The Wolf Witch (The Keys Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

“So it’s genetic?” she said, determined to make sense of this strange new world.

“Yep.”

“So your parents were...werewolves?”

“Don’t know. My mom definitely wasn’t, but I don’t think it affects women the way it does men. I’ve heard of girl werewolves, but there’s never been like a population census or anything.”

“You don’t say,” said Blue, finishing her drink. She held out the glass. “More, please.”

“My dad could have been,” said Gabe, pouring the rum. “But there’s no reason to say he was. I think my mom must have carried the gene but not been affected.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Because
her
father was a werewolf,” he said.

“Oh.” It was either the rum working its magic, or this was starting to make sense. “Is that why - ”

“ - my mom went full on hallelujah Satan cult with me?” said Gabe. “Yep. She thought I could be fixed. She named me Benedict because that’s what you do if you’re worried your son is a werewolf, but obviously I always preferred Gabe - ”

“ - wait, stop. Your name isn’t Gabriel?”

“It’s my confirmation name,” he said. “Come on;
anything
was better than Benedict Arnot. Besides being one dropped consonant from Benedict Arnold, everyone kept fucking calling me Eggs.”

“Okay,” she said. “But how does being named Benedict help with being a werewolf?”

“It doesn’t,” said Gabe. “It’s just a superstition from a bunch of Latin countries. You name your son Benito as a blessing, so he doesn’t turn into a werewolf. But I turned anyway and Mom, – who thought religion was like some kind of broken slot machine, God rest her dopey soul – she figured Catholicism wasn’t working on me and joined the bugfuck Evangelicals.

“And obviously
that
didn’t work either, because I got exorcised and prayed over and dunked in chlorine and I was still a werewolf. That’s why my grandfather turned up; he knew she was goddamn delusional and that I needed people around me who understood what I was going through.”

“And he brought you here? To Gloria?”

Gabe nodded. “She’s a wolf witch. Kind of like a den mother. She’s not a werewolf herself, but she can see things the way we do. I think it goes back to like the Native Americans and stuff – some kind of shaman lady who acted as a medicine woman and guardian for the tribe’s pack.
Those
guys used to think we were possessed by spirits, too, but not evil ones. Just nature spirits, I guess.”

“And you believe that?” asked Blue. The strange waking dream that had taken her into the cellar was receding now, but she couldn’t help but wonder. That voice had been so real. Perhaps she was just going crazy.

“I don’t know,” said Gabe. “Maybe not. But I get why they needed the wolf witches. They weren’t stupid when it came to nature, those First Nations. It’s not like these dumb hippies who think that living in harmony with nature is beautiful.” He sighed and stared into his empty glass. “I mean, nature is beautiful, but it doesn’t care that we find it beautiful. The coral reefs don’t care that I exist unless I do something stupid like jam a foot down on them or drop an anchor where I shouldn’t. Nature doesn’t give a shit about us; it’s not sentimental. It just
is
, and that’s all. I guess that’s why they felt they needed the wolf witches to intercede with it. They knew that raw Darwinism is fucking scary.”

She thought of the dead deer, teeming with life, of the coral and the hundreds of species of shimmering fish, of gators and stinkroaches and big white pelicans soaring across the sky. For a moment the sense of their own smallness in the scheme of things almost overwhelmed her. Maybe it was the booze, but somehow – in the face of the huge, implacable swarming strangeness of nature – she could see herself adjusting to this. Gabriel Arnot is a werewolf. There.

“So,” she said. “Do you...literally turn into a wolf?”

“Yep.”

“Every full moon?”

“Yep.”

There were about a dozen things in her head that made sense now, but at the edges was that one thing she didn’t want to make sense. “That murder,” she said, forcing the words out, because she knew if she didn’t ask now she would never get up the nerve again. “In Miami. Was that...?”

“I don’t know,” he said, quickly. “All I know is that it was nothing to do with Eli. He grew up here with Gloria; he knows better.”

“And he’s a werewolf, too?”

“He’s more than that,” said Gabe. “He’s the alpha.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s the top dog. Not the boss, exactly, but he’s the guy you go to with problems. Fights.” He sighed again. “In theory, anyway.”

She had never met the man, but from the way Gabe spoke she guessed there was some kind of bad blood there. “How is that determined?” she said. “Who gets to be the alpha?”

