Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...Her name throbbed in Micah’s veins in time with his pulse. The instant the door fell away, he had burst through the basement and up the stairs, following the dotted blood trail. There were no lights on upstairs, but his canine eyes could see clearly. Upturned furniture and deep scratches on the walls had transformed his breezy, comfortable childhood home into a house of horrors. Zeke was right on his tail, and the beast wanted to let him take the lead; Micah’s desperate panic overwhelmed the instinct, however, and he ran ahead of Zeke out the broken front door.
The trail led him into the desert, which was startlingly alive. Nocturnal creatures he had never taken notice of before scurried away into the brush, their little yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight. Coyotes chattered at each other in the distance, in sounds that he somehow understood on an instinctive level. They were retreating from something bigger and deadlier than their pack. Certain that he knew what it was, Micah raced toward the sounds, his heart thundering. Beneath his fear was a carnal elation, the dog out of the kennel, feeling the wild earth under his paws for the first time. He ran faster and faster, driven as much by his newfound freedom as his concern for his parents.
Vicious snarls caught his attention and he spun on a dime, zeroing in on his parents’ location. The closer he came, though, the more sounds he heard. Wolves...dozens of them, from the sound of it...were barking and whining encouragement. Kill, win, fight...the words were interpreted by his human brain, but the feeling was broader than that. Human language was too precise; wolves communicated in layers, broad overlapping themes which triangulated specific ideas.
He slowed when he neared the edge of the circle of excitable wolves. He thought they were coyotes at first, but their scent quickly relieved him of his misconception. They were wolves, through and through; their small size was due to their adolescence. They parted with lowered ears and tucked tails as he passed through them, none daring to challenge his presence. He felt Zeke at his flank, and slowed his pace to allow Zeke to lead. Zeke acknowledged his acquiescence with a subtle nod, and pushed through the remaining young wolves until they had a clear view of the fight.
Micah’s heart stopped in his chest for a full beat, then raced once more. His father circled, growling, his fur matted with blackening blood. The creature he battled was bleeding as well, from great gashes across her thighs and chest, but seemed more than capable of taking care of herself. She stood on two legs like a human, but her hands were elongated and possessed sharp, hooked claws. Her eyes glinted yellow like a wolf, and her mouth was over-sized and full of sharp, vicious-looking fangs. Her graying red hair flew in wild tufts around her head, and she wore jeans and a newly-cropped long-sleeved t-shirt. A heavy clay pendant slapped her chest every time she lunged at her adversary. Micah’s stomach turned over, cold and sickly, as he recognized the pendant. He had made it himself in second grade, and she had worn it every day since. This monstrous creature was Micah’s own mother.
Zeke must have noticed as well. His hackles, which had been up since the very first scream, flattened. He cocked his head curiously to one side, his sharp eyes watching every movement of the elder beasts. Brandy fought defensively, only striking when George attacked. As the shock began to wear off, Micah took a hard look at the youngsters surrounding the scene. Most were frantic and excitable, their attention utterly consumed by the fight happening in front of them. One, however, was sitting calmly, watching Micah with a cool, calculating gaze. Micah recognized the gaze, though the face it belonged to was utterly unrecognizable. Jeremiah.
His parents were still going at it, looking as though they would tear each other in half at any moment. Micah’s student was on the other side of the battle. Frustrated at the entire situation, Micah snapped out a loud command. Neither of his parents paid the least attention, so he did it again, louder. The young wolves fell silent, leaving only the battle sounds to compete with Micah’s voice. Finally, when they ignored him for a third time, Micah simply barreled in-between, separating them with his teeth and shoulders, herding them to opposite sides of the clear ring. They froze, their eyes evaluating the situation. George tried to leap over him to get to her, but Zeke was there in a flash, pushing George back to his corner. Micah guarded his mother, keeping her still, while Zeke controlled George. Both of the elders were more exhausted than they had let on, Micah assumed; otherwise they never would have let themselves be handled that way.
Once his mother sighed and relaxed, slumping to kneel in the dirt, Micah turned his attention to the ring of youngsters. He ordered them off, and they reluctantly sulked away. He kept count as they left, etching the number into his mind so he would be sure to remember it the next morning. Thirty-eight kids. Or, he supposed, thirty-eight natural wolves; but he was pretty sure that natural wolves didn’t live in high deserts like this. Not enough food around, for one thing.
When the crowd had dwindled down to just the four of them, Zeke began to herd George back toward the house. Micah followed suit with his mother, nudging her gently in the direction of the glittering lights of their neighborhood. She tangled one hand in the thick fur at the back of his neck, leaning heavily on him as she limped over the uneven terrain. It took far longer to get back than it had taken to find them; the slow, stumbling pace couldn’t hold a candle to his adrenaline-fueled race. The sky was beginning to lighten, shade by subtle shade, when they finally made it back to the fairly destroyed house.
Zeke pushed George down into the basement, indicating that Micah and his mother should follow. She resisted, but Micah insisted and won. Downstairs, the four paranormal creatures sat in a circle amongst the wood chips and bits of glass, watching each other warily. Zeke and Micah sat in-between the elders, unwilling to let another fight break out on their watch. Micah didn’t think it would happen whether they were there or not, though. Brandy was cradling her face in her too-long hands, rubbing her eyes. George lay his massive head on his paws, gazing despondently off into a dark corner, blowing out his cheeks with every exhale.
The chill of dawn was their only warning before they changed once more, as they couldn’t see any windows from where they sat on the floor. The rush of folding into themselves, pulling all of that wild, carnal energy into their bodies, was dampened by the somber mood. Silence fell as the men dressed, deliberately avoiding looking at one another. When they were decent, they returned to Brandy, who had softened back into her familiar self. She still sat on the floor, hugging herself, avoiding eye contact.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Zeke said with quiet authority. “We all need to talk.”
