Unconventionally Wolf, Julie Steimle [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

hand. "Howie—I mean, Rick and I are from the same town."

The one hunters hissed something to Matthew Hague, his eyes widening on James.

"You were one of those kids that got kidnapped by that cult?" burly Matthew Hague said.

All the eyes whipped to James now. James blinked back at them as if it were nothing. "Yeah. So?" He finished off his last sandwich.

More eyes stared at him.

"And so was Michael Toms," James added after a swallow. Then he shook his head. "Look, guy—I've been to therapy. I got out alive. I consider that a win."

Rick grinned at him.

"A cult?" Mr. Lowell murmured, looking to Rick.

"You were in New York at the time, right?" James turned to Rick, picking through the drinks and choice of desserts.

Nodding, Rick smiled in appreciation. "Yeah. In fact, one of the reasons we came back to town was because we heard that cult was caught and Dad thought it was safe for me to come home, you know after my parents’ divorce and all."

James nodded, a little sadder for him as he took up a paper cup full of juice. "True. I don't think it would have been safe for you in town after their divorce. And I am sorry about that."

"What would make your town unsafe?" murmured Prof. Pederson, who was looking confused, and admittedly a little creeped out.

Both James and Rick stared dryly at him. "The cult."

But that burly Matthew Hague said, "I heard it was witchcraft."

Prof. Pederson stared at him.

James rolled his eyes while munching on a churro from the dessert table. "That is the cult."

"But I heard the witch covens in your town are still there," Matthew Hague replied.

Rick shared a look with James, then slung an arm around James's shoulder, patting it. "Well, I suppose they are about as stationary as the Ladies' Aide Society and the Men's Club, but their influence on the town has been severely lessened."

Finishing off his churro, James started snickering, and blushing.

So did Tommy, nodding.

"This makes no sense," Prof. Pederson said, rolling his eyes. "In the rational world, kiddies, there is no such thing as witches and magic wands."

Nodding, Rick glanced once to Carl as he said, "True. Absolutely. I love the rational world. A great place. No witches. No monster hunters. Nice people in it all the time."

James continued to snicker, trying to smother it. Tommy sighed. Though, Carl and the other bodyguards remained straight-faced.

Prof. Pederson stared with even more confusion, looking back to his colleagues. "I was serious."

"And so was I," Rick replied, smiling keenly. He then nodded to Carl. "You know, you too can eat. I'm not stopping you."

"I ate earlier," Carl said.

Rick gazed dryly at him. Then he looked to Tommy and the bodyguards. "Hungry?"

Tommy nodded, heading to the buffet. But his bodyguards merely nodded like Carl had and said they had eaten earlier. Rick doubted it. But clearly they did not think it was proper to eat on the job in case it distracted them. Then again, maybe they were punishing themselves for failing to protect him earlier. His father had told him that occasionally his personal guards did that. They were loyal to a fault. It was beautiful, and yet such a painful thing. Rick didn't like seeing people suffer because of him. "Go eat. None of these guys can hurt me right now."

And he was right. The two hunters knew they did not have a stalemate. They were beaten by Prof. Pederson's doubt, which had reestablished the common understanding that werewolves and monster hunting was something from fiction. Mr. Lowell himself stared as if reconsidering what he had seen in the bathroom.

Mr. Lowell excused himself. "I need to sit down somewhere."

Several of his friends nodded and escorted him away. He looked weak on his legs, giving the distinct impression that he could in fact be drunk. Carl secretly smiled in himself. Rick only noticed because Carl's eyes were keenly shining despite his straight face.

The two hunters decided to follow suit.

Passing Rick, Matthew Hague whispered into his ear, "When you find the rational world, let me know."

Rick eyed him with a comeback rising to his lips, but Carl touched his shoulder reminding him to remain professional. That confrontation would have to wait.

Once the hunters left, Rick's bodyguards finally broke down to have lunch.

"It wasn't like they were going to hurt him," Prof. Pederson said.

The guards wordlessly eyed him as they picked up their food. But James snorted with, "Shows what you know."

Prof. Pederson's eyes widened on James.

Mr. Fulcroft, however, gestured toward Rick to come closer for a private talk. James shot him a look, but Rick waved him away, quietly assuring him he would be fine. They stepped aside near a corner where Mr. Fulcroft whispered, "I just want to hear it straight from you. What happened in the bathroom with Mr. Lowell?"

Only a little puzzled, Rick said, "What do you mean?"

Sighing, the man came nearer, "I mean, he came back with those two outlandish men nearly on his heels looking like he had seen a ghost, rambling on about monsters."

Yep. Damage had been done. And worse, Rick could tell Mr. Fulcroft had believed some of what Mr. Lowell had said.

So Rick said, "Maybe he had been drinking."

Mr. Fulcroft gazed darkly at him. "Yes… One would presume he was drinking, considering he smelled like hard liquor."

Rick nodded, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

"But I happen to know that Mr. Lowell never drinks anything harder than beer," Mr. Fulcroft continued.

"I see," Rick said. Then shrugged. "Maybe he hides the habit."

