Heir of the Dog (Liars and Vampires Book 6)

by Robert J. Crane

  Derrick’s dad was a werewolf.

  Chapter 4

  “…And then he takes off running down the hall. I think he heard the police sirens.”

  I was sitting on Mill’s couch next to him, feeling like it was the dead of night even though it was only six p.m. His windows were all sealed from the sun, but he kept the place well-lit and comfortable. Still, the lack of natural light gave it a forever-night sort of feel.

  Masculine highlighted the leathers and wood finishes, but he’d started to give the place a little softer touch as of late. He always had fresh flowers in a vase where I tossed my keys and phone and he kept his fridge stocked with my favorite soda and snacks. I noticed that he’d started to keep enough food for actual meals, too, his fridge no longer floor-to-ceiling blood packs from the local Red Cross. He was getting to be a pretty good cook, too, considering he hadn’t needed to eat real food in years.

  He was sipping from a stainless steel tumbler, freshly awake. I appreciated the fact that he never used clear mugs around me. I could just pretend that he was drinking coffee, because it looked like he was. I just didn’t look too closely at the lip of the lid for fear of fixating on the crimson residue that gathered around the sipping hole.

  “So, you’re convinced that this guy is a werewolf?” Mill set his cup down on the coffee table. He was so graceful it didn't even clatter on the clear glass.

  “Pretty much,” I said. “I mean, it adds up, doesn’t it? He has mood swings that are inconsistent but keep happening. Could be the full moon, right? He disappears for days at a time. Probably transforming and then coming back after. And he was Amish, Mill. I mean, I know they aren’t all werewolves, but he lives in Florida and there’s a werewolf clan among the Amish down in Sarasota. I'm drawing a line here and it's a pretty straight one for me. He looks like a werewolf.”

  “That’s a lot of speculation,” Mill said.

  “But you should’ve seen him,” I said, shaking my head. “He looked vicious. His teeth were all bared, shoulders hunched, as he was stalking down the hall. I didn’t spend all that much time with the werewolves, but they sort of moved the same.” I tapped my chin. “But the Amish were all in control of themselves. This guy…he was totally different.”

  “Yeah, because there’s a huge difference between Amish werewolves and the ones who aren't in the order,” Mill said. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

  “Okay, what’s the matter with you?” I asked, sitting up, glaring at him. “You’re usually grumpy when I wake you up early, but this is something else. Have I offended thee, somehow? Did I spit in your blood, giving it a flavor of Cheetos or something? Do I need to leave so you can unkink your vampire hose?”

  He blinked at me. “Vampire hose? Is that slang for goth ladies?”

  “No,” I said, throwing my arms up. “I said it, realized it didn't really mean anything, so now I kind of want to take it back, like deleting a pic on Instaphoto that you shouldn't have posted.”

  “I know I'm kinda old compared to you, but I'm pretty sure spoken words don't work like that,” he said. “And no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Did my traumatic day inconvenience you, then?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” he said. “It’s just a shame that the police didn’t shoot that guy down like the dog he is right outside the school.”

  I could almost hear the seconds tick by as I stared at him, dumbfounded. My mouth fell open and I floundered around for words.

  Had I heard him right? I couldn’t have. There’s no way. He didn’t…really think that…did he?

  “Um…what?” I asked.

  Mill didn’t flinch. “I hate werewolves.”

  I laughed hollowly. “You’re joking, right? Werewolves…they helped you, Mill. Helped me. They were wonderful. How can you say that?” I stared him down. “Are you so up your own ass that you can't get off Team Edward for a second and see that the werewolves here have done some real good?”

  Mill sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with werewolves.” He sat up a little more. “They’re hairy. Mean. Ugly. Their breath is terrible. They bite, they scratch, they use their claws. It’s never a fair fight with a werewolf.”

  “And vampires don’t use their teeth?” I asked incredulously.

  “That’s different,” Mill said. “We only use our teeth when we intend to drain someone. Anything else...well, it's just savage.”

  “And drinking blood isn't?” I pointed at his tumbler.

  “Vampires at least go about their killing with some class,” Mill said. “Werewolves have none. They're no better than beasts.”

  “Wow.” I stood up and started pacing. I didn’t want to sit next to him anymore. “I didn’t realize that your dislike of werewolves was all petty surface stuff,” I said. “I was sure that you of all people would be able to give me some sort of deep, philosophical argument, but it's really down to, 'Eww, gross doggo mean.'”

  “They really are.” Mill shrugged. “And I hate ‘em.”

  “You know, I expected better of you,” I said. “You’re so nonchalant about your anti-werewolf bigotry.”

  “It's not bigotry,” Mill said. “Bigotry is ill-informed prejudice based on something like misunderstanding or fear of the unknown. I know exactly what I despise about werewolves and if you get into a fight with one of them and lose your lower intestine for a few days you’ll hate them, too.”

  It was making my blood boil how casually he was saying this stuff. “I don’t think that you can make an assumption about the entire species based on the actions of a few or one, Millard.”

  He winced. “I should not have told you my full name.”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” I asked. “I really don’t like this side of you. Your 1800’s upbringing is showing.”

