by Bea Biddle
"Hey, watch where you're going!" A tray full of dirty dishes landed on the floor with a crash. When she whipped around, she came face to face with a young man. He couldn't be older than in his mid-teens, but his floppy hair was gray, as was his oversized, tattered shirt, and the old-fashioned vest that hung over it. All gray. In fact, he was completely gray. His clothes, hair, skin. All of him. And strangely see-through. Karen just knew her mouth was hanging open. She instantly knew just what she was looking at. He sighed, flipped his hair out of his eyes, and huffed in annoyance before picking up the plates.
"I'm so sorry," Karen managed to stutter. "I didn't see you."
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" he asked softly, sounding unsure of her reaction, "Because I'm- because I'm a Ghost?"
"No," Karen almost yelled at him. "I swear." She struggled with her plates, blood from one made its way down her arm and she hurriedly placed them on the counter before attempting to help. But as she crouched down, reaching for a dirty glass that had rolled under a stool, she did so at the exact same time as the Ghost reached for a plate on the other side of her. Her hand went straight through his arm. She hissed and instantly pulled it back, the hairs on her arm all stood on end and goosebumps covered her skin. It felt as though she had plunged her hand into a bucket full of ice water.
The Ghost snorted in a laugh. "It's alright," he said, "Just- just watch where you're going, Ok?"
"I- I-" Karen stuttered, when no words came to her rescue, she resorted to just nodding her head.
The Ghost stood, all the dishes now back on his tray. "Those aren't yours!" he said sternly as he slapped someone's hand away. Karen had placed her plates too near another guest, and that guest was now busily drooling over the raw meat presented to him. "Wait your turn." Karen quickly grabbed the plates off the counter. The Ghost stared at her, clearly internally debating something, eventually he relaxed and sighed. "Look, you can't put other people's meat in front of Weres during transformation week," he explained, "They can't help themselves." Karen nodded furiously. "Table six is by the window," he continued and offered her a quick genuine smile. "I'm Zac, nice to meet you."
"Karen," she said, relieved that at least someone was showing her some kindness.
"I know, word travels fast around here." He flipped his hair out of his eyes again. "Table six?"
"Table six," Karen repeated and walked slowly, trying desperately not to spill any more than necessary.
She made it to the table, a man and a woman eyed her hungrily. No, not her. Her plates. "Took your time," the man growled, barely glancing at her. Karen only just managed to put the plates down before they both dug in. Blood splattered everywhere as their sharp teeth sunk into the red meat. Karen stepped back. Untouched utensils in a can clattered as they violently tore chunks off the steak and the table shook. She felt a little sick and wondered if she should say something but found it best just to make her escape and walked back up to the counter where Sylvester was watching her.
"They always eat like animals during transformation week," he told her, "But then again, they are, aren't they?"
"Uhm..." was all Karen could answer.
"Here." Sylvester wrapped his lean arm around Karen's shoulder, motioning to parts of the diner with his free arm. "This is your section, these tables here. You'll have to keep an eye on the door, some guests need to be invited in." Karen nodded. "When that happens, you'll need to get to the blood cellar, it's through the kitchen and down the stairs. Easy."
"You do make it sound that way," Karen mumbled with a sigh.
And it was. Karen hadn't known just fast she'd fall into a rhythm. Customers only wanted either raw meat or a bottle of blood. She only used her silly notepad to scribble down Meat, please, and pass it through the window to the non-visible poltergeist. Who in turn worked very fast, pushing out a plate of the stuff at her. At first, she felt stupid inviting in vampires, but soon even that became easy for her. And she had been surprised at the blood cellar, a large cold room with rows and rows of tall refrigerators, signs in alphabetical order above each made it easy to find just that specific blood type and age group that the vampires ordered. Few times she found herself laughing and shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. It was morbid but fun. She couldn't help feeling just a little bit at ease with everything. After a whole night there she was able to laugh with customers poking fun at her humanity, jokingly pretending to mistake her for their meal. She had been pulled aside a couple of times, asked if she really was that human girl who had stood up to a fully transformed Were. She couldn't deny it, although her memory of that started getting foggy. It felt like it had been ages ago, so much had happened since.