Glaring darker on Rick, Mr. Fulcroft said, "No. I truly doubt that. You see, I've been drinking with Hadrian Lowell, and he can't handle anything stronger than beer. A couple of friends of ours dared him to drink a few shots with us, and he nearly passed out from one."

Lifting his eyebrows, Rick chuckled. Not that he ever drank. He was underage after all, but the image of Mr. Lowell collapsing at a bar from one shot painted an amusing picture.

"It isn't funny." Mr. Fulcroft glowered at them.

"No," Rick worked to keep his face straight. "Of course not. Um… what was your question?"

Sighing testily, Mr. Fulcroft asked, "Just tell me—because I have heard such strange reports about you here and around this convention center—do you believe in werewolves?"

Rick stared at him. Then he thought about the question. He asked, "Are you talking about those helmet-headed, furry-faced, Lon Chaney man wolves who become monsters under the full moon kind of things?"

With a distinctly painful cringe, Mr. Fulcroft nodded.

"Absolutely not," Rick said. Because he didn't. "Those kinds of things are nonsensical fiction."

Nodding heavily, Mr. Fulcroft chuckled. "I see."

James tugged on Rick's arm. "Are you ok?"

Rick waved him off. "Fine."

With a glance to Mr. Fulcroft, James also nodded to himself and stepped back again, allowing Rick and the man from the Sierra Club space once more. Mr. Fulcroft was eying him.

Once James had left, Mr. Fulcroft hissed, "Was that guy really kidnapped by a cult?"

For a second Rick was about to say 'yes', but then he realized that the man seemed to have an innate ability to tell when people were lying to him. He reminded Rick of Matthew. Possibly they were related. So Rick said, "He had a really rough time for a while. I wasn't there when it happened, so I don't have the exact details—but you need to know that boys in my hometown have gone missing for years. We used to call it the library curse as that was the last place they were usually seen. When James vanished, nobody expected to ever see him again." Rick paused, thinking. "His cousin Dale, who was one of my good friends, was also taken. And he never returned. Dale was killed. And you should see the scars on James's back."

Mr. Fulcroft stared in horror. "What about the scars on your chest?"

Cringing, Rick shook his head. "Unrelated. A thing that looked like a bear attacked me once. But we don't talk about it."

The man stared more, surprised.

"This is not a rational world," Rick said to him. Then he walked away.

It wasn't exactly admitting that what Mr. Lowell had seen was real. But Rick had the distinct impression that Mr. Fulcroft was not a person who could be overtly deceived. It was better to let misleading truth protect him from the supernatural world than to tell an out and out lie.

"Are you infected?" Mr. Fulcroft asked before Rick got out of earshot.

Lurching to a halt, Rick shook his head and chuckled—though Carl was groaning. Looking back, Rick said with a smile, "Not in the least…. And to make it clear, no animal bit me, passing on some thousand-year-old gypsy curse, or what have you."

Nodding, Mr. Fulcroft wearily waved him away.

The others followed Rick, James soon jogging to his side.

"I have never been bitten by an animal, passing on some thousand year old gypsy curse," James mimicked, "Or what have you…" He laughed. "Oh, my gosh. How often do you have to use that line?"

Rick shrugged. "This would be the first time."

Chuckling, James nodded. "Well, keep using it. It's a good one."

"And honest too," Tommy muttered, admiring it. "That man had a sixth sense about him."

Rick looked to Tommy. "You felt it too?"

Tommy nodded. "He reminded me of Matthew Calamori."

"I thought the same thing." Rick shook his head, leading them back out toward the convention.

The Irrational World

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

"What was that man talking to you about, if I may ask?" James said.

Rick lifted his eyebrows, thinking. "He was trying to verify if what Mr. Lowell had told them was the truth."

"And what did you say to him?" James's brows knit together carefully.

Shrugging, Rick explained, "Nothing revealing. You heard the gist of it. He asked if I believed in werewolves and I clarified it towards what Hollywood thinks werewolves are—which I don’t believe in."

Tommy nodded. "Smart move."

"The thing is," Rick said, glancing to Carl, "Mr. Fulcroft knew Mr. Lowell was set up to look like he was drunk. So that had convinced Mr. Fulcroft that Mr. Lowell could be telling the truth."

"Damn," Carl swore. Then straightening up, he blushed. "My apologies. That… that usually works."

Rick shrugged. "Yeah… I think it convinced those who did not know him well. But apparently Mr. Fulcroft had gone drinking with Mr. Lowell before and knew what the guy actually did and did not drink."

Carl nodded. "I suppose I really ought to more thoroughly research those who would come in contact with you, such as their drinking habits."

"It sounds a little obsessive…" Rick murmured, peering back at him as they went along.

"But it is for your safety," Carl said.

Nodding, Rick guessed he was right.

"I doubt the hunters were convinced," James muttered.

"Of course not," Tommy said. "They gave him the whistle."

They continued on, going through the crowds and looking at the booths. James tugged on Rick's arm, gesturing for them to go into the direction where he was sure those elves he had mentioned earlier were waiting for him to walk by.

"Thomas Whitefeather. Really… Siding with wolves?" That hunter who was related to the McDillans stepped out from a recessed doorway they were passing. His eyes were on Tommy mostly, though they raked over James also as if trying to assess who he was.

While Rick's guards made sure