Her Perilous Wolf, Julie Steimle [howl and other poems TXT] 📗

didn’t want to go back. She hated these things. There was no dancing. There were no games. It wasn’t that she didn’t like parties where people mingled either, but these folk judged you by your bank account and connections—never mind your accomplishments. She had just finished her Bachelors in finance, which she was genuinely proud of. She had always been good with numbers, and she intended to become an accountant. It was a solid job that merely asked for things to add up. People were not as rational. And parties were fine, as long as there was a lot of dancing and fun people around. 

This was not the place.

Yet Selena hooked her arm in Vicky’s and said, “Come on. It’s not all that bad.”

Going with her, Vicky thought with a chuckle that perhaps it was not all that bad—at least not with Selena around.

 

*

Taking a designated day off to visit the mysterious Troy Meecham in New York City, Doug was a degree lost before he finally located the brownstone building. When he gazed up at it, he had a funny feeling he had seen it before. He did not know why.

Troy lived on the top floor. Normally Doug would have taken the stairs for exercise, but after feeling so lost just getting there, he decided to use the direct route up the elevator. When the doors opened, it was to a no-nonsense sort of hallway with plenty of light. The door to the apartment, however, had a keypad along with what looked like a thumbprint scan. This was real serious security. He even thought he saw a camera in the corner.

Doug knocked on the door.

<< Wait a sec. I’ll unlock it. Just walk right in. I’m in the lab. >>

The sound came from a speaker near the door. Doug peered up at it. But then he heard a buzz and a click as the door unlocked.

He put his hand on the knob, twisting it with a push to open. Pleasant sunlight shone in from the apartment, opening onto a small tiled step. The view inside was like going into day from night. The main apartment was a wide open space, with the most colorful New Orleans décor he had ever seen, from paintings to almost cheerful voodoo like objects and bead work. To the right was a stairway rising to an upper loft sort of room with a closed door. In front of him was light colored, medium pile carpeted floor which ended at a corner kitchen with isle counter, and three stools. Two doors on that same floor were to the right. A door on the far left wall, and a couch with a huge entertainment center stood against the back wall. It was the nicest apartment he had ever seen—especially for a New York City middleclass kind of neighborhood.

But there was no Troy.

Until the far left door opened.

Troy stepped out of what looked like a coat closet. There were coats in it, and a shelf above—but that made no sense. Troy smiled upon seeing Doug—closed lipped. Though Doug had seen pictures of Troy, seeing him in the flesh took his breath away a little. The man looked like, well, a vampire. He had pale upon pale skin. His eyes were a shining blue, but his hair was midnight black, neatly brushed, and clean. He was almost macabre in the feel about him, one that made Doug almost step retreat on instinct. But the way Troy walked was as a man on business, not as Doug would expect from one of the undead. The vampire impression died from that. He was just a pale white dude matching an unfortunate stereotype.

Troy extended his hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

Doug took it, entranced by the odd, hypnotic tone in Troy’s voice. “The pleasure is all mine.” Troy’s hand was cold, nearly sending shivers up Doug’s arm.

Chuckling, Troy gestured to the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink before we start?”

Nodding as he shook off that macabre feeling again, Doug said, “I wouldn’t mind a beer, but we’ll be doing work shortly.”

Troy nodded, going directly to the refrigerator, opening it up. “Well, that’s ok. We don’t really have beer here. I can’t afford to get drunk, and my roommate really isn’t into beer. If he drinks, it’s wine. But I’ve got mango juice, milk, soda, and, of course, water.”

He got out some drinking glasses. Doug went for the mango juice. As Troy poured them each a glass, Doug said with another gaze around, “It’s quite an apartment you’ve got here. I have to ask, how do you afford it?”

Troy snorted, closing the jug lid. “I can’t.” He went into the refrigerator and took out the fixings for sandwiches next, also lifting out plates from the cupboard. “I am a freeloading jerk—as Art likes to tell me on occasion. This place is owned by Deacon Enterprises. It’s sort of on loan for my research.”

Hearing his tone, Doug said, “You and Art don’t get on? He seemed a mellow enough guy.”

Nodding, Troy pulled out bread, then mayonnaise along with honey mustard, ranch dressing and pesto. When he got a butter knife from a drawer he said, “Art and I get on like oil and water. He’s…” he sighed, shaking his head. “…a good guy. Too good, to be honest. Sickeningly good really. I mean he’s a Mormon for pity’s sake—and they’re weird good.”

Doug stared. “What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Troy laughed. “He does his job well, and as long we don’t have to be roommates, I’m happy. And for matter, I think he is too. Now, do you want a sandwich? I’d hate to eat in front of you, but I’m starving.”

Doug gave him a nod, chuckling. “Sure, I’ll have one.” The vampire image was now vanishing from his brain. Vampires did not eat sandwiches, at least not ones with pesto—though this one appeared to be without garlic.

“I’m a master at these.” Troy then set all the pieces out, digging up a panini grill next. “Just tell me, is there anything out here that you object to before I begin?”

