The Worst Werewolf Page 13

  “A douchewaffle. Otherwise,” she pointed a finger-gun at him. The gesture said nailed it.

  He continued to smile down at her, though he could feel the tightness of it and only assumed it was bordering on a grimace. “She might win. If she wins, she might kill me. At that point you will want to revisit your options.” Not that there would be any. She’d be killed. Yet the young woman sat there and considered. Adorable. Sensing she was on the fence, Lavario pressed. “Training, even if it is from the worst werewolf ever, would make you more prepared. Not all humans get such a chance.”

  “Okay. I’ll agree to a cease fire.” She sort of tossed her hands into the air. Why not?

  “Fantastic.” It was difficult to edge the sarcasm out of his voice. He reached for the remote and started the show up again. The young men and women were about to “hook up” as Amber said. As they kissed, Amber walked around the room, searching for something. Each time she moved an item on one of his shelves or displaced a curio from its location, Lavario felt the muscles in his face twitch. “What are you looking for, Amber?” He tried to keep his tone casual, friendly, signifying their new relationship.

  “Some paper and a pen or a pencil.” She looked inside some antique pottery and then moved it with her elbow when she did not find what she was looking for.

  “Are artifacts from the Shang Dynasty where you would store such things?” Lavario couldn’t help himself. It was unbearable.

  She shrugged. “It’s a clay pot. Pots are vessels. Vessels hold stuff. It follows.”

  The young man and woman in the show were just starting to brush lips. Finally. After seven years. Seven years he’d waited for them to finally just admit they wanted to fuck and then subsequently fuck. Oh well. Lavario turned off the TV so he could find Amber her pen and paper.

  She took it from him at least somewhat graciously. “What’s my first lesson?” She waved her hand at him just as he opened his mouth to speak. “Skip to the most important one in case you’re too dead tomorrow to keep teaching me.” She sat in front of his chair cross-legged, the notepad resting on her lap and pen raised. The college sweater she wore had seen better days. Only the “U” remained. The other letters signifying her college of choice were represented only in vague outlines. Pity, despite her many petty annoyances, found its way back to Lavario. She was trying to go back to some form of normal.

  Lessons. Training. Agreements. A reality she was going to have to face very soon. “Are you going to plot against me?”

  “Probably.”

  “Do it quietly. Have you ever called Kijo ‘Kij’ to her face?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t.”

  “What exactly is the lesson here?” She tapped the notebook with the end of the pen, looking up at him with some censure as if to point out: You’re not keeping your end of the bargain.

  “Be quiet. Stay alive. Dead people don’t get revenge.”

  She wrote it down. Big, bold letters. Dead ≠ revenge.

  Close enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THAT’S HIS THING

  Lessons only took them so far. Amber was smart enough to know it was a sham, a way for Lavario to manage hostilities. The leftover child chained herself to the illusion. She followed through, digging at him for satisfying answers. She chose being his student over merely being his cooperative food. He couldn’t fault her for it.

  Lavario began his lesson.

  “Two forms. Human for magic. Wolf for physical strength. My people live in a world of dichotomies, rules and regulations that sort one thing from another with disregard to what’s possible. The Isangelous advocate human reason. They see the wolf as a manifestation of brutality. Isangelous are the Boo Hags,” he clarified when he saw her confused expression. She’d never heard their true pack name until now. “The Varcolac assert wolf superiority through force. A very long time ago, I thought as they did. I thought the wolf inside of me was incompatible with the human. One of them had to win. One of them had to be dominant. I could be a wolf or a human, not both.”

  “You are not human,” Amber told him with force.

  “I am human, and I am wolf.”

  “You are not human,” she repeated.

  Lavario continued. No point in arguing. “When I thought that was true, it allowed me to do terrible things. Certainty is troublesome that way.”

  “Like kill entire families?”

  “Yes, exactly like that, only without any reflection afterward. How can you regret what you say is your true nature?” Lavario arched his eyebrow. “How can you murder something you have no association with? Do you murder grass when you walk over the top of it?”

