by Kerri Carr
She heard a light chuckle from the bed, and whipped around to see Luke watching her.
“Something wrong?” Luke asked, sitting upright in her bed.
Daphne felt embarrassed because she was naked, but glancing over at him, so was he and he didn’t seem to care.
“Hey,” Daphne said, crossing her arms over her naked breasts.
“What did I tell you about being shy?” Luke said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“It’s just weird when you’re not—in the mood,” Daphne said, pulling her bathrobe off the door.
“Would you like to be in the mood?” he said, biting his lip at her.
“Um, give me a second to recover from my high vaginal sprain.”
Luke burst out laughing at her. “Wow, I’ve never heard that before.”
“Really? I thought the famous Luke didn’t have any room for new experiences with women.”
“Well, don’t believe all of the hype.”
Daphne looked down at the floor and then back up at Luke. She did not want to have any false expectations. She still had a couple years of school to go and he was on his way out. It could never work out. It was fun while it lasted.
“What’s that face for?” Luke asked, “Come here. Why are you so far away anyway? Come back to bed.”
Daphne obeyed and crawled back in the bed.
“So, why are you looking at me like you’re about to kick me out of your room?” Luke asked, holding her hand.
“I’m not holding you to anything. I mean you don’t have to stick around.”
“I’m not following. Did you really want this to just be a one-time thing?” Luke blanched and he looked at her like he was confused.
“Me? No, I just—I just thought that’s what you athletes do.”
“You athletes?”
“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just—why are you here Luke?”
“Cause I like you and you invited me in your room.”
“No, no, at this school. It just seems suspicious to me that you had this great life at UCLA and you come to this no rank school in the middle of nowhere.”
Luke pulled away from her and Daphne felt the atmosphere dull between them. Luke climbed off the bed without saying a word and started getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” Daphne asked.
“I’m leaving. That’s what you want right?”
“What? No. Stop. I just want to understand.”
“Then ask me, Daphne. Ask me, not accuse me of having some dirty secret.”
Daphne froze, still watching him put on his clothes.
“Luke, I’m sorry. Please stay. I want to understand. It’s just. I don’t know how to do this.”
Luke turned around to face her, still looking hurt. He was standing by the door like he was wrestling with going or staying. Daphne rose from the bed and threw her arms around him. He did not hug her back at first, but slowly he wrapped his arms around her. Daphne felt his body relax, and he exhaled.
“Come back to bed. Let’s talk, please?” Daphne said, grabbing his hand.
He nodded and they sat on the bed facing each other in silence.
“My mom is sick,” Luke said, looking off at some spot on the wall.
Daphne stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
“She lives about thirty minutes away from here. She’s, um, she’s dying, Daphne. She has breast cancer.”
Luke stiffened like he was trying to be strong. Daphne felt guilt weigh down heavy on her shoulders.
“Only Coach knows. That’s why they took me so late. I couldn’t stay so far away when we don’t know. She’s had it for years now so we knew it was any day now. It doesn’t make it any easier, but now you know.”
Daphne hugged Luke as hard as she could.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. God, I’m such an idiot.”
He kissed her neck and hugged her tight.
“It’s okay. I would be suspicious too. I don’t want any fuss. My mom didn’t want me to come, but I had to. You remind me a lot of her. She’s sassy like you and she doesn’t take crap from anybody, especially me.”
Daphne laughed, sitting beside him.
“I want us to try, Daphne.”
“Me too.”
“My mom will be at the first game next week. I’d like you to meet her. This is probably the only game she will be able to come to so you can’t say no.”
“Oh, no pressure right?” Daphne said, smirking at him, “Of course, I will. Coach is going to kill us if he finds out.”
“I graduate in a year. If you want us to keep it under wraps, I will. If you want me to talk to Coach, I will. I just know that I want to try.”
“Let’s keep it under wraps until you start winning us games. That way if anything goes wrong, they can’t blame me.”
“Wow, thanks for the confidence.”
Luke and Daphne laughed.
“No, you’re right. I need to prove myself. I got into a lot of stuff at my old school. Some I’m not proud of. I think I just need to be in a position where I can focus on what’s important. I really want you to be a part of this new me and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that, okay?”
Daphne nodded, feeling her chest swell.
Luke went to speak when the door opened. Emma walked in looking from Luke to Daphne. A smile broke onto Emma’s face and she started squealing.
“God, I’m good,” Emma said, walking over to them.
“Oh Lord,” Daphne said, cupping her face in her hands.
“Hi, I’m Emma,” Emma said, extending her hand to Luke.
“Hey, I’m Luke, Daphne’s boyfriend, but I guess you know that,” Luke said, shaking Emma’s hand.
“Boyfriend!” Emma said, squealing again.
“Emma, our ears,” Daphne said, throwing a pillow at Emma.
Emma caught it and threw it back.
“I’ll be on my way. Just wanted to drop off my clothes. My dad’s new family is not that bad. I’ll tell you about it later,” Emma said, turning to leave.
“Emma’s dad is Coach Daniels,” Daphne said to Luke who was looking confused.