"You did well," Sylvester told her. The few dusty, greasy windows that weren't boarded up let a gray light shine in, morning had come faster than she had realized, and the number of guests had heavily diminished. Only a handful was left, and even they were getting up to leave. "I almost didn't think you had it in you." He leaned against the counter and ran his long fingers along the edge. "I half expected you to cower underneath the tables until morning."
"I made up my mind before I came," Karen explained. She leaned on the counter next to him as she untied the frilly, little apron she had been given. "I was either going to run away screaming, or just accept this strange new reality." She yawned. "I chose to just go with the flow, decided not to freak out."
He gave her a nod of understanding and flashed a devastatingly handsome smile at her, exposing his fangs, making him appear more dangerous than she felt he was. "Good girl," he drawled. "Go get some breakfast, it's on the house."
Karen dragged herself to the kitchen. Pete was busy still, but at least he wasn't tenderizing raw steaks or running chunks of undeterminable raw meat through the grinder. Bubbles filled the air and the smell of soap was strong. It was incredible watching him work, although you had to duck a lot if you did so, things were flying around the kitchen at such a speed you feared for your safety. Karen sat down on a metallic tabletop, away from the soapy hurricane cleaning the dishes. The sound of Stevie Wonder's Superstition blasted out of the small beat up radio. Karen was chuckling to herself at the song choice when a cup of coffee slid towards her on the table, followed by a plate with what looked like eggs and toast. Her stomach instantly rumbled at the sight, and even better, at the smell. She had enjoyed working so much she had forgotten she hadn't eaten before she came there that night.
"Wow, thanks, Pete," Karen exclaimed in complete surprise, "I didn't know this place even had real food." But she still couldn't eat it without first double checking. After all, she knew what usually came out of the kitchen.
✽✽✽
The bell chimed. A bedraggled man entered the diner, black rings around his eyes, above a nose in a white cast, and his arm in a sling.
Sylvester's face lit up when the man sat down in front of him. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" he singsonged.
"Don't," the man warned, "I just came for breakfast."
Sylvester nodded. "Of course." He slid the little paper out to the kitchen to Pete and almost instantly a plate was pushed back. Raw steak topped with minced meat in a pool of blood, Pete's specialty. "You're lucky, Garth, the kitchen is about to close." Garth nodded before he hungrily attacked the meat on his plate. "So?" Sylvester asked after a little while of tense silence. Leaning on his elbows in front of Garth, his fingers tapping on the rim of his ever-present glass of blood. An amused smile started playing on his lips. "How did that happen?" he asked, motioned to the broken nose and hand.
Garth snorted and gulped down a large chunk of steak. "Work accident," he answered, the words muffled by meat.
"Really? Work accident, really?" Sylvester nodded to himself, the playful smile still on his face, only much wider. Biting his bottom lip, he took a swig of his glass. "So where exactly were you a couple of nights ago? You know, full moon and all."
Garth finally looked up at him. "Lockdown," he answered, "Obviously."
&n
bsp; "Really?" Sylvester laughed softly. "You know, there's a rumor going around, about a Were not in lockdown that night, have you heard?"
Garth began to chew his meat slowly, not something Weres usually did, and Sylvester's knowing laugh filled the room. Garth swallowed. "It's none of your business anyway," he snapped, "I'm telling you I was in lockdown."
Karen wasn't aware of the new arrival and she walked into the diner, rag in hand, ready to bus tables. She noticed him immediately, the hulking man stuffing meat down his throat at the counter but didn't approach until Sylvester waved her over to him. "Garth, we have a new addition to our staff. Meet Karen."
Garth sneered with indifference at her, then slowly she could see recognition dawn on his face, only she didn't know from where. She was pretty sure she had never laid eyes on the man before. She saw the broken nose, noticed the broken hand hanging in the sling and things gradually started falling into place. "You!" Garth growled at her. And then she knew. And then she wanted to run, immediately wanted to escape.
