by Amy Faye
"Okay, so this is going to be twenty questions again, and then you're going to play the 'you just don't get it' game some more, and at the end of it I'll be the one trying to figure out a plan, while you get to act all smug. Got it. You know what? Fuck you."
Brianna tugged her panties on, her jaw clicking as she tried to force it loose. But it wasn't going to loosen up, not that quickly or easily.
"I'm sorry, you're right. It's just, uh, instinct, I guess. At this point. I'm not used to being up-front about this stuff."
"If you ain't right, then get right, man. I've got a job to do, and I can't afford to be running away from crazed gunmen all hours."
"That's the first part. Crazed gunmen are going to be the least of your problems."
"You know, Nick, that's pretty hard to believe when they've been my only problem, other than the grisliest murder scene this side of a horror movie, which I still have no suspects for other than the one who can't keep his eyes–" she slapped his hand away from her as it reached to palm her breasts again– "off my tits!"
"They're nice tits," he said simply. "But I'm serious. Guns? Small time trouble. Anyone can grab a gun. Does that mean anyone's dangerous?"
"Generally, yeah, Nick, that's what it means."
"You really think that, huh? God, that's what I love about you. Endless optimism."
"Is that what it is?"
"I mean, what else could it be? Not three days ago, I watched a guy almost gut you like a fish, while you pointed a gun at him. He was ready to blow you to kingdom come, and there was nothing you could do about it. Little thing like you? You're lucky that didn't happen. Lucky I was around to stop him."
"Yeah, real lucky. You're a real catch. Fuck you too, by the way."
"I don't mean it like that, but I'm just saying. You got a real up-front view of what it's like to be on the wrong end of the food chain."
"I could have had him, but I was afraid of winging the girl."
"Sure, you were. I buy that. Keep selling."
"And you know what, fuck you."
"You keep saying that, but I'm not hearing an actual argument yet. Try again, maybe this time it will stick."
"Are you going to explain this shit to me, or not?"
"No, I want to hear this. I want to hear how exactly you were planning on getting away without that guy's slug in your gut if I hadn't stepped in."
"Easy," Brianna replied–she tugged her jeans hard to get them up around her ass. It wasn't intended to make anything jiggle, but the way his eyes darted down she realized that was exactly what it had done. "I'd have taken the bullet and killed that son of a bitch if it was the last thing I ever did."
He leaned back against the wall with a smile. "Did I mention I absolutely found you just–endlessly charming? You're really terribly cute, for a cop."
She blushed. "Go fuck yourself."
"No, I'm serious. I like you. You've got spunk. It's a good quality in a woman. One you're going to need, I'm afraid."
"Oh, yeah?"
He nodded gravely, and suddenly she was getting the impression that he was very serious, indeed. "Yeah, you're definitely going to need it. Of course, you needed it already. Some time yesterday, you'd probably have eaten it if you didn't have a little spine to you."
"Good to know I meet with your approval."
"Well, if you're going to go in guns blazing with the white eyes, I mean… stupid, crazy, or gutsy, you're going to meet with my approval."
"So when exactly are you going to tell me what I'm supposed to be dealing with? You keep stalling."
"Am I the one stalling?"
"Yeah, Nick. You're stalling."
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Look, you're not going to like what I have to say, so just, like… get that out of your head now, alright?"
"I'm a big girl, I think I can handle it."
"That's not the problem. Just, you know. Trust me. You're not going to like it, so I've been putting it off because I honestly can't stand this conversation."
"Jesus–like a band-aid. Just rip it off and be done with it."
"You ever heard the word 'werewolf' before?"
She rolled her eyes, but the look on Nick's face told her that he wasn't joking.
"You're serious. Werewolves. You transform into wolves. Like in a fucking fantasy novel."
"I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds dumb, sure," he said. But there was something else that was bothering her, too. A smell. He'd picked up on it, too, and he was out the door before she could put a bra on. Whatever danger was about to come, she wasn't going to face it bare-breasted.
Twenty
Werewolves. That was the most absurd idea she'd ever heard, and he'd said it with such a straight face that Brianna wasn't sure she could doubt him even if she wanted to. That wasn't good, because she couldn't believe him, either.
Even if she chose to believe him, the whole idea was so far beyond absurd that she wasn't physically capable of believing it. He might as well have claimed that he was the Easter bunny for all her ability to buy it. She could pity him all she wanted, and she could give pretend she believed him so his feelings weren't hurt, but…
Well, her gut told her that Nick Roe didn't get his feelings hurt often. He wasn't the kind, unless he just put up a very good front. That was more possible than she really wanted to admit, too, for that matter. But until he turned to her with his eyes all full of tears and started screaming for her to stop bullying him, she wasn't going to have much pity.
When he did, she wasn't going to have any at all, because at that point she'd probably be arresting him on principle alone.
Outside, someone screamed. It wasn't a scream of fear, she noted. Nor a scream of pain. Whoever was screaming was so fucking furious that she wasn't sure they were ever going to recover. She pulled her shirt on as quickly as she could and as she ran she did a roll to get across the bed and pulled the drawer open on the bedside table.