“Oh? You might want to keep our little secret then,” Luke said.
“Even better. I will use my magic powers to hopefully get his blessing,” Emma said, planting her hands on her narrow hips.
“Um, no thank you,” Daphne and Luke said in unison.
Emma squealed something about them speaking in time being cute and then she scooted out of the door.
“Will she be cool?” Luke asked, looking nervously at the door.
“Yep. She’s fine, but I do have a problem though,” Daphne said, untying her robe.
Luke watched her and bit his bottom lip.
“And what’s that?” Luke asked, inching closer to her.
“I’m the only one in this bed that’s naked.”
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 23 of 44
Skin-Walker
“Ms. Morgan, do you have children?”
Of course I didn’t. I had no children and I had no intention of ever having any of the little parasites. Still, I put on a sad and sympathetic face. I smelled a story, a good one. Children in the countryside had been going missing, but, strangely, they always would be gone less than the twenty-four hours needed to call in the FBI.
A child, usually about age twelve, would fail to get off the school bus or his bike would be found abandoned and frantic parents would panic while the police mobilized. Later, the kid would be found dazed and confused wandering in a park or somewhere similar. The child would show no signs of any harm or molestation and the cops would blame it on drugs or some sort of pre-adolescent stunt.
I stared at the woman a few moments, trying to find my empathy. We were in my office after she had turned to my newspaper in real desperation. I needed to milk her for information, so I shut my eyes and shook my head slowly.
“No, Mrs. Phelp
s,” I said softly, “I – I do have a niece but, well, I am not a mother and so I cannot begin to imagine.”
“Call me Anna,” she said.
“I’m Eileen. So tell me, Anna, what happened?”
“Sean was playing baseball with his friends at the park. It was going on sunset,” Anna explained.
“Which park?”
“McBride.”
“You live in Maple Bluff?” I asked, smelling money.
“Yes,” she said. “So, anyway, he chased a ball into the trees and that was the last anyone saw of him for almost eighteen hours.”
“You called the police.”
“Of course. There was nothing. Then the next morning security at the airport found him wandering in the perimeter.”
“Was he…”
“No,” she said. “That’s just it. He wasn’t harmed in any way. The doctors found nothing. Sean says that it was like he fell asleep and woke up when a jet roared overhead. He remembers nothing. But --”
“Yes?”
“Our own physician found the smallest of puncture marks on his arm.”
“Like if somebody drugged him?”
“No. Like somebody drew blood from him.”
That gave me pause.
“There is something else that you must understand,” the woman said. “My wife and I are Wiccan.”
That gave me even more of a pause.
“I thought,” I said, “that the Wicca are, um, pardon the phrase, good witches.”
“We are. But there are those who would take our knowledge and wisdom and pervert it for their own selfish purposes.”
Right then I figured that I had a lulu. The Wicca are a harmless bunch of Druid wanna-bes into herbalism, hodge-podge spiritualism and very cool, sexy clothes.
“Okay,” I said drawing hard on my empathy, “so you think that some dark coven is gathering elements for some evil reason, like hair or blood or something.”
“Yes.”
“So why come to me?”
“Well,” she said, “I first came because no one would listen to me, a crack-pot lesbian witch. But I have seen your work and you have gone national. And while your investigations have been, um . . .”
“Sleazy.” I said. “I’ll be the first to admit that.”
“Yes. You seem to enjoy taking people down.”
“Only the jerks.”
“Be that as it may,” she said, “my wife suspected something about you. And the moment I walked in here I knew. You are a Skin-Walker.”
I was so very glad that I was sitting. She looked at me with a deep and long stare.
“A whaaa?” I said.
“A shape-shifter,” she said. “I see the shadows on your face.”
“Mrs. Phelps,” I began. “I may be many things but—“
“I understand your denial,” she said. “And your true nature is none of my business or concern. Someday society will understand and accept, but this is not that day. This is the day that I am asking you to help me.”
I had a sudden new respect for Wicca. I grabbed a pad and pen.
“I’m gonna need the whole story.”
We talked for over an hour. She left and then I sent out for lunch. Over pastrami on rye I started researching the other abductions with the same M.O. There was nothing outside of Dane County, not even national. It was one of those stories that we could give banner headlines to. It was begging for our spin.
Then Nick, my editor, poked his head in my door.
“Eileen,” he said, “I want you.”
“And I want you, baby,” I replied, “but you know I have all those slaves back home and—“
“I got a werewolf.”
I chuckled.
“No, really,” he said. “I got three sightings of a werewolf in the University Arboretum.”
“The Arboretum is a big place,” I said. “Where was he spotted?”
“Six guesses.”
“The effigy mounds.”
“Bingo,” he smiled “This could be our very own Bat-Boy baby.”
“Bat-Boy worked,” I sighed, “because it was two syllables and they had a cool graphic. What are you going to call this? The Arboretum Werewolf?”
“Madison’s Monster,” he suggested.
“The Park’s Dark.”
“I like,’ he said. “We could do that with a one-forty point black and white banner. So, am I sending you out tonight with a photographer?”
