The Worst Werewolf

by Jacqueline Rohrbach

  “Thanks for letting me know! Any other bad news, asshole?”

  “Yes, actually. I’ve been stalking Lavario’s bloodservant this entire time.” He pointed at the blond-haired man helping an elderly woman with her groceries.

  “What the actual fuck, Garvey?” Phil tried the door again.

  “I know, right? Look at the little do-gooder out there doing good. What a sweet little treat. Now he’s holding a kitten. Where did he get a kitten? This shit is brutal.” Garvey tossed his hands up in the air, slamming them back on the wheel for emphasis. “Too bad I’m probably going to kill him.”

  Phil stared forward as though counting the number of days he had to live. “Is he…is that the guy you’re going to extract tonight?” Garvey confirmed. Phil stammered out another reply. “And you’re going to kill him? That’s bad, Garvey. Why—”

  “Because it’s part of whatever stupid scheme Maz—”

  “No, why are you telling me all of this?”

  Garvey took a deep breath. “Because I’m doing this, Phil. With or without your permission, I’m getting the vampires, and I’m probably going to get this guy killed. The true wolves are going to cull from our pack next round. I saw the spreadsheet. Our time is due.”

  Experts on werewolves, exactly the type of people Garvey liked to eat, would have been shocked to hear him talk that way to his alpha. But Moondogs were an independent breed. They saw the true wolves’ frills of ritual and supplication as a colossal bummer. Like, one day they all got bored of being awesome, powerful monsters and said how can we make this totally suck?

  Respectfully enough for a Moondog, Garvey prodded his leader for a response. “Well?”

  “Oh.” Phil replied. He was pale. “They’ll find out it was you, Garvey. You know they will.”

  “Yeah…but if the two of them are warring…”

  “Right. But, uh. We need people to live. Food source and all.”

  Best he could, Garvey communicated that being chased down and executed also hurt survival odds. The true wolf packs’ idea of population control was quite severe. “I don’t intend to kill all people. Just enough to make waves.”

  Garvey’s alpha blinked a few times, processing it all. Although he didn’t look like much—a balding man with the world’s most unfortunate features heaped on his face—he was a calculating wolf, a schemer. Perhaps Phil was only in charge because he had a computer and could run a business for a front, but his opinion mattered.

  He eventually concluded. “Why not? If they’re going to kill us all anyway.”

  Garvey was more relieved than he would ever admit. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  The two of them sat there for a bit. Sirens blared. A mother called her child a food-gobbling piss pot. The father agreed. Others argued over turf—tapping their chests and posturing the way people imagined werewolves did. There were drugs. There were fights. There were cars going way too fast for a residential area. Off to the side, but somehow at the center of it all in Garvey’s vision, the blond-haired guy sat on the front steps reading, only pausing when one of the nearby kids showed him something brown and lumpy. Probably a rock. Garvey felt himself frown at the child’s outstretched hand as his mark’s lips lifted in a smile.

  Soon, the guy checked his watch and went inside.

  Date night. “Time for me to make a love connection. How do I look?”

  “Like a total asshole.”

  “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER FOUR: TIME FOR A CHANGE

  Pep talk time.

  This was the start of a new Tovin, as someone who did things. Risks would be taken. Gone were the days of watching from the sidelines as other people did things that the universe never punished them for. He would not hold other people’s belongings while they went on the ride of life. He would not hold their hair back while they puked. He would try some sushi from the food truck. Okay, too far. He would try sushi.

  Most important, he’d show Miller—his on-and-off-again boyfriend who was getting married to some lady—that he wasn’t the world’s dullest idiot. He wasn’t an idiot at all. Fuck Miller.

  There were a series of musical taps at the door. Tovin reminded himself not to run and answer it with doglike eagerness, as his ex had called it.

  One last look at his reflection. He leaned in close, lifting his lips to make sure he didn’t have anything as embarrassing as a piece of broccoli stuck between his teeth. Nope. Good. The collar of his button-up shirt was straight; his tie looked formal but playful in a loose half-Windsor; all the wrinkles from his pants and shirt had been pressed. Everything checked out.