Brandy nodded silently, and George didn’t argue. The damage was clearer in the cold, silvery dawn, and Micah’s eyes widened in shock. The claw marks along the wall had gone deep in places, making the hallway more of a viewing platform into the other rooms. Most of the furniture in the living room was torn up, smashed, or upturned; only the L-shaped couch survived unscathed, so that was where they arranged themselves. Micah took one corner, George took the corner farthest from him, and Zeke and Brandy sat kitty-corner from each other near the middle. It seemed natural that the two of them would be taking point to clear the air, Micah realized suddenly. Almost as if the alpha designation surpassed the canine, and was simply a fact of their existence.
“What are you?” Zeke asked Brandy gently.
She shot him a wry look and shook her head. “A failed experiment,” she said, her voice heavy with the words.
“Whose experiment?” Zeke pressed.
Brandy pushed a hand through her wild hair and gave a bitter little laugh. “The government, I suppose. I don’t know. There were a lot of things going on for a long time...they spent fifteen years trying to control this werewolf thing. Exterminations, isolations, scientific studies, experimental treatments...it was like living in Nazi Germany.” She sighed heavily, then turned her sad eyes to Micah. “I’ve lied to you, kiddo. About a lot of things. That extra cell in the basement, that was mine. Your dad wasn’t the first werewolf around here, I was. It was stupid, too. You think that it can’t happen unless you do something stupid, like go hiking after dark on the full moon,” her look became more pointed here. “But it doesn’t have to be your own stupidity. I was at a candle party, one of my friends had just bought into one of those home businesses. Anyway, the party ran long. My friend hadn’t told anyone that she had been bitten. I think she was in denial.”
Brandy’s face hardened at the memory, her eyes flicking across a distressing scene that no one but her could see.
“She turned, right there in the midst of all her candles. It was terrible. She was standing between us and the door, and everyone was crying and screaming, throwing up, losing their minds. I was just praying that I would make it home to you. You weren’t even a year old yet, and I was still breastfeeding you...I hadn’t pumped enough for the whole night even, and if I didn’t make it out....”
She trailed off, her eyes shining with tears of the remembered terror. She sniffed and pressed on.
“There were twenty women at that party,” she said quietly. “All young married women, who had either just started a family or were trying to. She infected every last one of us after she turned. She went full rage beast, tearing into us one after the other. She didn’t kill anybody, but Beth had a hell of a time growing a new arm. You can do that now, you know. For my sanity, I hope you don’t put it to the test, but you’re both essentially invulnerable.”
“Wow,” Zeke breathed. “So you were a full-blown werewolf because you went to a candle party. So how did you change?”
Brandy inhaled sharply. “It was the law to report your status and injuries if you were attacked by a werewolf. Still is, I think, though it isn’t enforced anymore. I think the government as a whole has decided to pretend that this problem doesn’t exist. The only problem was that social services would always get involved when a parent was turned, and I wasn’t willing to risk you to the foster system. So I made myself a fake identity, claimed to be homeless and without paperwork, and went to the walk-in clinic. That was...a mistake.”
“They experimented on you because you said you were homeless,” Micah realized, squeezing his eyes shut. “Somebody that nobody would miss.”
Brandy nodded miserably. “They kept me for six months. I couldn’t call your father to tell him what was happening. As far as he knew....”
“She had just been bitten, went to the clinic, and disappeared,” George finished. “I thought they killed her.”
Tears were running down Brandy’s face now. “They called it a success,” she said with a little laugh. “Canine control with a side of sterilization. By the fourth month, the moon had no effect on me. They kept me for observation for two more moon cycles, then sent me on my way with a hefty check...which they cashed, seeing as I was officially a transient...and several years’ worth of booster shots, intended to be taken three times a year.”
“So what happened tonight?” Zeke asked.
“They told me that it would build up in my system, that if I finished the shots they gave me it would keep me under control for the rest of my life. I ran out of them twelve years ago. When nothing happened, I figured they were right. I was cured. But I guess even buildup doesn’t last forever.” She looked at her hand, which seemed small now in comparison, and squeezed it into a fist. “Had just enough left to keep me from turning completely.”
“What started the fight?” Micah asked.
“My dumb ass did,” George volunteered. “When she shifted, I smelled the spike in her pheromones and I wanted her with every cell in my body. I lost control of the beast and it...I...we broke out. She was upset, obviously, and didn’t want anything to do with me. Long story short, I deserved everything she dished out.” George looked away, then hid his eyes in his hand. Brandy slid closer to him and laced her fingers through his on the other side.
“And issues like this are why I told you two to talk,” she said. “Not that we could have predicted this to talk about it. But even without these particular circumstances, airing dirty laundry has a different meaning when you’re a wolf. This isn’t the first time George and I have tried to flay each other alive. Every other time was our own faults because we let things fester instead of purging them as they came.”
Micah and Zeke shared a look of concern. They had one more night before this moon cycle ended, and there were certainly unspoken festering things hovering just under the surface. Micah turned back to his parents.
“I’m calling in to work,” he declared. “Will you two be okay if we take off for a couple hours? I’ll help you fix stuff when I get back.”
“We’ll be fine,” Brandy said tiredly. “We always are.”
It was true. Micah had witnessed their battle pattern his whole life; explosion, exhaustion, conversation, followed by a couple hours of closed-door time in which they did things that he would rather not think about. Micah kissed his mom and hugged his dad, feeling at once more like an adult than ever before, and more like a child than he had since before he left school. With his brain full of information and his heart full of conflicting emotion, Micah let Zeke take the wheel.