Werewolf packs are a little like cults. They have their own compounds, often big enough to be a town, and they keep a close watch on the comings and goings of their wolves. They don’t care so much about the humans, but the wolves are watched closely. If a wolf stays out at night too often, they’re usually brought before the Alpha, questioned and disciplined. Having a wolf roaming around at night biting people is bad for business. All bites have to be cleared by the Alpha and their advisors. Accidents happen, but not often. And wolves are never allowed out on the full moon. The monthly pack run is mandatory on pain of death. Literally.
So, you see why I had a thing about werewolves? It’s creepy. This big supernatural cult where your life isn’t really your own. Run on a sexist model of: boys inherit the throne, women are for baby making.
But I went out to see the O’Connell pack anyway. People were possibly in danger and I had been asked for help.
I could smell it almost as soon as I parked outside Lincoln’s house. I was meeting him so he could show me around their creepy little cult town. And the moment I opened my truck door the magic hit my tongue like electric bile. I actually leaned over and retched, but that wasn’t a surprise; I have a very weak stomach.
“Nieminen?” Lincoln’s voice was wary as he came down the front steps of his cute little one-story house. It was painted aqua; I hadn’t expected that.
I stood up tall, trying to look respectable after almost losing my lunch. “Mage Nieminen,” I corrected. “I paid for that stupid PhD for a reason.”
“Right,” he said, but didn’t bother correcting himself or apologizing. Stupid werewolves and their power games. “Are you alright?” He reached out a hand like he wanted to put it on my shoulder, but thought better and pulled it back. Protective instinct; he was an Alpha for sure.
“It would be great if you’d invite me in for a glass of water,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Asking for an invitation? That’s a vampire trick.”
“I’m not a fucking vampire. Just trying to be polite,” I groused.
“Well, you’re shitty at it,” Lincoln retorted. “Now come in and get your damn glass of water.” He stomped up the steps of the little house looking way too good in dirty worn jeans, hiking boots and a loose green henley. Stupid attractive creatures of the night. And this one had a twin!
Lincoln filled a glass with water from the tap in the old fashioned little kitchen, his back to me. “So what, you get car sick or something?” He asked. It was a move that said he didn’t consider me a threat, keeping his back to me. Man was he wrong. And holy shit did I want to show him he was wrong. But I was there to help, not start a fight with an Alpha.
“No, it’s the magic,” I said. “The problem is I’ve never been to a pack town. So I don’t know if it’s normal or not. But it doesn’t feel normal.”
“Define normal,” Lincoln said, handing me the glass.
It was a thick sturdy glass and I took several gulps of the metallic-tasting water.
“Werewolves have a certain smell,” I said. “This magic is… different. It tastes… corrupt. It feels… sick for lack of a better word.” Describing magic has always been hard for me. They teach classes in it in college because the description of magic is a valuable skill. Knowing the five senses of certain magics can help you easily identify them. But for me it’s always been like trying to describe a great work of art. How do you put set values on the Mona Lisa? How do you define beauty like that?
Lincoln wrinkled his nose a little. “We have a smell?” He asked.
“All magic is like that,” I said. “I can’t believe no one ever told you that. Every magic is distinct, and mages are trained to sense it. Even in magical creatures such as yourself. There’s magic running through you all the time. So we can sense it.”
“And it smells?” He asked.
“You’re getting off topic,” I said. The last thing I wanted to do was tell the guy that he smelled like wet dog meets a Molotov cocktail. “The important thing is that I could smell it immediately. It’s all around this place.”
“Still want that tour of the town?” He asked, finally smiling for the first time since I’d met him as he crossed his arms and leaned back against his kitchen counter. “Or are you gonna throw up all over the sidewalk?”
I narrowed my eyes and gulped some more water. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Lincoln’s smile widened. I had a feeling it was an expression that needed to be earned, and couldn’t help but wonder exactly what I’d done to earn it.
The wolf walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, tossing it to me across the kitchen.
I fumbled and dropped it. I’ve never been good at sports. And I’ve never been one of those mages to waste magic unnecessarily to look cool or be lazy. I bent over and picked up the bottle. “Thanks,” I said setting the glass down on the ancient little Formica breakfast table.
Lincoln shook his head as he walked past me, through the little living room toward the front door. The look on his face was something like: this dweeb is going to help us?
It’s an attitude I’ve seen my whole life and I gotta say: just ‘cause I’m a bit awkward doesn’t mean I’m not also awesome.
