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

a peek at Tommy. “It does not belong to mankind.”

“As for vampires,” Tommy shook his head, “We used to believe that you could not force a person into vampirism. But we have since learned it is wrong.”

“So a bite can make you a vampire?” Vincent started to think about his cousin Doug, knowing about Troy.

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “A bite will just make you a victim. Vampirism is a lifestyle. In most cases, it is chosen.”

“But to become a vampire, you have to drink vampire blood,” Tommy put in. “Which can be forced down a person’s throat.”

“But the man can choose to die—as the blood is toxic,” Michael retorted.

“However,” Tommy argued back, “most people don’t want to die.”

Michael shrugged, looking away.

Blinking, Vincent ventured to ask, “So… the case of Troy Meecham—you’re familiar with it?”

They both nodded.

“The SRA have been watching Troy for a long time,” Michael said with a heavy sigh. “He was a victim of the bite when he was a kid, but he has been searching for a cure. You see, a vampire bite does not wholly heal. It is a curse on the bitten. However, this last year they caught up with him and forced him to drink the blood. But he is not living the vampire lifestyle, and the Order of Blood—”

“Order of Blood?” Vincent straightened up in alarm.

“A vampire organization,” Tommy said. “And not a friendly one.”

“The Order of Blood has a hit out on Troy,” Michael finished. “Kind of like an Islamic fatwa.”

“But why?” Vincent was feeling sick again. “They made him what he was.”

“And he rejected them,” Michael added. “Which I have to say takes a lot of bravery. I think, mostly, they are afraid Troy will find a cure for the bite—and quite possible even vampirism. There are vampires with regret, you know.”

What a thought.

“Right now, our world is stuck in the middle of a battle between good and evil,” Michael explained. “Each one of us is choosing a side each and every day.

Tommy now lifted his head, peering towards the door as if he had heard something.

Vincent was lost in thought. Yet he nodded and said, “So… how did vampirism start?”

“How else?” Michael muttered with a look to Tommy. “A lot of primitive societies since forever were involved in cannibalism, bloodletting and human sacrifice. And it really hasn’t left the world. It’s just hidden itself within the dark folds of society. It puts on a shiny veneer and sells itself as a self-care thing. I mean have you ever heard of adrenochrome?”

Vincent shook his head.

“Or the selling of baby parts by abortion clinics?” Michael supplied.

“Or spirit cooking?” Tommy interjected.

Vincent shuddered and nodded. “But I thought that was just fake news.”

Michael laughed. “I wish it were. Most normal people would never conceive of such things. But this world, unfortunately, can be a very ugly place. Vampirism is just an old relic of an ancient magical practice for eternal life. You could even say, vampires are just another form of sorcerer.”

“And werewolves?” Vincent’s palms were starting to shake.

They shook their heads. “We told you how Mr. Deacon the First was made. Most werewolves came to be that way.”

“There are good and bad werewolves,” Michael tagged on with a firm nod. “You get man-eaters, but then there are also ones like the Deacons who leave everyone else alone and just want to live their lives peacefully.”

“Does a bite turn you into one?” Vincent asked.

They both laughed, shaking their heads.

“You have to be a special kind of stupid to get bitten by a werewolf, in most cases,” Michael said.

“Not counting the man eaters,” Tommy interjected.

Nodding to him in agreement, Michael added, “But you cannot contract werewolfism. You can, however, contract partial lycanthropic toxemia—which is jokingly called werewolf-itis. But it is entirely curable.”

That was good news.

“Do they have something like an Order of Blood?” Vincent asked.

Yet immediately Tommy popped out of his seat and grabbed a man who was hiding in the other booth, yanking him out. “You’re spying on us?”

The man, Vincent recognized. It was the brick-built guy who had come out of the building with Tommy. The man pushed Tommy off and held up his hands. “Sorry, man! It’s just—” his eyes flickered to Vincent. “Who is he?”

Michael rose to his full height, glowering down upon the man. “None of your damn business. This is private.”

“Ha!” The man jerked back. “Private? He came for supernatural help. That is in the jurisdiction of—”

“He came to get help from the Seven,” Michael snapped back.

“Then why did he come all this way to California, when most of the Seven are back east? Huh?” The man clicked his tongue, waiting in triumph for a good answer.

Vincent raised a hand. “Because I don’t know those back east. But I knew about Michael.”

The SRA hunter narrowed his eyes on Vincent as Michael and Tommy shot him an appreciative glance. “What do you want from him?”

“I don’t want it from you,” Vincent stood up.

“But the SRA are trained professionals that—”

“The SRA put my friend Stewart McGivens in danger,” he snapped back. He had not meant to bring Stewart up, but he had to validate his reasoning. “So I don’t trust your organization. He warned me you people use other people as bait.”

The agent paled. Michael lifted his eyebrows, surprised. Tommy blinked and asked, “Who is Stewart McGivens?”

“We’re part of the same fraternity back in college,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “I came to Michael because I figured he might be the most trustworthy out of all of you.”

“And what do you need him for?” the man snarled through clenched teeth.

“None of your damn business, like the man said,” Vincent then turned toward Michael. “We can go somewhere else to talk.”

Michael shrugged, thinking on it.

But Tommy shook his head and shoved the spying agent toward the café door. “No. He’s leaving.”

“Don’t shove me!” The man pushed back.

“Do I need to go all grizzly on you?” Tommy asked in a low voice.

