging the countryside and murdering everyone's squash," I reminded him.
Roland grinned. "I have faith that you can think of a better excuse than that."
I sighed and shrugged. "Maybe he'll believe I have the plague."
"And would give it to his customers?" Roland guessed.
"No, to him. He'd only care about the customers if they kicked the bucket before they paid their bill," I told him.
"If it would be that much trouble then I can go alone," he suggested.
"If you do then you'd better not get bitten. I don't want to have to deal with a were-pire every night, and you'd probably bring fleas into the apartment," I quipped.
"My undead curse prevents me from having a living curse," he assured me.
I turned away from him and crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, don't get yourself mauled, then. You look better the way you are then as a piece of hamburger. Hey!" Roland spun the chair around so I faced him.
He set his hands on either arm of the chair and looked at me with those dazzling blue eyes. "I'll be careful. I swear it."
I blushed and looked away. "Well, less swearing and more sleeping. The sun'll be up soon."
Roland leaned away from me and chuckled. "Very well, and good luck on your search."
I hopped out of the chair and shrugged. "It'll probably only take an hour or two."
CHAPTER 7
"Only an hour or two, huh, Misty?" I mumbled to myself.
The time was one in the afternoon, and the location was the police station in Northton. The police bureaucracy worked at the speed of snot on a cold day. The kind of cold day where snot congested in your nose like a bad pipe clog. One of the uniformed officers walked over to where I sat near the front desk and smiled at me.
"You requested information on animal attacks?" he asked me.
I stood and nodded. "Yep. You got something for me?"
"No. I just came over to tell you the report won't be ready until tomorrow," he explained.
I raised an eyebrow. "Is there an epidemic of dog attacks on livestock?"
"No, but we have to go through the proper procedures to release discovery. You understand," he replied. I recognized a bureaucratic brushoff when I met one.
"Well, thanks anyway," I told him.
I shuffled back to my apartment and slept like a log until my alarm went off. I groped around for the clock and my flailing hand smacked something sharp and pointed.
"Ouch!" I yelped.
I pulled back my hand and opened my eyes. My bed was the couch, and my false alarm clock was Roland's soul box. I sat up and rubbed my hand while I glared at the box.
"You're really trying to end your days as firewood. . ." I muttered.
"Pardon?" Roland called from the kitchen.
I turned and looked over the back of the couch at him. A sizzling pan of bacon sat in front of him on the burner.
"You planning on sucking those strips dry or are those for me?" I asked him.
"They would hardly whet my appetite," he returned.
"Mine's ready. By the way, I went to the police station, but they couldn't get the reports I wanted before the end of the day," I told him.
Roland frowned and flipped a strip. "I see. That forces us to search by air and foot.
I groaned and stood. "It forces you. This working girl's gotta work before my bank account feels the pinch from my wallet," I reminded him as I slipped into my bedroom for a change of scenery, and clothes.
"There would be an advantage to two pairs of eyes," he persisted.
"These pairs of eyes aren't exactly built for sightseeing in the dark," I commented as I walked into the kitchen. I snatched some of the delicious strips from a nearby plate and scarfed them down. "Besides, you'll be fine without me. Just don't get trapped in a metal box again," I teased.
"I may, but half the adventure is the company that comes with you," he pointed out.
I swallowed my food and walked towards the front door. "Maybe, but my risky adventure for tonight is going to be serving Ralph's food to unsuspecting truckers."
Roland stepped in my way and grabbed my shoulders. I looked up and noticed he stared at me with a strange look in his eyes.
"I would gladly trade places with you if I could," he offered.
I snorted. "You don't look like my size." He tilted his head to one side and gave me his dazzling smile. I frowned. "You're doing that thing again," I told him.
"'Thing?'" he asked me.
"Yeah, that look thing," I explained.
"Could you elaborate?" he persisted.
"It's like you're trying to look into my soul." My eyes narrowed and flickered between the vampire and his soul box. "You already got a soul of your own, so no touching mine."
Roland chuckled and released me. "It was your beauty I was admiring."
My cheeks glowed like Christmas lights. I pushed past him and grabbed my coat from the back of the chair. "Yeah, well, I'm not much to look at, but I've got to be going." I pulled one arm through the coat and made for the door. "Those hamburgers aren't going to slide across the plate without-" Roland caught my wrist and stopped me. I stared at the door.
"Misty, there's a question I've meant to ask you," he told me.
I stiffened. "Can it wait until later?"
"It can, but I'd rather it didn't," he replied.
"Then ask me later, okay?" I requested.
I pulled myself from his grasp and rushed out the door faster than a hamster on speed. My feet pounded down the stairs and I threw myself at my car that was parked out front. I opened my door and paused. My eyes turned up to the sky. The dark silhouette of Roland stood on the top of the apartment building.
I slipped into my car and drove to work. Ralph lowered his paper when I entered the kitchen through the back door.
"You're early," he commented.
"You know how I miss this place," I quipped as I pulled off my coat.
"Don't expect to get p
aid overtime," he warned me.
"I wouldn't dream of following any labor laws," I returned as I strode past him.
"Not when they cost me!" Ralph called after me.
I slipped behind the cash register and Candy walked behind the counter with an empty serving plate in her hand.
"You look like you just swallowed a whale," she told me.
"Or maybe some of Ralph's cooking, but I'm fine," I told her. Candy put the tray down and leaned towards me. I leaned back and frowned at her. "What?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you this ruffled," she explained.
I shrugged and looked away from her. "Maybe something's been prowling around my chicken coop."
"Honey, nothing gets near your chicken coop without your permission," she quipped. "Now 'fess up. It's a guy, isn't it?"
"He's something. . ." I muttered.
Candy grinned. "I knew it." She grabbed my hand and pulled me around the counter. We passed the tables and stools, and the men gawked at us.
"Hey! I'm going to need that hand later!" I told her.
"Come on. We need a quiet place for this," she insisted.
Candy dragged me into the women's bathroom and released me there. She had her back to the door like a prison guard and folded her arms over her ample chest.
"All right, spill it. What's wrong?" she questioned me.
"It's nothing, now can we-" I tried to pass her, but she stuck out her arm. I glared at her. "We're the last line of defense against Ralph's cooking. If one of us doesn't get out there somebody might die."
"Somebody's already hurt in here, now 'fess up," she persisted. "What has you so bothered that you're wearing your apron inside-out?"
I glanced down at myself. The apron was on the front, but it was definitely inside out. I growled and pulled it off.
"Damn it, Roland, why didn't you tell me. . ." I muttered.
"So Roland's his name?" Candy guessed.
"Right now I'd like to call him other things," I quipped.
"So what's going on between you and Roland? Something serious?" Candy asked me.
I corrected my apron and shrugged. "It's nothing. He's just my roommate."