  “I get that you always want to see the best in others,” Mill said, “but I’m sorry that I don’t share your modernist, flowery view of the world. I thought that, by now, you’d see that not everything is rainbows and sunshine. This isn't about nearly-intangible differences like race or sexuality, things that have no bearing on a person. Paranormal creatures are separated from humans by a wide gulf and it's nothing to do with appearances. You’ve seen just how terrible vampires are. How most vampires are. Iona and I are rare birds. You know that, right?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “I’m not trying to upset you,” Mill said. “But sometimes I think you forget that vampires are monsters. Well, werewolves are, too. And so much worse than the two of us.”

  “Look, Mill, this kid is going through a really rough time,” I said, aware that I was definitely ignoring that last thought. “His dad is going through a rough spot, too. People are deeper than what they show on the outside.”

  “Sometimes,” he said, nodding his head. “But that doesn’t automatically mean that I'm to like what I find underneath. Maybe his rough exterior is hiding something even worse. Something that's bubbling up after being held down for a nice, long while.”

  I grimaced.

  “You hope that there’s good in everyone and I totally understand and appreciate that,” he said. “But you have not lived as long as I have, Cassie. You haven’t seen just how wretched the world is and how the good people are fewer and farther between than any of us would like. Especially when they've been altered by the paranormal.” He shook his head. “Power like that which comes from vampires, werewolves...it corrupts. In unpredictable ways.”

  “You're corrupted?” I asked. “I'm not having a hard time believing that, at least not after this conversation.”

  “I don't think I'm really getting through here,” he said, a pinched look on his face. “Maybe we should just agree to disagree about werewolves.”

  “You think just because you've been living a long time you get to have a sour opinion of the world?” I asked.

  “Sour's a bridge too far. No, I think it’s a realistic opinion,
” he said. “Most people, super-natural creatures included, are out for themselves. When you sprinkle power imbalances into that equation, it leads to violence and suffering. I think good intentions are only skin deep most of the time – and only held at bay by threat of reprisal.”

  “Wow,” I said. “What a sad world you live in. It’s so bleak. How do you get out of bed in the morning?”

  “I have you,” he said plainly, without missing a beat.

  My cheeks burned bright red, but I turned away. If he was trying to flatter me in order to distract me, it wasn’t going to work. “When we ran into trouble with Draven, Iona went straight to the Amish werewolves,” I said, trying to stay up on my high horse. “She didn’t have an issue with them.”

  “Iona is her own breed of crazy,” Mill said. “But I understand why she went there.”

  I blinked at him. “Wait, what? You don’t like them, but you understand going to them for help?”

  “The Amish are different than other werewolves,” Mill said. “They act as a group, keep each other accountable. They have self-discipline because they have faith in a power higher than themselves. Rogue werewolves, those without a pack, are narcissistic, shallow creatures and often vicious. They have no constraints or boundaries to keep themselves in check and usually no one around to help them. They truly give in to the wild beast within themselves and live only to maim, kill and slaughter. There is no higher calling to hold them back. No fear of reprisal. After all...who would stop them?”

  “It sounds so hopeless,” I said.

  “That’s because it is,” Mill said. “If they aren’t kept on a leash, especially the young ones, there would be a lot more wanton violence in the world around us.”

  “You don’t think that any werewolf outside of a pack couldn’t reform himself? Keep himself in check?” I asked.

  Mill shook his head. “Do you think a vampire without any guidance could choose not to murder every human that walked across their path?”

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” I said, shaking my head. I snatched up my keys, my cell phone and backpack from the entryway. I totally ignored the roses in the vase. “All I wanted was your support and you’re just sitting there cutting me down, hopes and attitude first.” I turned and stared at him.

  “You’re leaving already?” He hadn't moved from the couch.

  “It's a little too dark in here for me and I don't mean the lack of sunlight or your over-reliance on CFL bulbs,” I said, my heartbeat throbbing against my eardrums. “My parents have sent me about three hundred and eighteen text messages. This —” I said, motioning to the distance between us, “To be continued. I – I hate myself for even sinking to this low, teenager-ish level, but...I just can’t even with you right now.”

  “Come on, Cassie,” Mill said, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Upsetting you,” he said, taking it slow as he crossed to me rather than whizzing over at full vampire speed, which would probably just freak me out.

  “But you aren’t sorry for what you said, are you?” I asked, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

  “No,” Mill said. “I'm not. I sort of wish that you hadn’t met the Amish werewolves. They've severely skewed your impression of their kind.”

  “'Their kind'?” I asked, moving closer to the door. “Are you freaking serious with this, Millard?”

  “Seriously, stop saying my full name like that. You're not my mother.” He blinked twice, perhaps reconsidering what he'd just said. “Fortunately. On so many levels.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. Mill.” I reached the door, threw it open and turned around, shooting him a glare. “Let me introduce you to another thing that my generation does that yours probably never did. A storm out.”

  And I slammed the door behind me.

  I could hear him inside, probably because he raised his voice. “No, we did that.”