“Depends,” he said. “Sometimes it gets passed on, father to son, but that’s not always possible, with the way it skips generations. The more natural way is a measure of health. Potency. Eli’s the perfect example. He’s a serial babydaddy who drinks too much, smokes cigars and eats red meat like it’s going out of style, but he has the joints and bloodwork of a man ten years younger. It’s usually the opposite for the rest of us.”

“How do you mean?”

Gabe sighed. “I mean we don’t last long,” he said. “It’s hard on the body to keep changing like that every month. It’s pure hell on the bones, all that cracking and stretching. Arthritis, rotator cuff injuries, herniated discs, scoliosis – all those fun things.”

Blue remembered the bloody paw print. Part of her had maybe hoped they just sneezed or something and paffed into wolves, like those CGI things in the
Twilight
movies, but real life had a habit of doling out more pain than was necessary. She reached across the table and touched his hand, and he looked so pathetically grateful that she could have cried for him. “Does it hurt?”

He just nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Gabe shrugged. “It is what it is. One day I just won’t be able to do it anymore. It stresses the heart, the whole circulatory system. A lot of old wolves check out in the throes of it, as it were. Their bodies just quit one day. Brain bubbles, strokes, massive MI’s. Sometimes they don’t change back; they don’t have the physical resources to do it. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

“They don’t change back fully,” said Gabe. “Something sticks. A knee, a tooth, an eye. If it’s a major organ that doesn’t go back to human then you’re really fucked.”

“Oh my God.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. It’s not all ripped abs and playing grab-ass in the woods with your buddies. Even if you get fully stuck as a wolf you’re in trouble. The longer you stay that way the less likely it is that you’re going to come back the way you were before.” He held her hand and looked into her eyes. “Blue, it’s not like you’re a person trapped inside a wolf skin. You’re a wolf. Really a wolf. Different senses, different perspectives. You’re...nature. You just
are
.”

She nodded her head, hoping that she was following him, but then she heard the couch springs creak and remembered that they weren’t completely alone. She pulled the afghan tight around her just in time; Axl opened the kitchen door and stood there, yawning.

His eyes fell on the bottle. “Holy shitballs. You have booze? Can I have some?”

“No,” said Blue.

“Cool,” he said, reaching for the Ouija board.

“Yeah, don’t play with that,” said Blue, lightly swatting the back of his wrist.

“Why not?” said Axl. “It’s a toy. Look, it even says ‘Made In China.’”

Gabe pulled the board towards him. “So do fireworks,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you should set them off in the kitchen.”

“Neat, Confucius. Where did you get that one from? A fortune cookie? Come on – I saw
Paranormal Activity
when I was like ten. And I didn’t even have nightmares.”

“It’s four in the morning, Axl,” said Gabe. “Go back to bed.”

“I wanted a glass of water. Are there any Advil?”

Gabe sighed and poured him a shot. “Somewhere. Here, take the edge off, and don’t tell your mother.”

Blue stared at him. Grinning, Axl threw down the shot. He sputtered for a moment, red faced, eyes watering, and then held out the glass for more, still wheezing.

“Don’t push it,” said Gabe, in the same level, no-nonsense voice he used on the boat. Axl went to the tap to fill a glass, then shuffled back off to bed, casting a wistful glance at the Ouija board as he went.

“Stacy’s going to murder you,” said Blue.

“Only if you tell her.” Gabe gathered up the shot glasses and put them in the sink. “The kid’s probably in pain.”

The shadows in the cracks of the kitchen blinds were blue now. A new day, and one where the world was a whole lot different to the one it had been when she fell asleep. “Why? Is it something to do with how he’s changing?”

Gabe turned away from the sink. “Yeah,” he said. “The older you are, the harder it gets. When you’re as young as he is, your body is damn near indestructible. And it’s already turning from one thing into another. Every nerve, every bone, every brain cell and hair follicle – it’s all geared towards change. It doesn’t even need to be a full moon for kids his age. They can just pop into wolves without warning.”

Blue stared at him for a long moment, digesting the implications of this. “Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?”

“Very,” he said. “Why do you think I told Stacy to let him stay over?”

15

Grayson brought his own teabags.