  Tovin opened the door and said, “Hi!” to the tall man on the other side of it.

  “Hello. Hi!” His date matched his energy with some humor.

  Despite all the catfishing tales Tovin heard about online dating, his suitor looked exactly like his profile picture: well-muscled; teasing brown eyes; long chestnut hair; and strong features. Unlike most men who lived in rural Washington, he had an air of sophistication intermixed with good humor that Tovin found very appealing. Hopefully, he wasn’t some kind of psycho. “It’s nice to meet you at last, Mr. Garvey.”

  “Just Garvey. Now I can wink at you IRL.”

  Tovin gave him a confused look.

  “In real life.”

  “Oh! Of course.”

  There was a bloated silence Tovin wasn’t sure how to fill. As it expanded, Garvey’s lip twitched upward. “This is when you invite me inside and offer me a drink.”

  “Oh. Right.” Tovin stood aside to let him enter. Garvey immediately flopped down on the couch, which buckled and squeaked, and gave the type of easy attractive smile Tovin practiced a billion times before the man arrived. Self-consciously, Tovin lugged his own lips upward in what he hoped counted as a close-enough response. “Do you want orange juice, milk, or water?”

  “Water.” Although the man seemed befuddled by his list of options, he said thanks politely enough as Tovin poured. He swirled the cup around afterward, looking at the floaters. A filter was on Tovin’s to-buy list. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Bar trivia. I thought we’d go down to the Oak on Third.”

  “What about parasailing?” Garvey lifted up one of the brochures on Tovin’s coffee table. “That looks like fun.”

  Tovin flushed. He’d forgotten it was even there. “I’ve thought about going, but that’s in Seattle.”

  “And spelunking.” Garvey held up another pamphlet as he continued to inspect all of Tovin’s stuff. There were various advertisements strewn about the table to sift through, all of them offering some form of adventure at minimal risk. “You don’t seem the type. You break up or something? Gonna show the fellow what a good time you are?”

  Tovin bristled a bit at the tone, the accuracy of the assessment, and the long look his date gave him. He knew he wasn’t some muscle-bound strongman, but he was fit, lean, somewhat muscular. Surely that qualified him to jump down into a hole—less athletic people than him did it. “I work out. Besides, there is a rope.” Maybe. Tovin looked at the picture again to be certain.

  Garvey gave him a hopping chuckle that tested the frame of Tovin’s couch. “Yes, there is a rope, sweet treat.”

  “At any rate, all of that is somewhere other than here. This town has bar trivia or cow tipping.”

  “I could think of another option.” Garvey tapped the cushion next to him. When Tovin didn’t respond, Garvey jumped to his feet with spry vigor. “Well, bar trivia it is, then.”

  * * *

  There were two women in the bar. One of them looked virginal enough to sacrifice to a kraken in her white dress covered in tiny, pink flowers, while the other looked like she was about to Hulk right through the flimsy fabric of her dress. Tovin appreciated their beauty.

  Tuft boys—Tovin called them this due to their ragged, patchy facial hair—gathered around hopeful that one of the strange women would pay them some attention. Simultaneously annoyed and grateful, Tovin was un
happy the two ladies were so close score-wise in bar trivia but pleased they’d be the subject of water-cooler conversations instead of him and his date. Hey, they’d say, did you see that hot Asian chick and the redhead last night? A few would claim to have slept with them. Only after a few weeks of bragging and shared fantasies would they even remember that Tovin was there at all.

  “You swing both ways?” Garvey smiled when Tovin jumped, caught in the act of staring.

  “No. No. They’re just unusual for around here.”

  “That they are.” There was something about the way he said it that made Tovin pause. He couldn’t tell if Garvey was annoyed or amused by the two women from the way he looked over at them with a raised eyebrow and a twisted smile.

  The quizmaster went on to the next question, which diverted Tovin’s focus away from Garvey’s strange reaction and the out-of-place feel of the ladies. Time to maintain his no-loss streak.

  Garvey was no help in that area. If Tovin were being honest with himself, his date skated by on his good looks and great body. Superficial though it made him feel, the attraction persisted despite all the confused looks and the occasional, Who even needs to know something like that?