Her gun was inside, where she'd left it. She racked the slide and flipped the safety on. It would be just a quick move of her thumb to undo it when she needed to use the thing, and then a trigger pull that was barely there at all, and 'boom.' Whoever she pointed it at would be most of their way to dead.
As she moved outside, she realized what the smell had been, and she realized what the new smell that joined it was. Gasoline, enjoined by the smell of burning gasoline. Gasoline, as it turned out, that had been poured all over a 1982 Ford Mustang with no front or rear windshield, painted a gorgeous high-gloss black.
Well, it had been gorgeous. There were repairs that were doable, and then there was whatever was happening to that car as she watched. As Nick screamed and looked up and down the street.
"I'm going to fucking kill you, you son of a bitch," he screamed, seemingly at no one and nothing.
"Hey. Cool down. Insurance will get you, I'm sure."
He turned and glowered at her. "Yeah, I'm sure they will, in six months, and then I can get a beat up hunk of junk, maybe. But what exactly do you figure I do until then?"
Brianna let out a long breath. He wasn't wrong, and it was understandable to be angry. She would be too, no doubt about it. But this wasn't really the time for him to lose his cool, either.
"Nick, babe–"
"I don't even–fucking, why? Why would they do that? Now I've got to get a new ride, but it's not like it's going to stop me. At this point it's just a dick move."
She had to correct herself–she did feel some pity for him. After all, he wasn't just pulling her leg or crazy–now he'd lost a car he had obviously put a decent amount of work into, as well. Who wouldn't be a little sorry, at least? She was a bitch, but she wasn't totally unsympathetic.
"We'll get on the phone with a taxi and get a rental. It's no big deal."
He closed his eyes. "You're right."
"Then we can figure out what to do about these–werewolves?"
He closed his eyes. "I told you that you wouldn't like it."
"No, no, it'
s fine. Come on. Don't–"
"Would it be easier if I just showed you? I guess it would."
She raised her eyebrows. She was trying to be nice, but there came a point where it had to end, and she was surprised how much he seemed to be trying to aim right past it. "Sure, why not."
"Well, for one thing, that's pretty much the end of your 'not being involved.' You start believing, and you're pretty much in it for good."
"Oh yeah?"
He closed his eyes, rubbed his eyebrows. "I mean, realistically–"
"Realistically, what?"
"Uh, I kind of already bit you, so–"
"You're joking."
"You might have already noticed the signs. You smelled the gas before I did, hell. That's pretty impressive, for someone so fresh at this."
"You're joking."
"Wish I was."
"But seriously."
"I mean, you can turn it off. No problem, really. That's the usual response. Like a 'morning after' pill, you just dose them with a little wolfsbane, no problem at all."
She looked at him flatly, waiting for him to tell her that it was all a joke. When he didn't, she prompted him. "You're not serious."
"I mean, it happens to the best of us. Particularly when you're, you know…"
She blinked. "Yeah. Whatever."
"I'm serious. We ought to do this inside. You can call the fire department while you're at it, assuming the attendant hasn't already."
"Thanks for your permission," Brianna responded, her voice sarcastically pleasant. She headed back for the door with a frown plastered, it felt like, permanently on her face. He followed her. She picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. He leaned against one wall while she talked. She tried to sound as calm and in-control as possible.
Someone had lit a car on fire. She didn't know who did it, she did know whose car it was. She gave the address from a stationary pad lying on the bedside. She'd be waiting.
"Are you ready?"
Nick looked like he'd been waiting for a little while.
"Sure, why not?"
He closed his eyes. "Alright, you asked for it."
His muscles rippled and he shuddered, hard, and then something absolutely absurd, absolutely impossible, happened.
Twenty-One
Brianna's skin crawled as she looked at him. He was bigger, now. Hairier, too. And those were the little changes.
"Does that hurt?"
A big… something looked down at her. Werewolves, she reminded herself, aren't real. So whatever it was, in spite of its long snout and tail and the fur that seemed to cover it, it wasn't a werewolf. Because those weren't–
Well, they appeared to be real. At least, this one appeared to be real. It felt real. Solid. And then he shuddered again, made a coughing noise, and he shrunk back again in the blink of an eye. His jeans lay in a puddle at his feet, and his shirt, which he hadn't bothered to pull off, now hung loosely around his torso, as if it had been stretched out by a man twice his size.
For a man who was already six and a half feet tall, and looked like he might have to be weighed in metric tons, that was a feat to behold, but she'd seen it with her own eyes.
"How's that?"
"Does it hurt?" Brianna repeated the question as if he hadn't heard it. Maybe he hadn't, or he hadn't understood it.
"It's hard to explain, I guess. You don't need to worry about it, though."
"What do you mean I don't have to worry about it? You fucking bit me. The way you made it sound, that's how you transmit this–this, thing!"
"Yeah, I did make it sound like that, didn't I?"
He leaned against the wall. "You made it sound quite a bit like that. Now you're telling me that's not how it works?"
"That's not what I'm telling you. That's pretty much how it works."
"What, there's more?"
"Not really, no."
