A Different Kind of Wolf

“Mom, Ava is eating a slug!”

Scott Friedmann’s ears twitched back against his head. Some noises were harder to leave behind than the human’s annual fireworks celebration.

His wife Sonya rocked little Lexi on her knee and failed to respond with the same sense of urgency that colored their oldest daughter’s voice. “It’s all right, Sweetie,” she said. “It won’t hurt her.”

Hannah would not be dissuaded. “But it’s gross!” she said.

Scott chuckled. He turned away from the venison kabobs he was rotating over the campfire and took in the scene.

Hannah’s ears were flattened against her skull and her lips wrinkled away from her teeth. She held out a hand but hesitated, as if thinking through some way to get the slug out of the toddler’s grasp without having to touch it.

Mrs. Kirkland was the closest adult female, as well as a trusted babysitter. She smiled and patted her knee. “Why don’t you come here, child, and show me what you’ve got?” she said.

With a giggle Ava pushed herself off the ground and started toward Mrs. Kirkland, waving her find in her chubby hand.

Tension eased from Hannah’s posture. Ready to resume Big Sister duty after her brush with slimy uncertainty, she returned her attention to the younger children who could not yet shapeshift. “All right, who wants to play tag?” she said.

Without waiting for a reply she spun around, leapt over a fallen log, and charged toward a large oak tree. Screaming children raced after her.

Their parents sat on a circle of stumps, upwind from the smoke, and chatted.

Scott felt nose-fogged from his proximity to the fire, and knew his hair would still smell of it several days from now, but at least it was a pleasant scent. The humans didn’t know what they were missing every time they fired those colorful rockets into the air and showered the city with acrid smoke. Unlike some of the more sensitive werewolves he held no hard feelings about the Independence Day enthusiasm, which he was told got louder and smellier every year. If not for the tradition, he wouldn’t have been inspired to invite his more urban family and friends to his property for their own celebration. After the stresses of modern life, any excuse to “let your tail down” was welcome.

He heard the sound of an engine turning into the long driveway. Since all the usual guests were already settled in, it could only be one person. He caught Sonya’s eye and winked at her.

She tossed her head back and gave a short, sharp howl. Hungry children climbed down from trees, jumped over rocks, and surrounded her. Hannah brought up the rear, tongue lolling in the Oklahoma heat. She handed Lexi to Hannah and took over kabob duty.

Scott trotted across the expansive back yard toward the house. He found his guest on the front porch, a large bag in one hand and a covered platter heaped with deviled eggs in the other. He opened the door and waved him in. “Welcome to the den,” he said with a chuckle. “Wow, those smell incredible.”

Ian Iktomi grinned. He never seemed far from a smile, no matter what mood he was in. This was the first time Scott had seen the portly chef in anything as informal as a tee-shirt and jeans. He was struck with the sudden impression that, hidden beneath a fluffy white beard, he would pass for an excellent Santa Clause.

“They come with a warning label,” Ian said. “Extra spicy. Say, you didn’t mention anything about the dress code being au natural.”

Scott waved his tail. “Purely optional,” he said. “With no close human neighbors most of us see it as an additional treat.”

Ian gave it a few moments of consideration. “All right,” he said. “A bit of a ‘come as you are’ event. Good for building trust. Take this. I’ll be right out.”

Scott carried the plate of deviled eggs with a sense of reverence, as a pupil might handle a painting completed by a master artist. His nostrils twitched and he licked his chops.

The scent brought him back to his first meeting with the chef when Sonya and he had visited his newly opened restaurant, Iktomi’s Eatery. A firm believer in service with a personal touch, Ian came out to visit and ask about their experience. Even in human form it was easy to tell they were in the presence of something… different. This was not the familiar scent of werewolf, the muskier smell of werefox, or the oily odor of werecoyote. The mystery demanded an explanation, and later that night over a private cup of coffee he got it. A generous teacher, Ian offered to add a few tricks to his repertoire of simple cooking skills. In exchange Scott offered to introduce his new friend to the nonhuman community.

Scott placed the deviled eggs on a table beside a dish heaped with kabobs. He leaned over the meat and took a deep breath. This would be his first chance to show The Master what he had learned.

A shrill cry pierced the air. Scott turned and saw Ava with her arms wrapped around her mother’s leg, wailing. Down the path that led to the backyard campsite came Ian, the large bag slung over one of his four shoulders.

The strangest thing about his shifted form, Scott decided, was that he only had two eyes. They were large, shiny, and solid black, but he imagined they would be easier to get used to when you didn’t have to look at eight of them. If not for the eight limbs, he could have easily passed himself off as something other than a werespider.

Ian’s surprisingly human appearance was no comfort for Ava. Sonya picked the child up, rocked her, and whispered soothing words in her ear. The other children stared with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Even some of the adults stiffened, hackles rising, and stared with uncertainty while they took in the newcomer’s scent.

