Wolfsbane and Mistletoe

The ER was always hopping during the full moon. My people aren’t the only ones who feel its power.

"I will, thanks. And you take care. Keep up with the patch."

Eileen was startled. "How did you – ?"

I grinned. "You’ve been out here for five minutes and didn’t light up." I didn’t tell her I could smell the difference in her clothing, see the slight weight gain, feel her nerves humming with the strain of not reaching for that crumpled box of relief . . .

We wished each other Merry Christmas and I left. The trail from the taxi was blasted by the mall traffic and the nearby landfill, so I headed to Ziggy’s Donuts in Salem, where the cabbies hung out. It didn’t hurt that Annie worked there, a girl I’d been kinda hung up on for a while.

I ordered a jelly-filled because Annie was on the counter. I had been trying to get up my nerve to ask her out on a date. It was one of my New Year’s resolutions – from this year. But we chatted while she got my donut, and I didn’t say anything dumb, so I counted it a success. Maybe even a sign. I found a seat before I did something impetuous and stupid. I’d have to soon: time was almost running out on my resolution, and I keep my promises.

It’s hard, when you’re a guy, to ask out a cute girl. I’m okay, I’m not hideous, though personally I think I look better as a wolf. I built my own house when our folks died, I have a decent income and a boat that’s paid for, and my place is spotless because I don’t like surprises.

But it’s even harder, when you’re Fangborn, to ask a normal out. The two species can mate, though most of us Fangborn prefer to keep to our own kind. A mixed mating has a lower chance of producing a were or vamp than two Fangborn, but that’s pretty low odds, too; how my parents lucked out and got two, one of each, I don’t know. As far as I understand, it’s all about recessive genes, but it doesn’t make the initial discussion any easier. "Hey, sweetie? When I said my family was strange, I didn’t mean regular, dysfunctional-strange . . ."

My cabbie came in then, sweating profusely, probably thinking he was coming down with the flu; I could smell Smith on him, even though they’d probably only brushed fingers when Smith paid. I waited until the cabbie ordered his coffee – even Annie’s smile didn’t help him – and then I approached him. He wasn’t supposed to tell me where he took his fare, but I slid a twenty across the table and got the address of a no-tell motel on the edge of town. Then I asked to check his cab, to see whether Smith had dropped anything, I said.

"Help yourself," he said, shivering around his coffee cup. "It’s open."

I was feeling pleased with myself when Weems pulled up alongside me in the parking lot. As he locked up the cruiser, he didn’t speak, but gave me a nod along with the hairy eyeball. I nodded back, and kept moving.

We had never liked each other, and now he harbors the deep suspicion most cops have for PIs. He’s always made my hackles rise. I couldn’t put my finger on the reason, so I did the best I could to avoid him.

Annie knew him, too. Well enough to know that she could look forward to a full six-percent tip.

I waited until Weems was tearing into his bear claw, then opened the door to the cab –

. . . the screech of brakes before a crash . . . a phone ringing at 3:30 in the morning . . . the gush of blood from a wound that is deeper than you thought . . .

I could barely keep myself standing. I slammed the door, and stumbled back to my truck, not even waiting to calm myself before I fled into the traffic and away from that cab.

"What’s next?" Claudia said, when I returned to her condo two hours later. She looked a little better and was now dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that said, I ? SPIKE. She was barefoot, making us coffee. I still felt sick and I was freezing just looking at her. Her place is all white wood and glass and bare surfaces, which she calls "clean lines." The Christmas tree and lights looked out of place there, but I was glad of them.

I tried to get myself together. "After I left Ziggy’s, I checked the motel. He paid cash, left no forwarding address. No luck at the other fleabags, either. I cast around for a while, but he wasn’t doing any walking and I couldn’t get anything from car tracks." I didn’t tell her I’d driven halfway to New Hampshire before I’d gotten hold of myself, and used my work to keep from spinning into another panic. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to feel less hollow, trying not to puke watching the cream swirl around the top of the coffee.

She saw me hesitate. "Gerry, what’s wrong? You look like seven kinds of Hell."

I pushed the coffee away from me. "Every time I’ve caught a noseful of Smith, it’s almost knocked me off my feet. You were right, he’s bad."

"Yeah, bad. But why did I take so long to bounce back after I saw him? And you, you’re always psyched up, all bloodlusty and rarin’ to go, when you find a bad guy. What’s different about Smith?"

"I dunno." I shrunk down into myself, not wanting to talk.

"That’s not helpful." She went into psychiatrist mode. "Okay, you can’t say what’s wrong with Smith. What do you feel?"

"Claudia – "

"Humor me."

I shivered. She was right, but I really didn’t want to discuss it. "Every time I think about Smith, I get sick, I feel confused. It’s like the world’s upside down, like I’m chasing my own tail – "

I shoved the chair back and bolted for the sink. I made it, just before the donut made a repeat appearance, and turned on the tap while I retched. Much as I wanted it to, the sound of running water didn’t block out Claudia’s exclamation.

"Oh, my God, Gerry. He’s one of us."

"He can’t be." I wiped off my mouth and turned to her.

"That’s got to be it. It explains so much – our reactions, his, the way he went berserk in the office – "

"He’s just a psycho," I said. But I knew she was right.

"No, Gerry." She took a deep breath. "He’s evil. And he’s one of us!"

"There’s no such thing as an evil Fangborn, Claudia," I said. "Not in all our history."

"Maybe not in our history, but what about our future? I’ve got to check in with the family, let them know what’s going on. Maybe the oracles will have something for us. This is amazing – "

A sudden, childish urge hit me. "Claud, don’t."

"Don’t tell the family?"

I nodded. I just didn’t want any of this to be true.

"Gotta do it, Gerry. We can’t let Smith get away, and if he’s what we think he is, they all need to know. This is big."

I shrugged miserably.

She put her hand on my shoulder. "It’s scary, yes, the idea of evil appearing in our form, with our powers. It’s also a tremendous revelation. Gerry, it can tell us a lot about who we are, maybe more than the geneticists or the oracles can, and it can tell us about the nature of evil. It may even foretell the final battle against evil, Gerry. The one where we win. Who wouldn’t want to be present for that?" Her eyes were alight and her fangs peeked out with her excitement.