"Isn't this a fun reunion?" Sylvester smirked at him with glee etched on his face, "A werewolf and his victim, well, almost victim."
"Sly, don't agitate me now," Garth growled. His grip on the fork tightened and his knuckles turned white. "It happens to the best of us. I was late, alright? I didn't make it to lockdown."
Undeterred, Sylvester laughingly continued, "Ah, but it didn't happen to the best of you, did it?" Unable to hide his smirk, he tapped happily on the counter with his fingertips. "It happened to you, old man. Roaming Central Park in your lupine state? What were you thinking?" He shook his head and clicked his tongue condescendingly. “Luckily for you, Karen here is a master dog trainer."
"Sly," Garth warned, his top lip curled into an inhuman snarl as his eyes fixed on the vampire, the fork clattered to the floor and both his hands gripped the edge of his blood dripping plate.
"How does it feel? Being beaten so easily by a girl?" Sylvester continued with a nonchalant shrug, sipping casually from his glass.
"Sly!" Garth yelled, "Stop, now!" His eyes screwed shut and his shoulders began to shake. Karen's backside bumped against the wall.
"You're one hundred and sixty years old. One of the strongest lupines around. How does an experienced Were, such as yourself, get schooled by a little girl?"
"Sly!" Garth roared and slammed his plate against the wall. It shattered in a thousand pieces, raining down on the floor, clattering noisily at Karen's feet. But Karen couldn't look away. The stool fell back, crashing to the floor as he stood. His body grew, getting bigger. Shaking and panting, Garth slammed his fists down on the counter. She could feel the impact under her feet. Her rag fell to the floor with a wet thud, forgotten. He growled and twisted his head back and forth, stretching his neck. Then she saw it. She saw his ears twitching, extending. His eyebrows spread hastily across his face. His mouth, lips drawn back in a snarl, elongating, exposing teeth that sharpened by the second, becoming vicious, sharp fangs that glinted in the fluorescent lighting. He snarled and spat, spraying saliva on the counter as his body shuddered and convulsed. A half howl escaped him. He slammed his hands on the surface again, but this time leaving deep furrows behind. Claws. He had grown claws. Karen pressed herself further against the wall, digging her fingernails into the tacky wallpaper. She wanted to scream but no sound came out. His already broad back widened, the shirt tearing at the seams exposing a jagged spine that continued to grow. Muscles moved under the fabric, rearranging the body that expanded and changed. Tufts of fur sprouted through the torn gaps.
Sylvester placed both his slender hands on the rolling shoulders. "Easy, easy," he soothed as if none of this bothered him the slightest. "Remember who you are, Garth." He patted him gently, stroking him. "Slowly now. Come on. Calm down, calm down."
The half man, half wolf creature snarled and spat, shaking and shuddering. But Sylvester caught his eyes, pinning him with a stern glare. Karen could see the struggle raged within the wolfman, she wanted to run but she was caught in a mix of sick fascination and immobilizing terror. And slowly, much too slowly for Karen, the man gained control. The wolf shrunk away into itself.
When he had completely returned, Garth growled loudly and slammed his fists on the counter again. "Goddammit Sly!" Looking over his shoulder he saw the stool lying on the floor, he kicked it angrily. “You had to go there, didn't you? You just had to go there!”
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sylvester said, looking nowhere near apologetic and in the end couldn't suppress his melodic laugh. "The meal is on the house, how about that?"
Garth snorted at him, then glanced at Karen who still pressed herself against the wall, in complete and utter shock. "I'm sorry if I frightened you the other night," he mumbled stiffly. Without waiting for a reply, he snorted at Sylvester and marched out, slamming the door shut after him. The bell pierced the silence he left behind. Karen was speechless, he hadn't just frightened her, he had tried to kill her.
"Weres." Sylvester mused before taking another sip of his blood. "Such a hot-headed mess."
"Should- Should you have provoked him like that, though?" Karen asked softly. Finally deeming it safe to step away from her wall, wiggling her fingernails free of the plaster, she picked up her fallen rag.