I followed the wolf outside into the late spring day. It was warm, but still had that little bit of zip in the air leftover from winter.
The street we were on was charming, lined with little wartime houses, and trees overhanging the street. Perfect small town America. No one would guess which quaint little house held an Alpha. Personally I’d expected Lincoln and his brother to have the biggest fanciest houses in town. Very: look at my big house next to your puny house, I am obviously the King of town. All of my experience with werewolves had prepared me for such braggarty macho behaviour.
I hadn’t expected a humble house on a humble street.
“Do you need anything?” He asked, pointing at my shitty old Ford Ranger that I would have stepped into traffic for. And yes, I’m well aware of the irony in that statement. But I loved that fucking truck. And it had hauled more than a body or two for me. It was pretty much family, in a very mafioso sort of way.
I shook my head. “Just getting a feel today for what’s going on,” I said. “Plus, most of what I really need I always carry with me.” I thumped my chest dramatically. “So lead the way.”
Lincoln walked with confidence. He had a long bold stride and never put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t hang his head or look at his feet when he walked. Instead he looked around at the trees and the houses as though surveying something important.
I fought to keep pace with him and avoid tripping over any of the cracked sidewalk. It wasn’t cracked from abuse, just time and old trees taking back the land.
After three blocks I noticed something odd.
“Hey, where are all the people?” I asked as I looked around. The houses were all well-kept, lawns mowed, hedges cut. And yet we hadn’t seen anyone. “They’re not afraid of a little old mage are they?” It was a joke to lighten the mood, but Lincoln’s jaw clenched.
“People are nervous,” he said. “They’re staying indoors. And about half of the humans have left.”
“Left… like… gone for good?” I asked.
Lincoln shook his head. “Staying with family until it blows over.”
“Why only half?” I asked. “If you guys are so worried about this whole thing transferring from the wolf population to the humans… then why wouldn’t you send them all away?”
Lincoln stopped and looked at me, his green eyes narrowing. “You don’t know a lot about werewolves do you?”
I shook my head. “Not really in my wheelhouse, no,” I answered.
Lincoln sighed as though he were hoping for a different answer. “The humans here are pack,” he said.
“Humans can’t be pack,” I said. “I did take magical and mythical creatures 101 way back in the day. Humans can’t be part of a pack bond. There’s no magic in them.”
Lincoln shook his head. “Pack is about more than just magic,” he barked. “It’s about loyalty and community.”
“Yes… loyalty and community that is based on a magical connection that strengthens those feelings by firing impulses in the limbic system of the brain,” I said, recalling easily some of what I’d learned. Part of the reason I was distrustful of wolves; if all of their trust in each other was just magic, then it really was like brainwashing. “That magic also connects the pack to each other, forming bonds that can be felt over hundreds of miles.”
“You can’t just boil something like this down to science,” Lincoln said. “It’s more than that. And though the humans here don’t share the pack magic, they’re still loyal to us. Just like we are to them. They are pack. And it’s hard to split a pack. We are born and trained and prepared for danger and to keep our community safe.”
“Whatever,” I said, “just have to take your word I suppose.”
Lincoln mumbled something under his breath and started along the sidewalk again. “Downtown is just this way,” he said, louder.
We came out of the residential streets into the cutest little downtown I have ever seen. Thomas Kinkade couldn’t have painted it more sweet and idyllic. Minus a church. Wolves aren’t a religious people generally. Except for that one pack in Alaska that went a bit crazy during the gold rush and never shook it off. Otherwise they keep some of the old pagan customs, but nothing like regular Sunday churchgoing.
The street was lined with little storefronts that looked like they’d been there a hundred years: a hardware store, a diner, a little supermarket. There was even a coffee shop/book store.
There were a few people walking around. Cars drove down the street. People came and went from the businesses, though they went straight for their cars and looked a bit nervous.
I stopped, and realized I’d been so focused on arguing with the stupid Alpha that I hadn’t been focused on the magic. I closed my eyes and let myself feel it all around me. It didn’t feel any different than it had at Lincoln’s house. The concentration and intensity hadn’t changed one bit. It was like the town was covered in an even layer of the stuff.
When I opened my eyes, Lincoln was standing half a block away and looking at me expectantly.
“How far to the town limits?” I asked.
“Ten blocks or so,” he said.
“Which way?” I asked.
He held his arm up and pointed south.
Without another word I dodged between the lazy small town traffic and headed south at a trot.
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