  Chapter 5

  My phone screen lit up. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored it for a second. I needed to figure out this stupid problem.

  I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, poring over my math book. It was almost eight o’clock and I had just started my homework. Normally, I was done by now, but with everything that had happened today I was way behind and camped out on my rented bed in our rented house.

  I'd had the inevitable conversation with Mom and Dad when I got home. It went about as well as you might expect.

  “There weren’t any vampires involved, right?” Mom asked, a thousand times.

  I assured her that no, no vampires were involved. It was a totally normal, non-vampire event. Not that these things really were normal. Thankfully. If you went a thousand days at a thousand schools, you would almost never see anything quite as dramatic as this happen. But the moment you did, it was burned indelibly into your memory, forever coloring your feelings about the probability of such an event.

  Also, cable news pumped these things out to everyone like visual crack. Anything that hit kids was like a perfect horror movie for parents. They couldn't tear themselves away from that slow, mortifying build of revulsion and fear.

  “But that boy was in your class?” Dad had asked, shaking his head like he couldn't wrap it around what was going on. “Why do all of these things happen to you?”

  If only he knew how often I asked myself that question. They asked me probably a thousand more before we had finished and I'd finally been able to tackle my homework. I had escaped without having to answer that one, because it would have gone something like, “Because I lied so much in New York that I forced us to move to the middle of Vampire Town, USA.”

  In the realm of strategic lies, I had also neglected to mention the fact that a werewolf was involved in today's incident. I know, I know. A lie of omission. But hey, I was getting better, right? Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that.

  I finished my problem and checked my phone to find what looked like Xandra just mashing random buttons on the text screen before sending it.

  Stressed much? I sent as a reply.

  Number twelve. I am going to pull all my hair out, she’d written. All of it. Every beautiful blue-ish strand. I'm going to look like Ripley from Alien 3, or that one weirdo on the album my parents have. Sinead O something or another. Maybe I'll join a nunnery.

  Another text, a moment later: Nuns don't have to do math, do they?

  They'd probably take a dim view of the blue hair if you decided to grow it back and dye it at some point, I texted back. That problem is where I am.

  Shaving your head and joining a nunnery is where you're at, too? And I thought after all these months of vampires you had better coping mechanisms than that.

  I found myself beset by a case of the giggles at her text. I replied: I can’t even believe that they didn’t just cancel homework and tests for the rest of the year. Why can’t Dumbledore be our headmaster?

  I think we'd be in a lot more trouble if Voldemort was waiting at the end of this, she replied. Besides, you already bested your dark lord a month ago. We should be in for clear sailing. Instead we get this crap. I declare shenanigans.

  Go ahead. See what declaring shenanigans gets you. I'm guessing it'll be a zero on your homework, because a declaration of shenanigans isn't a finished assignment. I smiled and put aside my phone, struggling with the problem for a few more minutes until she sent me another message.

  So when are you going to tell me what you talked about with Derrick?

  I groaned. I really didn’t feel like talking about it, especially after the conversation with Mill, but I knew she was going to bug me for pretty much the rest of my life and it was easier to text it to her than to answer her questions in person, where there was a chance to be overheard. I settled in and typed it all out as quickly as I could, throwing in a requisite amount of u's in place of “you” and b's in place of “be” because I'm a teenager and that's a huge timesaver.

  So what does that mean for this whole
situation? she asked once I was done with my thumb-killing explanation.

  Means I hope he doesn’t show up at the full moon? I sent back.

  Ha, ha. But seriously. Do you think Derrick knows?

  I don’t think so, I sent. He seemed surprised I guessed he’d been Amish when he was younger.

  Oh! One of those wily few who actually leaves the community, huh? Interesting, Xandra texted back. Permanent Rumspringa!

  It does make me wonder if Derrick is a werewolf, too, I sent back. I mean, his dad said something about “giving him his legacy” today when he was ranting and raving through the door, I said.

  Do you think he’s just completely wacko? she asked.

  I rule nothing out. Mill said that werewolves who are not a part of a pack are like wild animals, I texted her. Even if I was angry with Mill, now that I was removed from him, I could sort of pick through what he said and look at it more logically. So, I guess, in a way, yeah. He might be completely wacko.

  It’s so weird that there are just so many super-natural beings around us and we just totally had no clue, she texted me.

  You said it, girl. You said it.

  So why did he make a scene over Derrick? she asked. That legacy thing?

  Whatever that might be, I said. Derrick seemed to think it had something to do with his parents’ divorce.

  I heard the doorbell downstairs and my ears perked up. That was odd. It was after eight. Who would be here this late?

  Could’ve been our neighbor, telling Dad that he left the grill on. Or maybe it was postal guys, dropping off a package from Amazon. I racked my brain – did I order anything in the last few days? No, but that didn't matter, my mom was forever ordering stuff.

  “Cassie?”

  Dad’s voice carried down the hall from the tiny kitchen.

  “What?” I shouted back, slamming my math book shut. To hell with it. If my teacher couldn't spare any mercy for my not finishing this stupid problem after today, I'd take the incomplete and try harder next time, when I was more well-rested and less emotionally drained.