  Tovin got it right. So did the ladies.

  “You’re good at this.” Garvey raised his vodka shot glass up until Tovin rammed his plastic water bottle up against it. Garvey had been drinking heavily ever since they got there. Curiously, he wasn’t drunk. At least he didn’t seem to be—no slurring, no staggering, no sweating, no random bursts of anger, melancholy, or silliness. Clear-eyed, he studied the room as though he couldn’t quite believe he’d ended up there.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re going to get your prize for sure.”

  “The ice cream here is great.” The bar gave the winner of the contest a free ice cream sundae.

  “No.” Garvey said and squeezed Tovin’s inner thigh. “Your prize, sweet treat.”

  “Oh.” Tovin flushed but managed a shaky smile. It finally occurred to him that this might be the other thing Garvey alluded to in the apartment. Part of him was sad that he missed out on that hint earlier. Another part was glad. Now he was going to have ice cream and sex. “Right. Right.”

  CHAPTER FIVE: BLOODHOUNDS

  Behind Yuri, a van idled. Inside, a group of sedated humans were loaded and ready to be dropped off at the distribution point. She had expected to be gone by now. Instead, she was stuck waiting for Garvey, who was only part of the extraction team because Eresna—Yuri’s leader and alpha of the Isangelous—coddled the False Moon wolf. She and the other high-ranking wolves enjoyed him the way kings and queens of medieval times enjoyed jesters.

  Everyone got a kick out of Garvey’s antics, though no one had to pay for them the way she did. Bloodhounds worked as a team. All members were accountable for the screw-ups of one. Although the pack gave a lot of leeway for mistakes or unforeseen circumstances, there was no room for foolish errors, carelessness. Such strictness was necessary given the value of bloodservants. Werewolves from the two true packs depended on them for survival.

  And this wasn’t just any bloodservant. No, it was a guardian’s. Worse, Yuri had personally brought Tovin to Lavario’s attention. For her, trouble kept coming. She’d bonded with Tovin as a child, and considered herself a mother to the boy. Eresna would take far more than her job if she learned of such involvement. Yuri was beyond stressed.

  “It was a mistake to let him take Tovin,” she said to Nadine.

  Her friend didn’t sound concerned and barely opened her eyes when she retorted, “You can’t rush an artist, Yur. Garvey’s only a few minutes behind schedule. ’Sides, we weren’t Tovin’s type, and I don’t think we could have lured the guy by putting a dildo under a giant box.”

  “Very amusing,” Yuri muttered.

  Nadine stuck out her tongue, leaving it that way until Yuri finally stuck hers out, too.

  Quick as it came, the moment of humor passed. Yuri tapped her little pink clutch that matched the flowers on her dress against her thigh. Persistently windy, central Washington was her least favorite place to hunt. Nearby cotton from the Aspen trees stuck to her hair, her lips, her clothing, consistently forcing her to use the lint roller. And spit. Very crass.

  Nadine and the wind got along well enough.

  Boisterous, with big blue eyes that winked with good humor, her friend was more overtly wolf-like than her. Hair that was its own entity sprang from her scalp and fell far below her waist in a massive braid. Bits and pieces of it unfettered themselves and curled fire around her cheeks and neck. She looked—and often acted—wild.

  Yuri, in contrast, was a confined space. Her dark hair was always smoothed down to a perfect bob. Her clothes were always pressed and tidy, nails painted, makeup cleanly applied. She was a vision of middle-class modesty, a tiny, unassuming, delicate, beautiful lure perfectly tied to attract the attention of the fishes.

  “Chill, boss wolf,” Nadine offered her usual advice.

  “You look like a strawberry sprouting white mold.”

  “I would have gone for ‘vagina.’ But then I always do.”

  An aggravated sigh was the only acknowledgement Yuri gave her friend’s raunchy joke. Nadine smiled, showing off a full mouth of razor-sharp teeth. Transforming so close to humans was forbidden. Nadine loved to skate the line.

  Local law enforcement was either bought or one of their own. Yuri still paced—or power walked, depending on her anxiety level—down the length of the road to check for interlopers.