Joe tried not to stare, but it was difficult when Grayson ordered a cup of hot water and furtively dropped a bag into it when the waitress’s back was turned.

“What?” said Grayson, staring him down. “Yes, I’m a national stereotype, okay?”

“No, it’s cool,” said Joe. “Actually it’s...it’s kind of cute.”

Grayson took a teaspoon and squeezed the teabag without mercy. He added milk to the lethally strong smelling brew and peered into it in silence for a moment, like he was trying to read his fortune.

“What are you thinking?” asked Joe, unsure if he’d crossed a line.

“Charlie.”

“Oh. Always a fun topic.”

Grayson didn’t laugh. “He’s been talking a lot lately – even more than usual.”

“About?”

“How he never wanted Lyle’s old turf. And how dumb he’d have to be to want it.”

“And what?” said Joe. “You think he doth protest too much or something?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Joe picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled the edge. “I don’t know. Charlie accepted Gloria’s decision when she gave Eli the Keys.”

“That was Gloria, though. I don’t know that he ever respected Lyle in the same way, and certainly not Reese.”

Joe bit his tongue. At first he’d found it hard to believe that that doughy, whiny child had anything to do with Lyle Raines, but then he realized that Reese had that certain lonely sadness that went with the sons of vicious men, or at least those sons who didn’t share the father’s deep-seated cruelty. Even Reese’s weight seemed not so much a symptom of indulgence but one of neglect, of thoughtless drive-through dinners and consolation buckets of ice-cream that never quite filled the hole inside.

Grayson caught Joe’s eye and sighed. “I know,” he said.

“Know what? Can you read my
mind
?”

Grayson smiled. “Nope. But your face is revealing enough. Not very impressive, is he? Our new alpha?”

“No.”

“He’s just a boy. And a sheltered one, at that.”

Joe felt his phone shudder at his hip, but he ignored it. For now. “You think things are gonna get bad?”

“I think it’s a very real possibility, yes. We went all out to impress the swamp wolves, but it’s clearly not working. And once rumors spread – the way they will – then there’s really nothing preventing the whole territory turning into a free for all.” Grayson took a sip of his tea and sighed. His eyes were dark against the white of his hair and Joe wondered what color they really were; he’d never know now unless he asked. The skin on the backs of Grayson’s hands looked thin, pulled tight and shiny over the knots of his swollen knuckles.

“What are you going to do?” asked Joe.

Grayson shrugged. “Leave, I suppose. If I have to. I’d rather not, but if push comes to shove...”

“Did you ever think about going back to England?”

“Sometimes. It’s still home. I miss it now and again, but then I remember the cold and the damp; hell on the old arthritis.” He took another sip and peered out at the parking lot. “I
like
this climate, even if the local fauna sometimes reminds me of the ten plagues of Egypt.”

Joe smiled, remembering having almost exactly the same thought when he’d moved down to Florida. Biblical sized blizzards of things that chittered and chirped and crawled. Loudmouthed frogs belching away all through the night. Hurricane clouds that smothered the sun. All that was missing was a river that ran red, or for the angel of death to swing his great scythe over the heads of the firstborn.

He shivered suddenly, like the biting chill from a long-ago Minnesota Bible class had escaped from the realms of memory. It was an image that had always haunted him, of blood smeared on rough wood and sleeping breaths stilled to silence by the vast, soft thrum of black-feathered wings. Or maybe it was because he’d seen Gloria doing it, her fingers red from a pot of blood she’d got from God knows where (and he didn’t like to ask), her face blank with the same watchfulness it got when she was listening to someone who wasn’t there.

And then it came to him, and it seemed like divine inspiration. A simple solution.

“Why don’t you just talk Reese into getting a wolf witch?” he said.

Grayson blinked over the rims of his glasses. “From where? They don’t exactly carry them at Wal-Mart, you know.”

“No, but there have to be
some
,” said Joe. “What are they? Jedi?”

“Practically, yes,” said Grayson. “It’s 2015. You’re about four centuries too late to find a real one, and even then it wasn’t a sure thing. For every Meg McBride there were about thirty mouthy old catladies who were guilty of nothing more than giving the wrong neighbor the stinkeye. I mean, of course they
confessed
to being witches and werewolves; most people will tell you anything they think you want to hear if it looks like it’s going to get them out of the thumbscrews - ”