Scratch That: by Judy Colella (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📕

at first glance, but the second glance, encouraged by her rather pleasant curves, revealed long, furry ears and wolf-like fangs curving provocatively over her bottom lip. “Hey, what’s going on? Is this some kind of…what’s going on? Are you his mother or something?”

She gave him a don’t-be-an-idiot look and shook her head. “Do you really have to ask?” She sighed. “Some people. Look, this is exactly what you probably think it is – two people who were going to a costume party, and one of them got stuck in a tree. My friends will get him down; why don’t you go home and forget about it, okay?”

That hadn’t been what he’d been thinking at all. “Okay, then. How did your friend get stuck in that tree?”

“How does anyone get stuck in a tree, you silly man? He was trying to get my cat down.”

“Did he? Get the cat, I mean.”

“Yes. Now put your gun away, please. You’re scaring me.”

He didn’t think she looked very scared. In fact, he didn’t think she was telling him the truth, and he said so.

“You think I’m lying, do you?” One of her attractive, arched eyebrows arched a little higher. “Okay, fine. What’s the alternative? What do you think is really going on? That there’s a werewolf chilling in a tree, and I’m about to become one, too? How many werewolves do you know who hang out on tree branches? I mean, the last place someone would be who knows the full moon is about to transform him into a werewolf, is up a tree! Ha!”

“Yeah.” He slowly brought the barrel of the gun lower and aimed it at her, taking a quick step back. “Sure.”

“Something wrong?”

John spun around, saw the source of this question, and gave an involuntary, albeit well-controlled, shriek. A tall, shaggy-haired young man with similarly large, hairy ears and scary-looking fangs had come up behind him. He gave John a pleasant…well, in a monster kind of way…grin, the hands at the ends of his crossed arms displaying dark, razor-sharp-looking talons.

“You, er, weren’t going to shoot my girlfriend, were you?” asked the young man, one of his extraordinary, bushy brows doing an exact imitation of the girl’s.

“What?!”

“I told him about the costume party and our friend getting stuck in the tree after shooing the cat down,” said the girl, her tone reasonable if somewhat exasperated.

“Did you. Good. ‘Kitty’ is in the kitchen, by the way, drinking her milk as if nothing unusual happened.”

The girl giggled. “How typical.”

Up in the tree, the wolf’s whimpering noises got louder.

“Okay, fine!” John lowered the rifle. “But I’m sorry – that is not normal!” He pointed dramatically at the wolf in the tree. “And it sure as hell doesn’t look like a costume!”

“How could you possibly tell from this distance, eh?” asked the young man in a pleasant growl.

John squinted upward, then shook his head. “No offense, but most animal costumes aren’t that, um, anatomically correct, if you know what I mean.”

“Ew!” The befanged girl turned away, shuddering.

The wolf uttered a howl, sounding affronted.

After dismissing the notion that briefly wafted through his brain to tranquilize himself with the darned rifle, John gave up. This whole situation had by now gone beyond the seen-it-all stage and was resting comfortably in the arms of you’re-either-insane-or-this-isn’t-happening. He took his finger off the trigger, slung the rifle up onto his shoulder, and went back to the animal rescue vehicle (which was really no more than a giant cat/dog/whatever carrier on wheels). He refused to be drawn back into any kind of conversation with these strange people, so he got into the driver’s seat, gently shut the door, and drove away.

Behind him, he heard a loud crack, a yelp, and in the rear-view mirror saw two large objects fall out of the tree, but chose to keep going. He turned on the radio and hummed along with a song he didn’t know, something within his badly ruffled psyche assuring him that he’d narrowly escaped a terrible situation.

The two-way radio on his dashboard crackled and he swerved, startled. Once the truck was back in its lane, he detached the handset. “Mahoney,” he managed, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

“Dispatch here. How’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

“The call about the – ha, ha! – the dog in the tree?”

“False alarm. It was a cat and some guy in a wolf costume who climbed up to get it.”

Silence.

“Seriously. Going home now. I’ll drop the truck off in the morning. Mahoney out.” He reattached the handset, took a deep breath and made a left turn.

His house was to the right, but the way he was headed would take him somewhere he needed to be much worse at the moment – The Staggering Leprauchaun Pub and Grill.

Wolf costume, indeed...

-6-

 

 

 

Mack-the-Werewolf was snarling. Had the limb not preceded him to the ground, he might have landed on all four paws, but instead, two of those paws had struck the limb first, twisted, and he’d crashed to his side on the grass.

“Think he broke any legs?” asked Deva. She wasn’t worried, and in fact sounded as if she was hoping he had.

“Don’t know. Mack, shut up!” Crouched over the fallen werewolf, Vector gingerly poked at one of the legs that wasn’t flailing wildly in the air.

With a roar of pain, Mack snapped angrily at Vec’s hand, which the bass-player yanked back moments before the wolfy drummer could bite it off.

“Hey! Don’t do that, dude! I’m trying to help!”