For a second, Vincent thought the SRA man had peed himself. The man backed up then quickly rushed out the door. When Tommy came back, Vincent asked, “Go all grizzly?”

Nodding with a self-satisfied smile, Tommy said, “Yeah. Grizzly bear. Most people get pretty intimidated when I take that form. It’s one of my best spirit animals.”

“I gotta see that…” Vincent murmured.

Tommy patted him on the shoulder, smiling. “Maybe later.” He then looked over his shoulder and whispered to Michael, “You tell him the rest. I am going to go on patrol. I’ll make sure nobody else spies on us.”

He then stepped into the next booth, where Vincent could see Tommy quickly shrink down into his clothes, long hair vanishing into his skin yet keeping the feather. He slithered out as a snake. Vincent pulled back, staring after until he could no longer see Tommy-the-feathered-snake.

“King snake,” Michael whispered to Vincent. “Non-poisonous, but scary looking. He’ll keep out of sight. Let’s go sit over there. It will give us a better view of the café.”

Sliding into the seats of that booth, Michael continued where they had left off. “You asked if werewolves have something equivalent to the Order of Blood. The answer is: not as far as we know. But werewolves tend to gather in packs.”

“Packs?”

“Like regular wolves,” Michael said with a nod. “Most werewolf packs hide from the SRA. The organization tries to find them, but to be frank, a pack of werewolves is a dangerous thing, and they will defend themselves.”

“Do the Deacons belong to a pack?” Vincent asked, wondering.

“Howie almost joined one,” Michael said. Yet he shook his head. “But his father nixed that—which is a good thing. Packs mess with the heads of those who join them. They’re like cults. Some even worship the Greek and Roman goddess Diana—”

“Yeah! I did hear a rumor that he had joined a cult one summer. Was that it?” Vincent’s heart sped up. The world he knew flickered into view again.

Michael nodded. “That’s the one. They really screwed with his head. They tried to get him to stay using the she-wolves. I’m sure you’ve heard other rumors about that summer also. They all have a grain of truth in them.”

Vincent wondered. The rumors were that Rick had gotten a girl pregnant—which had found out was true from Audry. The entire thing had soured Vincent’s previous high opinion of Rick. He had before thought the guy an upstanding man who (for the most part) was merely slandered. The other rumor that had gone around was that Rick had drug addiction and had been sent to rehab. That one, he believed was false. Now he was not so sure. Was there a grain of truth?  

“Did they use drugs on him?” Vincent asked.

Michael nodded. “In a way. I’ve since learned they used a balm that enhanced pheromones. It made him uncharacteristically addicted to a particular she-wolf. However, I do believe he is cured.” He gazed almost sympathetically at Vincent when he said that. Vincent wondered why.

“Now, about other things—the Deacons do protect werewolf packs—”

“What?” Vincent straightened up.

“You heard me. He protects werewolf packs, and regular wolf packs too.” Chuckling, Michael leaned back in his seat. “He has withheld information from the Seven about three packs at least. And we are sure there is one more that he is hiding.”

Vincent nodded, thinking. He eyed Michael as he said, “He doesn’t really trust your group, does he?”

Michael shook his head, sighing. “Nope. Not entirely. He is still a wolf. And I think after dodging bullets almost monthly, he is never quite sure if we won’t turn on him.” Sighing once more, he muttered, “You can’t exactly blame him, really. Most of us in the Seven had killed werewolves before.”

Vincent leaned in. “You… you have?”

Nodding, Michael painfully chuckled. “Yes. When we were sucked into the other world, time was different. We grew up there—became men while being thrust into a realm entirely full of supernatural beings. I’ve battled elves, dragons, ogres, vampires, demons and the occasional werewolf. All the ones in that world, as far as I have met, were man-eaters.”

“Oh Lord…”

Michael scratched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. And one of us—Semour, whom we call Sir Cooly—has silver plated armor and carries a sword called wolf-slayer. He was the best at it.”

“Ugh.” Vincent cringed, imagining how Rick would see that.

“Howie is extremely intimidated by him.” But Michael chuckled. “But anyway, back on topic—most supernatural beings will gather and make communities, like any creature. But when they do, we often call these places black holes. You can go in, but getting out will be difficult—especially if they consider you a threat. Middleton Village is a black hole.”

“Is there a wolf pack in those woods?” Vincent asked. “There is a forest called Wolfs’ Wood, right? That’s what you named the cult after, isn’t it?”

“The imaginary, cult, yes.” But Michael shook his head. “There are no more wolves in Wolfs’ Wood. The last wolves were slaughtered by the witches of the town in the hopes to kill off Howie’s grandfather. You see, Mr. Deacon the First had come back to town long after he had killed the witch who had created him, buying up Wolfs Wood.”

“He killed the witch who, you know, turned him into a man?” That was not good news. Rick’s grandfather was a killer.

With a nod, Michael said, “Of course he did. She was going to kill him. There really is no going back for a wolf made into an assassin.”

“Who did he assassinate?” Vincent felt his mouth go dry.

“A deacon in the catholic church,” Michael said off-handedly. “I do believe his name was Richard Howard Gannon.”

“So he killed him and then, what, used his name to make his own life?” It was an awful legacy. He wondered if Rick was ashamed of it.

Michael shook his head. “No. After he went to deal with the witch, he roamed a while as a man, realizing that life as a human was a lot more complicated than the life of a wolf. He did what most gore-wolves do.