  As she walked, Yuri ran through the plan to comfort herself. Procedure, comforting procedure.

  One. Find potential bloodservants through the internet.

  Two. Vet potentials. People who could vanish for any number of reasons were the best. Drug dealers. They had a lot of drug dealers.

  Three. Stalk them, learn their habits.

  Four. Collect them.

  Five. Transport them.

  Six. Distribute them.

  Yuri went through it about seventeen times before Nadine interrupted her, stuttering words like Rain Man. “One missing. Definitely, definitely one missing.”

  Yuri ignored the jab. She tried to communicate her suspicions with certainty rather than with the concern she felt. “Garvey should be back by now with Tovin.”

  “Uh-huh.” Disinterested, her friend shrugged. The top half of her blouse bobbed awkwardly with the gesture. Nadine, who disliked wearing dresses, had hiked the skirts all the way up around her waist to play with the scraggly threads unraveling from the seam.

  Fancy clothes never survived Nadine for very long. She’d torn her dress to shreds. Pieces of the fabric frayed out in bits of floral pattern around her bust and torso. Her makeup looked like it was painted on by a child who was told to do her best to stay within the lines. There were a few nights Yuri wouldn’t have been surprised if Nadine got out of the car and ran into the forest never to be seen again. Tonight was one of them.

  Suddenly worried about her own appearance, Yuri smoothed her dress down. It made her feel like a higher-ranking wolf when everything was in its place.

  “What could he possibly be doing?” she demanded.

  In response, Nadine licked the tip of her incisor the way she always did when she found something amusing.

  “Put those things away.” She pointed at the fangs, then at the woman’s lower body. “What if a human sees?”

  “We can turn into giant wolves. I’m sure we’d think of something.”

  Yuri glared at the other wolf, knowing her persistence was petty. If a human did stumble upon them, they had bigger problems than Nadine’s teeth and exposed vagina. Behind them was a van full of kidnapping victims. Still, Yuri persisted.

  With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Nadine opened her mouth wide and sucked the fangs back with exaggerated care, like a kid showing her mother that it had taken her medicine. Yuri didn’t acknowledge the defiance underlying it. Instead, she looked at her watch, agitation growing as
each minute passed. “We should check on them.”

  “Uh-huh.” She licked her tooth again, amused. This time the gesture cut through Yuri’s anxiety.

  “You know something.”

  She shifted her weight. The thin metal of the car hood buckled. “No.”

  “That wasn’t a question. You know something.”

  When it became obvious that Yuri wasn’t going to let up, Nadine heaved another great sigh. “Garvey is taking him to the woods for some…” she made a sign for sex and followed up with a tilted smile.

  “What?” Yuri was going to lose her mind. Concern for Tovin quickly turned into concern for herself. This was Lavario’s bloodservant. Aside from Eresna, the wolf guardian Yuri served, Lavario was the last werewolf in all the five worlds she wanted to piss off. What was his was his.

  Images played out in her head. Garvey having sex with Tovin, Lavario finding out and being furious, or someone other than Lavario finding out and him being embarrassed as well as furious. After all of it, Yuri would be at the end of the line as the wolf in charge of the extraction. “No.”

  Nadine shrugged as though she didn’t understand what the big deal was. “Relax. It’ll be fine. Garvey has done this before. Besides, that kid could use a good screw. Ice cream.” She gave a little shake of her head. “What a nerd.”

  “No.” Yuri repeated. “We need to find them. Now.”

  CHAPTER SIX: TOVIN’S REALLY BAD DAY

  City people came to the forest with heads full of Whitmanesque romantic notions. Most didn’t discover themselves there. Rather, they were found by search and rescue, cold and shivering from disenchantment. And sometimes pneumonia.

  Garvey seemed to fall into that camp. At least he sounded that way when he said, “The forest is magical, right?”

  Carpenter ants bit his arms and legs, rocks dug into his butt cheeks, pine needles stung the palms of his hands, and droplets of deer poo splattered around the area gave the air a musky odor. The forest sucked. It was about as nonmagical as a place could get, the very definition of earthy. But his date’s ass was spellbinding, so Tovin remained agreeable. “Sure,” he said, “this is great.”