Ian stopped a few paces away from the circle of stumps and crouched. He smiled, revealing teeth unchanged by the shift. “Oh, did I scare you?” he said, looking at Sonya and Ava. “I’m sorry.”

Scott stepped away from the table and met the crowd’s eyes. “This is Ian Iktomi, my special guest this year and hopefully in following years if business is good enough to keep him with us,” he said. “He’s a wonderful cook. Make sure you try the deviled eggs, if you like spicy food.”

This calmed the adults enough to introduce themselves and their families. Ava had stopped crying, but she still clung to her mother for comfort.

Ian remained where he was, looking up at the child. He called the girl’s name in a gentle voice, and then raised a slender hand to his mouth. He folded his thumb against his palm and blew across his fingers. Snow flew from his fingertips.

Scott felt the hair rise on his neck. The flakes were different sizes, some large and dry, others smaller, swirling, clumping together. They drifted from Ian’s hand like bubbles from the toy bottles the children played with. Scott could smell clean, newly fallen snow.

A few flakes reached Ava and she grabbed at them, giggling.

Sonya caught one and stared at it with wide eyes. “How did you do that?” she said.

Ian rose and offered a playful smile. “Family secret,” he said.

“You must come from a family of famous magicians!”

“Something of the sort.”

Patches of snow remained on the ground, lingering for a few moments more in the late afternoon heat, forcing Scott to admit that what he just saw had really happened. Some of the children gathered what they could into drippy slushballs and threw them at each other.

Scott’s second oldest, Ashley, approached Ian and fixed him with a critical expression. “Are you a spider?” she said. “My sister hates spiders, so my dad smushes them with his shoe.”

Ian gave a deep, grandfatherly laugh. “Very observant, but you left one part out,” he said, reaching into his bag. He withdrew a headband adorned with pointy black ears that had pink triangles sewn into them and put it on. “I am, in fact, a wolf spider.”

He pointed at the ears and smiled.

Ashley narrowed her eyes. “Those are kitty cat ears,” she said. “I saw them in the store.”

“Well,” Ian said, crossing two arms and making a sweeping gesture with the others, “that’s what the magic of pretending is for.”

Sonya placed a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “We should eat before supper gets cold,” she said. “As our guest you may go first, Mr. Iktomi.”

***

“And that is how Coyote learned why you should not play with superglue and then scratch your backside.”

Ian’s last story drew giggles from the children and smiles from a few of the adults.

Ashley scratched pictures in the dirt with a kabob stick. “Coyote is weird,” she said.

“Yes he is,” Ian said in a serious tone. “Yes he is.”

It was dark and cool and the fire’s glow cast soothing warmth on Scott’s face. Supper and an evening of sharing jokes and stories eased the unnerving effect that the “magic trick” had on him. He would ask his guest to explain later, but he suspected he wouldn’t receive a satisfactory answer. Ian’s choice of words sometimes had a riddle-like quality that he had not given much thought to until now.

Ian stood and waved hands toward Scott and Sonya. “I thank you both for a wonderful evening,” he said. “Superb choice of marinade, Scott. And you, madam, have a remarkable spirit of harmony. If only all families had such a strong center to hold them.”

He cupped two hands together and then held one out to Sonya.

She plucked a large, delicate ice crystal from his palm. Intricate patterns of lines and circles crossed its surface, which was already starting to melt. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft with wonder.

“You can’t know what it means to me to meet such a strong community of Sons and Daughters of Wolf here,” Ian continued, using another of his strange phrases. “Warms my heart to see you doing so well. I’ve brought a gift for everyone, a little sample of my side business. Not much I can share with humans. They’re too skeptical. But you, you’re an open minded bunch.”

He reached into his bag and withdrew small vials of clear liquid. “There’s medicine, and then there’s Medicine,” he said. “My ‘family secret’ allows me to do a lot more than create a little ice and snow. These are healing potions. They won’t fix anything major, but they’re good for scrapes and bruises, minor cuts and burns, that sort of thing. If you like what you see, come on by and I can show you what else I’ve got.”

He gave a wide, easygoing smile and handed a vial to each of the adults.

Scott accepted his with a befuddled, “Thank you,” and peered at the unassuming liquid inside.

Parents said goodbyes, gathered their clothing, and herded sleepy children to their cars. Scott collected dishes while Sonya and Hannah put the youngsters to bed. His movements were slow and distracted.

When he knew he was alone he uncapped his vial and took a sniff. It smelled of herbs, and other substances that he couldn’t identify, but there was no chemical undertone to it. He pinched his fingertip between two canine teeth and applied pressure until he felt the skin give way. Blood dripped from the shallow cuts. He licked the wound clean and dabbed some of the potion on it. Pain melted away, blood stopped flowing, and the skin drew back together. A fresh injury had been sealed over with scabs in a matter of seconds.

Scott could think of a few more things he was going to ask Ian the next time he saw him.