THE OLD MADE NEW

The Werewolf

WEREWOLF

Omnes angeli, boni et mali, ex virtute naturali habent potestatem transmutandi corpora nostra.

                —St. Thomas Aquinas

Andrew woke with a start.  He glanced around his living room with fear in his heart.  Everything was in its place; in fact, his trailer had never looked cleaner.  There were no quilts hung over his windows, no empty beer cans on the floor.  His gaze fell to the floor, where it troubled Andrew to not find a bloodstain.  Andrew gave up on his eyes.

His ears informed him of several happenings about his property.  For starters, the shower was running.  Secondly, the kettle was about to boil.  Lastly, someone had just pulled up in front of his trailer, and he heard footfalls on the rickety wooden steps.  His door opened without a knock, and the entry was filled with a tall, black form.

“May I come in?” the man asked.  The restless Wyoming wind rustled his black leather trenchcoat.  Andrew waved him in on his way to the kitchen.

“The water’s hot.  Would you like some tea, mister…uh?” Andrew stopped speaking.  He should have been disturbed by a random black man showing up at his house.  He should have been disturbed as the realization of the previous night’s events came back to him as from a dream.  He should have been disturbed by the damn teakettle being on the front burner when he always put it on the back one.  He should have been disturbed, but he felt a comforting emptiness within.

“Garnier.  Lycaon Garnier.  And yes, I would love a cup of tea,” the man spoke, but his voice formed an image more than words.  Andrew was filled with the notion that Lycaon could kill him in an instant if he chose to.

“Where is she?” asked Lycaon of Andrew.  Andrew held up the sugar and asked with his expression how many sugars the stranger wanted.  Lycaon signaled for three, then turned his attention to the hallway.  He strode into the living room with a swinging gait and took a seat on the couch.  Every inch of him was perfectly at ease except for his eyes and ears.

“She’s in the shower,” Andrew said as he handed Lycaon a mug.  The two sipped their tea in silence for several minutes.  At length the shower went off, and moments later Kimberley joined the pair.

“I was wondering when you would show up!” Kimberley said and hugged Lycaon.  The black man rose with a predatory smile and embraced the vampire.  The two sat down together, and Lycaon saw to his tea.

“Oh, where are my manners?  Andrew, this is—”

“Lycaon Garnier, yes, he told me,” Andrew cut in.  Kimberley’s face became a vision of rage, but it passed quickly.

“Ah, see?  It doesn’t know its place.  Listen, Andrew, you are in a very dangerous position.  You see, things are changing, and the balance of power will shift.  Luckily for you, I like you.  If you ever interrupt me again, though…” Kimberly gave Andrew a meaningful gaze.

“Look man, you gotta make a choice.  Do you want to be a pet or a slave?” Lycaon asked languidly.

“Huh?” was all Andrew could manage.  Kimberley giggled.

“Daddy, it’s not particularly eloquent,” she said cheerfully.

“Daddy?” Andrew asked, then quickly slapped his hand over his mouth.

“See?  It’s learning,” Kimberley said with more giggles.  She became serious, or a reasonable facsimile.  “Now, Daddy, Andrew here knows all about the magical world.  He’s very well read:  Harry Potter, Ravenloft, that sparkly crap, and Wikipedia.  I’ll bet he knows all about you.  Tell us, Andrew.”