"Probably not,” Sylvester acknowledged with a bored sigh.
"Ok, look.” She took a few hesitant steps towards him. “Can I ask you something?" She wasn't sure how to breach the subject, but it had been running in her head most of the night and with Garth changing in front of her the way that he had, she had to know. In response, Sylvester raised his perfect eyebrow at her and with his index finger motioned for her to come closer. He sipped at his glass, watching her expectantly over the rim but said nothing. Karen plucked up her courage and continued, "So, I've heard so much talk of transformation week, but they're still here, eating, clearly not transformed?"
Sylvester nodded. "Full moon, that is when they transform. That's when they can't help but transform. But you see, the three nights leading up to it, and the three nights after, that week is what's known as the transformation week. They can control it those days, they can be normal those days. Or look it, anyway. Mind you, it doesn't take much to set them off," he casually added, glancing at the stool still lying in the middle of the room. "Luckily for us, apart from transformation week they cannot change. But even luckier for this place, they will always be craving raw meat. It's part of the wolf inside, you see. They'll always crave red meat. Always. Even when presented with the most delicious five-star meal. They'll eat it, but dream of juicy, bloody, raw meat. And we serve it at very reasonable prices." He laughed when he saw Karen wiggle her nose, thinking of the dishes she had carried back and forth all night. "They are wolves, Karen. Wolves in human clothes. Even when they're walking around, going to work, going to the movies, going grocery shopping, going on dates. They're wolves, never forget that."
"I see."
"Now." Sylvester scooted closer to Karen, his black-painted fingernails stroking her arm. It tickled. "What else is on that pretty little mind of yours?"
"I need to know," she started. She feared to ask this question, she didn't know what it would trigger, but she had to know. "Why don't you want to drink my blood?"
Sylvester's stare bore deep into her and he drank heavily from the glass before answering. "Why do you assume I don't?" His voice was so soft Karen felt a chill run down her back. She instantly regretted asking. The look in his eyes darkened as he took a step closer. "You humans are interesting. So soft, so vulnerable, so full of delicious blood. You hear about us bloodthirsty beings, hear the stories, read the legends, and assume you know everything. I live off of blood, yes, but I am no barbarian. I don't need to hunt humans to feed, I am civilized just like your kind. And in all my years, and there has been far too many of those to count, I have never, ever, seen a human being, no matter how hungry, run into a field and start chewing on a cow because they fancy a hamburger. No, Karen, there is such a thing as self-
control, and we have it too."
"I'm sorry," she stuttered.
Instead of his nails, his fingertips now caressed her arm, and then his palm. It was cold but silky and she didn't want him to stop. "Don't be sorry," he said, "While all that may be true, a primal thirst absolutely still lingers in me. And you are-" He swallowed, his stare fixed on her neck. Karen almost covered it, but that would mean moving, and what he was doing to her arm was so, so nice. She didn't even know she enjoyed being touched like that. "-you are very tempting, but I am better than that, I am better than my thirst, and I subdue the urge. Observe." He took a large gulp of the blood in his glass.
Karen nodded, but more questions pressed on. "So, why are you not in a coffin right now? The sun is up."
"Why would I let the sun dictate when I rest?"
"Don't you die in the sun?"
Sylvester laughed. "Oh yes, the sun burns us Vamps to a crisp. But as you can see, I am in shadows, unharmed."
"But how do you get home?"
"I walk down to the basement to my old coffin, then I am home."
"You live here?"
"I live here." Sylvester stood up, emptied his glass. "And I shall return to my coffin for the day, but some time of my own choosing. Perhaps you'd like to join me? I assure you, there's enough room for two." He ran his fingers through her hair, making her regret not having a shower before showing up.
Karen caught herself, laughed awkwardly and pushed herself away. "Has anyone ever told you they feel molested just talking to you? I feel like I need counseling, Sly."
"You'd be surprised how often that happens," he said, scraping his fangs along his bottom lip playfully.