The werewolf grunted and rolled onto its back, looking utterly defeated.

“Aw, crap, Vec, cover his…his junk with something will you?” Deva made a gagging noise and looked away.

“Where the hell did your friend go? She ought to be back by now.” Vec stood, shaking his head.

Rochelle had watched the weird transformation of all three of them, voicing her fascination with Mack’s reactions once his change was complete, then offered to go get her brother’s SUV. Because he owned a Great Dane, she'd explained, her brother had put up a metal grate between the back of the vehicle and the first row of back seats, lowering the last row to make a comfortable kennel of sorts for the dog. She suggested this would be a great place for Mack to hang out until morning, and her suggestion had been greeted with approval by both Deva and Vec. Mack had taken a moment off from sounding like a wounded kitten to glare down at her, but was of course incapable of voicing any objections. That had been nearly a half hour earlier, and Vec was growing tired of babysitting the drummer.

“She’ll be here.” Deva stretched and started sniffing the air. “Mmm. I smell something…rodent-ish, maybe? I really wanted to take a bite out of the animal control guy, but I’m not that hungry right now.”

“I think it might be a squirrel.” Vec kept an eye on the stricken werewolf, but had also noticed some of the aromas his wolf-like senses were taking in. Rather like a waiter reading off the night’s specials, he thought.

“I’ll go look. If it’s big enough, we can share.”

Mack whimpered.

“Fine, I’ll try and find two.” Deva stalked off.

By the time Rochelle drove up, Vec was sitting on the broken limb and scratching Mack’s tummy. He had bent himself over enough to hide the insane ears he was sporting, and looked for all the world like a typical dog-owner indulging his large pet. Okay, giganic pet. Deva was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, uh, can you – how did he get out of the tree?” She had opened the door but wasn’t sure it would be safe to join them.

Vec stood up. “He fell. Branch broke. I think he may have broken a leg or two.”

“Oh, awesome. Because dragging a wounded werewolf is going to be so much easier than coaxing him into the car!”

“Rochelle, please. Look, I’ll wrap my shirt around his muzzle so he can’t bite you, and between us we should be able to haul his hairy butt into the back, all right?”

Mack made a noise that for all intents and purposes sounded like, “Hey!”

“Sorry, but we can’t trust you,” Vec confessed. “Besides, Deva is pissed enough at you – the last thing you want to do is accidentally eat her friend.”

"Wow - the wolf rolled its eyes!" Rochelle, despite the dangerous situation, burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Deva had emerged from behind a nearby hedge, a dead squirrel dangling from one hand, the bloody remains of second one in the other like a chicken drumstick from which she tore a small bite. “And how’s Mack?”

“Oh, god!” Rochelle turned an unusual color that in the streetlamp beside her appeared to be somewhere between pea green and sunflower yellow. “What is that, Deva?”

“Squirrel. Want some?” She held out the gory mass of flesh.

Rochelle dove head first into the car and slammed the door.

Vec peered in through the driver's side window. "She's lying across the front seat. I think she's trying not to puke," he reported.

“Her loss.” Deva held out the lump to Vec.

“Nah, I’ll take the other one, if that’s okay. Give that to Mack.”

She shrugged and tossed it at the drummer’s head, who made an epic catch with flashing jaws, crunched gratefully for a few seconds, and swallowed with a sigh.

“You’re welcome. So. We putting him in the car?”

“That’s the plan. Hold on.” Vec had been doing something gross with the dead squirrel, but now, his own hairy face smeared with blood, gave the girl a frightening grin and offered her what remained.

When they were done, they got busy hauling Mack over to the back of the SUV, then retrieved his shredded clothing from the base of the tree. By this time, Rochelle had recovered enough to push the button that opened the rear door, and after a lot of growling, oofing, snarling and violent threats, Mack was safely tucked into the back and they shut the door.

Before getting in themselves, they playfully licked the blood off each other’s faces, thus eliciting another groan from Rochelle, who had managed to sit up and was watching them with a pained look. "You know what? I've about resigned myself to the inevitability of throwing up before the night is over. Now what?”

Deva and Vec were snuggling in the back seat by this time and didn't respond.

“Guys. Pay attention. Any suggestions?”

“I think you should take us back to Deva’s,” Vec suggested, pulling away from Deva. “I have a feeling it won’t be very safe for you to be around either of us for the rest of the night.”

Without a word, Rochelle started the car, put it in gear, and did a three-point turn that placed the vehicle directly in front of Deva’s apartment building. She looked into the rear-view mirror and gave her friend a “really?” stare – they could have simply walked across the street, after all.

Deva chuckled and opened the door. “Forgot we were so close!”

Vec got out, too, and they started up the walkway to the building.

“Hey, hold it, you two!”

They turned to stare back at her in surprise.

“You’re kidding, right? What the hell do I do with dog-boy back here?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

The couple shared a startled look. “Oh, wow,” said Vec. “So sorry! You’re going to have to bring him to the hospital in the morning, I’m afraid. Hang