  She puffed air through her cheeks. “Kijo said something similar.”

  “Makes sense. That is the way she sees humans. That is the Varcolac way.”

  Anger skittered across her features. For once, she mastered it and moved on. Progress, Lavario thought. “What does this have to do with your fight tomorrow? Are you going to defeat them with hypocrisy?”

  “They defeat themselves with that.” Lavario thought of his Varcolac brothers and sisters and the horrendous clothes that they wore in public and the uncomfortable furniture in their sitting rooms. Silks and lounge chairs were stashed away along with secret desires to have other frilly and nonsensical things. “But in a way, yes, that’s what I will do.”

  “But you think you’re going to win?” Amber straightened, again youthful and full of hope.

  “The fight is mine to lose.”

  She bounced a little bit in her chair. The enthusiasm cheered Lavario a bit. Part of him wanted to rein her in, to draw her back down to reality, but he began his speech to bring her some form of comfort. She’d spent the entire night spooling through all the possible things that might happen to her if he was defeated in the morning. She alternated between making peace with the horror of it and promising herself that she could make it back to the lake to die in peace.

  “But how?” she asked. “Kijo sounded pretty confident.”

  “She should feel that way. She’s very skilled.” Truthfully, her skill might override his plans. Amber, already jumping out of her skin, didn’t need to know that.

  “So how are you going to beat her?” she pressed. She hated to repeat herself. Asking the same question more than once was a personal affront.

  “Two forms—”

  “You went through that already!” She tossed her hands in the air.

  “Two forms. One for magic and the other for brute force. This is one of the rules that Kijo lives by. She believes that you must choose between wolf and human—teeth and claws or spells and incantations. This is how all wolves believe. Wars have been fought over it. I will choose both.”

  “So… you can use magic as a wolf? That’s your thing?”

  Lavario hid a smile at her phrasing. “Yes, that is my thing.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Imagination.”

  She snorted at him with scorn while rolling her eyes. “You’re fucking kidding me. Next you’re going to tell me the secret to being a werewolf is to believe in yourself.”

  Lavario chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare. Magic is an exercise in possibilities. Someone who believes the world operates according to immutable rules can only think of a few, mostly things that serve an immediate function. Sleeping spells and healing, for example. Powerful magic requires more flex, more flux. It requires the user to hold several ideas all at once. That is why other wolves fail. They cannot sustain the concentration it requires to hold their wolf form while they use magic.”

  “And you—”

  This time he cut her off. “Here. Watch.”

  He transformed, quickly touching her shoulder with gentle care to let her know he was himself. Humans always associated their wolf forms with uncontrollable bloodlust. Not that he could blame them. They certainly cultivated that reputation for themselves. He held out his paw, concentrated. Fire emerged. He let it build, then let it dance around him as tiny f
lashes that came and went like the blinking lights of fireflies.

  Fear drained her face of its defiance. “You can do anything.”

  Lavario snuffed it out. “No, we can alter the physical world, elements that exist. Wolf magic is not powerful enough for much else.”

  She puffed air out of her cheeks again. “What’s the lesson in all of this? I can’t do magic!”

  And they were back to the start. Lavario searched himself for something to say to the young woman other than, I told you this because you’re a frightened child who has night terrors. I hear you crying at night, thrashing, and I thought it might help if you felt your future was more certain. He couldn’t say that. Comfort was only something she appreciated if left unsaid between them. “You want the magic—?”

  “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

  Lavario began again. “Any time you act, you choose. There is no neutrality in deeds. Even if you sit idle and allow something to happen, you made a choice. Only in the mind can opposing views have equal play. You can love your father while hating your father. You can blame yourself while you absolve yourself. You can miss your brother while believing he’s better off not living this nightmare. You can want to die while wanting to live. You, like Kijo, are trying to eliminate parts of yourself so that you only love, blame, or hate all in the name of consistency. That is the antithesis of magic. You must choose who you are now, but you don’t have to choose who you will always be. Keep the opposites around for a time when you wish to change your mind. Others might call you a hypocrite, but be that instead of an ideologue entrenched in your certainty.”

