Werewolf Lessons

Previous

Father’s words: “Keep your head down. Don’t look him in the eyes unless you’re prepared for a fight to the death.”

Luke kept his eyes on the worn floorboards between his paws. Soft moonlight glowed through the window. The stunning view of the city spread out beneath the hill would be quite enjoyable, if not for the company.

The gang leader reclined on an antique velvet couch riddled with claw punctures. “This is your youngest?” he said.

“Yes,” Father said. His head was bowed, posture rigid, scent tinged with fear. “He is a good boy. Very responsible. He will inherit the butcher shop. We are certain he will manage it wisely.”

Overwhelming scents rose from the floor. Blood, sweat, fur shed from dozens of different coats. Dried puddles of stale beer. Their voices laughed and growled from every corner of the old building. At the first hint of displeasure from their leader they would flood into the room with murderous intent.

The scarred muzzle grinned. “So you hit the mark with this one, eh? Not a disappointment like the first?”

Father was silent.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” the gang leader continued. “You have any idea how many people are waiting to get in between you and your right to succeed, boy? When the day comes I will be your humble protector, as I am your father’s. For the right fee.”

“Yes, Sir,” Luke said.

Unless I sell the shop and leave so I never have to see your ugly face again, he added to himself.

***

Mother’s words: “Don’t assume that just because meat has seen the flames it’s been ruined.

Luke swept the last pile of dust into the pan and dumped it in the trash bin. His stomach growled at him. He locked up and flew from the shop, drawn like a magnet to the kitchen.

The house smelled of beef, blood, and honey. Mother fished a hunk of meat from the pot of blood sauce and set it on a plate to carry to Father. When everyone else had their portions she gave Luke his.

He tore into the warm meat with eager gulps. It was easy to forget the animal been dead for hours. He felt sorry for the boys whose mothers didn’t believe in cooking and served everything with room-temperature blandness.

***

Brother’s words: “Aim for the nose. It’s like a second groin on your face.”

Luke kept his head back and slashed at Owen with frantic energy. Nothing connected. Owen’s long arm sliced through the air and his fist smashed into Luke’s nose.

Luke yelped. He licked his nose. Tasted blood and felt a small cut in the black leather. He bared his teeth and flung himself at his brother.

Owen danced away, tail beating, cold grin on his face. He planted a paw on Luke’s back and shoved.

Luke spun off balance and fell on his face. He rose and shook his head, snorting dirt from his aching nose. He faced Owen in a crouch, claws extended, hoping he could avenge himself with at least one cut or bruise.

Owen imitated his stance. “Come on, try harder,” he said. “I’ll make it easy for you.”

Luke dashed straight at him. He twisted to the right at the last moment and aimed his teeth at Owen’s ear. Owen caught him in the gut with the sharp point of his elbow.

Fluffy clouds passed overhead. Luke lay still on his back, panting.

Owen’s scowling form loomed over him. “You better hope anybody who wants to beat you up has really short legs,” he said.

***

Sister’s words: “Whenever life gets you down, get moving.”

Luke watched in amazement as Judy flung herself midstride at a brick building on their left. Her claws dug in and she climbed like a fly walking up a window.

He slowed and sprang, arms spread wide, toes splayed. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Ears pinned with determination, he let go with one paw and felt for claw-holds.

Judy peered down from the roof. “That’s it!” she said. “Keep your weight spread out.”

He took his time, making sure of his grip with each step. When he neared the top Judy leaned over and extended her arm. He gave her his paw and she pulled him up with fluid ease.

He caught his breath while looking over the rooftops of the city. The river snaked away to the south, a grainy gray ribbon barely visible to his night-eyes.

Judy pointed at a darker gray blob on the river. “You know what’s really fun?” she said. “Jumping off the bridge.”

Luke squinted at the bridge. “Is that safe?” he said.

Judy shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “As long as you don’t make a belly-flop anyway.”

“What’s a belly-flop?” Luke said.

She was already scrambling down the side of the building. When she was halfway down she pushed away, twisted in the air, and landed on all four paws. She sat on the cobblestones and looked up with a smile.

Luke leaned a leg over the edge and gripped the bricks with a hindpaw. He looked straight ahead, willing his eyes not to stray down. She wouldn’t mind if he tried that maneuver next time.