"So, what? I could do that if I wanted to?"
"In the same way that you could play the piano if you wanted to, sure. But you're probably not ready. Unlike the piano thing, it will sneak up on you eventually. Just a matter of time."
"Oh, good! But I don't have to worry about it, it's fine!"
"I mean, not really. I can get you sorted out inside of twelve hours, so I'm not too worried about it."
"Oh, good." Brianna let out a long breath. "Look, just tell me what I need to know about this thing. Silver bullets?"
"I have never liked getting shot with bullets of any metal, personally."
"Oh, that's good."
"But they've never been that effective, either."
She closed her eyes. "You know, I'm getting real tired of you yanking my chain, Nick."
"I'm not, though, so you're just going to have to deal with it."
"So okay. White eyes are werewolves, is what I'm hearing."
"You're hearing correctly."
"And your lodge?"
"Werewolves."
"Okay. So. What you're telling me is that you and a bunch of guys who can transform into terrifying, nine foot tall monsters are running around, but mostly you're, you know, auto mechanics and stuff?"
"That's about right."
"So explain to me exactly why anyone does it."
His face twisted up into an expression she was surprised looked almost sad. "Because you don't have any other choice," he said simply. "Because you need it more than you need to get rid of it."
"You choose to be a werewolf?"
"I chose. It's not like it's a forever choice. You pretty much get until the first time you pop, and then…" he snapped his fingers. "There's your choice, already made."
"So when you tell me that I don't have to worry about transforming, is that, like… by the full moon or something?"
"I'll put it real simple for you, okay? At some point in the future, maybe–for anyone who stays this way, it happens. But at some point in the future, you look at a situation and you say, I'm not strong enough. I'm not fast enough. I need more. I need to be more. To be able to do more. And you got the bug in you already, you've already tasted what it can do for you.
"Even before you transform, that first time, you'll have some of the effects. You can run a little faster. Seemingly forever, let me tell you. You can see a little better. You can smell a little better, hear a little sharper. You already know something's wrong–or, more accurate, something's horribly right.
"And you know that if you just reach out and touch that wrongness, you can get more. You can get what you need. And you make the choice, and… Yeah, by the way. First time? Hurts."
"Only the first time?"
"It's like doing the splits. You get used to it until it doesn't hurt much any more."
"Oh."
"Yeah. So you've got time. Because I'm not going to let things get that tough for you."
"And what if I decided I liked it?"
"Then you'd be making a mistake."
"So you're telling me, if you had the choice to make over again–"
"That's different," he answered. She was surprised to see that he looked angry. "There are things you don't know."
"Then tell me about them."
"Now's not the time," he said with a long breath out. "Now isn't the time."
"When, then?"
"Later. Right now we've got to make a plan."
"Okay, so let me back-track again. How do you kill one of your types?"
"When they're human, it's easy. They're just tough guys–but they're not anything more. Just humans with a unique ability. Not that different from a boxer or something. If he's not punching you, he's not that tough after all."
"Okay, and if they're transformed?"
"If they're transformed, you leave them to me."
"What kind of macho bullshit is that?"
He set down on the bed. "My kind of macho bullshit. I told you, it's not the time to talk about it, and I'm not going to talk about it. Simple as that."
"Okay, so if they're human, I can pretty much do the usual stuf
f. If they're not human, whatever unusual stuff needs doing, leave it to you. I guess that works. Do we have any names?"
He let out a breath and closed his eyes. "Yeah, names, I've got."
Twenty-Two
Brianna set her cell down. At least it got a signal out here. Wisconsin was, in many ways, one of her least favorite states in the Union, but it had cell coverage, which was more than she could say for some werewolf lodge out in the woods.
What was it with these guys and the woods? It was like they couldn't get enough of it. Though, full moon or not, she guessed that the whole 'horrible abomination in the eyes of God' thing would probably play into it a little bit. Like getting away from civilization meant that they could at least not have to worry if something came up.
So it made some sense.
"Okay, so here's what I got."
He looked at her with an expression that she suspected was supposed to mean that he'd heard. Well, heard or not, she was going to explain regardless.
"First up, the question of whether or not you're completely fucked–of course you are. Did you, like, decide who it was that you were going to piss off, or is it like a secret Santa thing every Christmas?"
"Bit of column A, bit of column B. But I want to be clear here–I didn't piss them off. They pissed me off."
"Close enough. Now, your big man, he's a heavy hitter."
"Yeah, I know. That's why he's still walking."
"And, furthermore, if reports are to be understood, Mr. White Eyes himself is out of the country."
"Well, it doesn't much matter. If we killed him, someone else would take his place. We have to wipe them out."
Brianna rolled her eyes. "You men. Always thinking in a straight line. Did it ever occur to you that there might be some other option than having a big old fist fight in the middle of the city?"
"Yeah, I figured I could just let them kill me, and then we'd be done with it. Well, we're past that now. I guess they didn't kill me, and until I decide I'm done running around and I'm ready to let them kill you, too, just for knowing me, there's not much I can do but fight, can I?"
"Let me change my example, and maybe then you'll follow me. You ever play any chess?"