  “What about both at once?” She was being sarcastic with him. “A hypocrite and an ideologue?”

  Lavario gave her another chuckle. “Those are the worst of all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: HIS TO LOSE

  Lavario dressed in his most ostentatious garment—a floor-length robe made of silk from golden orb spiders—and nothing else. Bright and vibrant, embellished with floral designs, the robe was a stark contrast to the attire his brothers and sisters wore. If not for their fangs and claws, they could have fit comfortably in any advertisement for cheap khaki pants and chambray shirts. “You don’t exactly fit in here.” Amber tied the knot of his sash right below his chest, rather than at his waist as it was intended. “Think you should go change? Put on some pants—” she looked to Kijo “—and maybe a something nice made out of boiled leather? Some pants,” she stressed again.

  “I am dressed as I should be.” Today might be the day he died. He wasn’t going to show up looking even slightly contrite, as though he just recently got the message they found his mannerisms troublesome. Fussy until the end. Boo Haggish until death. “Putting on cheap clothing isn’t going to make them reconsider this whole thing. They hate me in my silk robe. They’d hate me in uncomfortable pants.”

  Amber rolled her eyes and continued to fuss with the knot to the point where it almost looked like a giant phallic boondoggle, which somewhat injured the effect he was going for. “Whatever you say, werewolf Liberace. I’d hate for you to get your ass kicked in anything less lavish. Or in pants. Seriously,” she put herself up on her tiptoes to do her version of whispering in his ear, “I can see your dick.”

  Lavario pushed her hands away and undid the knots she tied. “You can go wait in the room if you like. My penis cannot be seen from there, it’s far more comfortable, and you would also escape the notice of my brothers and sisters.”

  Lavario tried once again, hoping the toothy glares and snarls shot her direction would press home his point, which was that she was not welcome here. The robe was a conscious decision on his part—a final fuck you if things turned sour—but Amber’s presence was unwelcome fuel to the fire. Her trying to fix his sash or adjust his clothing was simply one of his stupid things messing with his other stupid thing. At the end of the fight, the robe might be burned, buried, soiled. But it was an item, lifeless. Lavario hated to think they’d compound her punishment in response to her presence here today. She already faced a very hard future without him if Kijo won.

  She shook her head again. Stubborn. “I need to see this.” She pulled the fabric over his torso again. “The fight. Not your dick.”

  Lavario relented. Putting her to sleep, using restraints, or simply locking her in the room all had individual appeal, yet Lavario could not bring himself to do any of it, even if it was for her own good. It was an informal part of her training to be a wolf. She had to find her own way. He could only hope the consequences she faced would be minimal. “Very well. But I strongly suggest you remain right here.” He pointed to the spot where she currently stood. “Remember what I said last night about revenge?”

  “Dead girls don’t get any.”

  “Correct.”

  She gave him a quick salute and then made a gesture toward the open part of the robe where he was exposed. With a final shake of his head, Lavario left her to whatever fate befell her.

  No one cheered as Lavario and Kijo came onto the floor. Such a thing was considered unseemly, beneath the importance of the ceremony. Fights between guardians and lesser wolves could take place in an instant. It was not uncommon for higher-ranking wolves to spontaneously assert dominance over unwieldy new wolves who did not fully comprehend their place in the pack. Conversely, battles between guardians were rare and signified shifts in pack mentality or direction. It was a fight for the leadership of the community itself, not over petty, personal grievances or individual power.