“I’ll go alone” I said. “This witch came in crying about her boy. I’m digging right now.”
“Those semi-lost kids?”
“Yeah.”
“Be cool if you could tie ‘em together with the werewolf.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “it would.”
Nick left me with a voucher for a good night camera. I knew a little bit about werewolves. And I knew that they didn’t like cameras.
***
So I work for The Exposé; a small tabloid in Madison, Wisconsin with a thriving circulation. I have a by-line and copyright on all my stories. I get picked up a lot by the national rags because my stories are good. That’s because I am good, and that’s because I have an edge.
I have the advantage that every reporter on the planet wants: I can be the fly on the wall or the stray cat in your backyard. I am a nagual, animagi, face dancer, skin-walker, whatever name you want. I’m a shape-shifter.
*****
One of the hard parts about being a skin-walker is that you need to do it naked. I mean, I have shifted before when clothed and it’s a hassle. If my body mass expands then the clothes shred. If I contract then I have to spend time wiggling my way out.
So I went into the Arboretum in the dead of night. I found a spot in the Wingra Woods near the ancient effigy mounds and I lit some candles around a stone cairn. I figured that if I got caught it would look like I was some sort of weirdo spiritualist. Then I stripped and walked to the tall Norwegian pines. The night was cool, the scent was wonderful and the lush carpet of long needles was so soft beneath my feet. I wandered. There was no moon and the darkness was so lovely. Standing alone and naked was, itself, a luscious feeling and I could have been lulled into those sweet sensations.
But I had to keep my mind focused. I sensed the thing and I knew that it was out there. It was behind me and stalking me. I could smell its musk. It was aroused and I was such a tempting morsel. I paused by a cluster of moon-flowers and knelt to gather them. The werewolf took that time to circle me.
I liked that about him. He was going to go with a frontal assault. He wasn’t one to grab from behind and that spoke of honor. He crept quietly and when he had stepped into the clearing I heard his low snarl.
When I saw him, his hind quarters were hunched and bent backwards like dog legs. The paws were wide like elongated toes and the claws were like those of a bear. His arms kept something of their human shape but his hands had savage gnarly fingers. His chest was broad and his belly slender. Sleek, dark hair swept along all of his flesh.
A wolf is a majestic animal with a noble, sometimes soft mane. But this thing was a cross between animal and human and was the stuff of nightmares. The snout was long, yet wide, as if a man’s nose and jaw had been pulled and stretched by some evil force. His teeth were hidden but the canines gleamed as his lips snarled. But his eyes were hauntingly human.
Still, I saw that deep in those round yellow eyes there was something beautiful, tender and loving. But wrapped as they were in that hideous skull, they became narrow, slanted and evil, and that evil was framed with silver hair sprouting over his brows.
He was lit by a light from no moon or star and as he loomed I saw that, even though he was a truly frightening vision, the vision I saw was a captive. He was someone’s slave and I could feel that in his heart.
He was a wily one. He was waiting for me to scream. He was waiting to draw from me my fear and so blind me with his power and strength and might, feeding on my terror as he fed on my flesh.
But I stood up
.
I stood up and looked him right in his yellow wolf eyes. I focused my camera and the flash dazzled him a moment. As he howled and recovered I sang my soft chant and began to change myself. The werewolf froze. It is not in a wolf’s nature to back away but I felt him wanting to flee as I began to form into his likeness as I stared, unflinching, into his eyes.
My legs took on mass and muscle. I had to keep from crying out as my knees bent backwards but in a moment I felt as if I could leap like a gazelle. My chest tightened, the soft hair sprouted and the long bristly hair grew. I began to see in different hues; yellows and blues became dominant and his eyes were glowing in my sight.
He growled. I growled back. He suddenly rose up on his hind limbs and leapt at me. I bolted under him and he landed in the moon-flowers. I turned and sprang, landing on his back. He stood and howled, thrashing, but I clung and clutched my arms around his throat.
That’s when I found it.
There was a thin leather collar around his throat. My wolf muzzle dug through the hair as he went wild trying to cast me off. But when my teeth sank into the collar, he froze, dropping onto all fours.
He was panting. I was gnawing. I bit through and felt electric sparks. If I had been human I’d have immediately jumped away but I was an animal and my animal brain was focused on one thing and that was to chew through the collar. I smelled his fur burning as the collar sizzled and snapped. I shut my eyes against the flashes and kept biting and gnawing even as he howled.
Then I bit through. The collar cleaved in half and I took one end in my teeth and flung it off and away.
He collapsed.
I collapsed on top of him. I felt his fur fade and, beneath me, the strong muscles of a man formed. I slid off, exhausted. I was spent and I felt myself melting back into a human. I could feel him breathing hard, as though he was relishing every breath.
I opened my eyes. He was lying on his side gazing at me. His eyes were green.
“Thank you,” he said, “you freed me.”
“You’re a werewolf,” I said.
“And you are a most excellent shifter,” he smiled, his finger tracing my burned lips.
“And we,” I said hearing the police sirens, “we are so busted.”