Fiction Friday: A Far-flung Blog Collection

Werewolves Respect Our Human Mother

Originally posted 5-6-16 by James Rollins to alexisdonkin.com blog

I remember a party – there were always parties in Pittsburgh. It was a big room rented downtown. I was young. All the pack muckety-mucks wore full suits or long gowns. Gene carrier spouses were allowed – it wasn't a wolf only event.

It had to be that way. Otherwise my mother couldn't go and she was hosting.

I didn't think about it then. I didn't worry about it. The people seemed nice enough, but when you're young, you don't hear the layered comments and veiled insults. You only see the smiles. You know the people who you like and don't. Beyond that, it's just a room full of tall people talking about boring things.

The air shifted, conversations changed, and bodies moved to covered tables and seats with name cards.

The butler or a security officer ushered my brothers and me to our table, close to the front.

My mother stood, shining under the bright lights. The tiny crystals and metallic threads of her gown demanded attention. When the room was silent, she smiled widely, letting her eyes take in the whole room.

"Thank you all for coming!"

She spoke for some time – I don't remember what she said. I remember the room moving with her words – people laughing, sighing, and sniffing as she conducted them. When she finished, I remember feeling warm, my face beaming as she crossed the short distance to our table. I remember my father reaching for her.

"You are amazing!" he whispered.

"Thank you," she murmured, and they kissed lightly before she took her seat.

I remember suits and gowns approaching our table between dinner and dessert.

"Boys! What a mother you have!"

"Just wonderful!"

"Rick! Are you sure you're the leader of the pack?"

"Really – the perfect evening!"

"Sybil, you really outdid yourself! This is more than we expected!"

After dinner, when my parents moved about the room, my brothers and I sat eating our second helping of cake. The young ones focused on their dessert. The older bickered about the merits of school junior varsity versus touring leagues. I lifted my fork to my mouth and my eyes drifted across the room.

Shining, stood my mother. She was engaged in the middle of a group of pack leaders from different areas in Pittsburgh. Their mouths were closed, as their bodies leaned forward. My father was elsewhere – it was just her. When she paused at a punchline, the group laughed. When someone from the group added something, she responded, everyone's eyes flicking to check her response.

"Mom is pretty amazing," I whispered.

"Huh?" Jeremiah and Andrew looked over at me, and then at our mother. They grinned.

"Yeah. Probably better that she's not a full werewolf – otherwise she'd take over the world!"

****

James is a character from The Rollins Pack. You can read about his family starting with the book  JEREMIAH.