  Each pack was represented. The Isangelous. Lavario could see Eresna and a few of his other Boo Hag kin, all of them dressed in their best ceremonial garb; cloaks, dresses, tunics all made of fine fabric, expertly tailored, flashy and frills but nothing overwrought or distasteful. The False Moon, or Moondogs as they preferred to be called. Some of them took the event seriously and were dressed appropriately and others wore baseball caps and even cowboy hats. And of course his brothers and sisters of the Varcolac, doing their best to imitate a very boring cult. In the middle of it all stood him and his daughter. Their eyes locked. When she looked at his yellow robe and gave him a supercilious twitch of her upper lip, Lavario smiled and cocked an eyebrow in return.

  Mazgan walked to the podium where he began a long speech that only the tiresomely loyal listened to. More theatrics. Unlike the rest of the pack, he was dressed in finery. Gold chains, jewels on his fingers, and silk wraps. Lavario could picture the buffoon practicing it in his chambers as he looked at himself in the mirror, preening to imaginary thunderous applause. Lavario knew Mazgan saw this as his moment, not Kijo’s.

  At least it provided cover for him to talk with his daughter one last time before they fought. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Very little in his heart was relevant given the context or would be appreciated given their new relationship. Worse, it might come across as though he were begging. Stick with the practical, Lavario decided.

  “Kijo,” he said, “if I fall today, let the girl go to the Loch if she so chooses.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about right now?” She looked incredulous.

  “What else is there to worry about right now?”

  She thought for a moment and then gave him a quick affirmative gesture that could be interpreted as disdain to any onlookers. Lavario repressed a smile.

  Finally, Mazgan stopped his grandstanding and got down to business, ten minutes later. “A challenge has been issued. Kijo, do you accept the consequences of this challenge?”

  “I accept, Alpha Guardian,” Kijo said, her spine straight and stance proud. Lavario could feel the collective pride of Varcolac wolves. His daughter spoke with their voice. Lavario felt a twinge of pleasure as well. His daughter was a fine wolf.

  “Lavario, do you accept the consequences of this challenge?”

  “I accept,” Lavario said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He never quite understood the need for any of this. There was no real choice. It was accept and fight or don’t accept and fight a
nyway.

  Mazgan twisted his lips at the gesture and the lack of formal address. Perhaps he thought it didn’t matter anymore since he continued without demanding the title be said. “I, Alpha Guardian of the Varcolac, sanction this challenge. The dispute is settled through death, forfeit, or submission.”

  With that, he raised his hands to the air. Howling—the only form of socially acceptable camaraderie at the event—broke out in response. Lavario remained silent and watched as his daughter celebrated with her peers. Losing oneself to the pack, joining your voice with theirs, was about as basic and primal as one could get. Lavario considered himself neither of those things.

  While they carried on, he focused until the world around him stopped. Noise, emotions, wants, desires, fears were locked away for later. Echoes dissipated. It was time to get the show started. Lavario disrobed to transform. Shifting to wolf was fluid and seamless, an action as natural as any other body motion.

  Kijo stepped backward, as surprised as he thought she’d be. Wolves fought in the physical realm, and she expected him to use magic. Spells, mere trickery according to her, were the fallback for Boo Hags who associated more with their human selves. Her shock only lasted for a second and was probably only visible to Lavario, who knew the nuances of her expressions as well as he knew his own. Within moments she was also wolf—ears back, tail erect, eyes fixed—and rushing toward him with all her considerable strength.

  Lavario lifted one paw. A flick of his wrist sent her flying backward. The entire room, silent before, was filled with the cracking of chairs as wolves from every pack shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. For once, they were all on the same page in a collective shock. Somewhere in the crowd, Garvey said, “Whoa. Shit.”

  Kijo looked up at him from the floor in disbelief, her expression conveyed betrayal, ever-present anger. She thought Lavario had taught her everything he knew. In a way he had. Be careful what you share and who you share it with was advice he gave her many times over. That especially applied to children everyone had slated to kill you, children who then surpassed you in rank and also had the temperament and ability to do just that. “My apologies, Kijo. You are my daughter, and I love you.” He flicked his wrist again. She crashed into one of the walls and fell to the floor with an undignified thump.