Gazing at it all, from the dried tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, grilled chicken, cheeses, and the sauces, Doug shook his head, but then paused and said, “I’m trying to cut my calories. If we can keep mayo a minimum and…” His mouth was already watering. “Well, forget it. Do as you will. Once won’t kill me.”

With a chuckle, Troy nodded. He assembled identical grilled sandwiches—which after grilled, were quite divine. Both men sat on the stools at the island counter and ate in silence, just enjoying them.

Once that small empty hollow in his stomach filled, Doug sighed to himself then asked Troy, “So, did you go to New Orleans to pick all this stuff up? Or is that where you are from?”

Troy had to swallow, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb before he could muster up, “Um… no actually all stuff around here belongs to my roommate, Robert Lafon. He’s from New Orleans. I’m a born and bred New Yorker.”

Sighing, taking another bite of the sandwich and chewing, Doug admired the shape of the apartment, especially the space. When he managed a swallow, he asked, “Does Deacon Enterprises own the entire building, or just the apartment?”

“The building,” Troy said. “They probably own the entire block.” Seeing Doug’s expression, he added, “Deacon Enterprises invests in a lot of land and property. You could say they like to have control over their environment.”

“That’s…” Doug shook his head.

“I used to think it was control freaky before I understood why,” Troy added, meeting his gaze. “But it really self-preservation. I don’t know if you know, but there are a lot of people who want to see the Deacons dead. When they own property around the city, that means they have plenty of places to hide around the city.”

Doug straightened up. “What?”

Nodding, Troy said, “They’ve offended the Mafia I don’t know how many times. A good number of these buildings have bullet proof glass. They’re good people. They use their wealth wisely. And they actually fund the renovation of some needier neighborhoods. They just do it quietly.”

“You like them,” Doug said.

Troy shrugged. “It’s a good company. And they are good people. Just…” He shook his head.

“They are control freaky.”

“No,” Troy said solidly. “But I don’t like owing them.”

That made sense.

“Rick is extremely protective of his friends,” Troy explained. “And the fact that he thinks of me as a friend has always, I don’t know, rankled me. I have known him since he was thirteen and came Gulinger, but I’ve never been able to cope with being beholden to a rich man’s kid.”

Doug smirked, glancing at the apartment again. “Is that what’s going on here?”

Troy cringed, then bit into his sandwich, chewing as he thought. When he swallowed, he said, “He just wants to help. And money is what he’s got. So he’s funding me.”

“Does he want you to find a cure for what he’s got?” Doug asked, knowing how toxic Rick’s blood was. He was the one who had performed Rick’s blood transfusion from his father back at the beginning of summer when Rick had gotten in a car accident.

Leaning back a degree, Troy shook his head. “You can’t cure what he’s got.”

“What does he have?” Doug asked, leaning closer over the counter, sandwich crumbs falling on his shirt.

Casting him a slight look, Troy asked, “Well, after looking at his blood, what do you think he has?”

What did he think? Doug had stared at Rick’s and his father’s blood for a long time. Both had the same condition, but it made no sense. He shrugged with a sigh as he replied, “He’s got dog blood mixed with human blood. But I don’t get it. How? How is that possible?”

Troy smirked, his blue eyes shining. “Have you ever told him?”

“How is that going to come up in a conversation?” Doug shook his head, finishing off his sandwich. After drinking down the last of the mango juice he said, “Hey, were you aware you have canine antigens in your blood?” He shook his head. “Like there would be an occasion for it.”

“What about my blood?” Troy asked, peeking an eye out of curiosity.

“Honestly?” Doug set his cup down. “I don’t know how you are alive. I don’t know how your red blood cells look the way they look and act the way they act. It is like your blood is a parasite.”

Straightening up, Troy nodded. “That is an apt description. I really shouldn’t be alive.”

Doug gazed piteously on him. The man clearly was suffering. He was pale due to his pale blood. He probably has shortness of breath and difficulty moving—and yet, the man did not seem to carry himself like that. Troy acted and moved like a healthy man. It was peculiar.

“Now… our research here is not about seeking a cure for me,” Troy said. “That ship has sailed. There is no cure for me, any more than there is a cure for what Rick has. However, I do want to find a cure for the bite.”

“Bite?” Doug puzzled at him. What did bites have to do with their insane blood?

Sighing, Troy met his gaze with all gravity, saying, “Now, don’t freak out, but what I am going to show you is important to our research. You see, my condition causes a state of being that makes me intolerant of direct sunlight—”

“As your blood is,” Doug interjected, figuring as much.

“Exactly,” Troy said. But then he clenched his teeth and shook his head. His teeth had an odd feral appearance to them, sharp in the canines. “And yet, not exactly. I mean I’m not the worst case scenario. I can go out in daylight. My condition is manageable. But… um, there are, uh, cravings that my condition draws out of those who have it. I can control my cravings through the consumption of dairy. It’s the protein that satisfies it. But, uh, those with a full blown case tend to, um…