It was Friday night in the city. Joseph Miller kept stopping to look at some new wonder and it was driving Mike Samson crazy. Mike had come to accept that his new “boss” had, in fact, come from 1908, which had been pretty easy to accept after coming to terms with the existence of werewolves, vampires, and demons. At this point, he was thinking he may have been off about the whole Santa Claus thing as well.
The third night of “hunting” had brought them to New York City. By “hunting”, Miller meant wandering the streets, visiting bars, and hitting on woman. He was now ogling a large neon sign that showed a martini being poured. Moving to his side, Mike asked, “Miller, what are we doing out here again?”
“My dear Mr. Samson, as I have stated the last three times that you have posed the exact same question, we are looking for the Cursed,” Miller said. He did not look away from the sign. “Truly amazing.”
“Wait till you see Times Square,” Mike pointed out. “Ok, yeah, I get it, but you really think ‘the Cursed’ are just wandering around the streets with nothing to do? And I thought you said the demons were most likely long gone.”
“Oh, I'm sure the demons are ‘long gone,’ as you put it. They know I am here now. But their children are not quite as intelligent. If we can find one, perhaps one that hasn't been turned yet, we can use it to track its parents.”
“Turned yet?” Mike asked.
“Turned.”
“Please stop talking in bad horror movie clichés,” Mike pleaded.
Miller ignored him. “Ah, this establishment looks promising.” Miller pointed to a rundown looking bar stuck between a nightclub and an all-night grocery store.
“Here? Miller, if you want a bar, we can find a decent place.”
“No, lad, this should do nicely.”
Mike shrugged and followed Miller in. Inside it was quite full. There were a few young kids, probably with fake IDs, Mike thought. Vacation or not, he was still a cop. Some blue-collar folks were enjoying their Friday night. In the back, there was a jukebox, near which several people were dancing. The entire side of the building was one long bar, most of it covered with thirsty patrons. On the other side, toward the front, there were several booths occupied by couples and larger parties.
“Samson, procure some drinks. Ask if they have mead,” Miller said, finding a spot near the front of the bar that gave him a fairly clear view of the back.
“Miller, no one has mead anymore. I'm pretty sure bars stopped having mead somewhere before the last crusades ended.”
“Bah, fine. Just none of that Budweiser. I've had better ale than that brewed in old boots.”
Mike shrugged and made his way through the crowd. He preferred to be the one that interacted with regular folks.
Miller, with his whole “man out of time” theme, managed to confuse and often offend pretty much everyone. Women were by far the worst, as times had changed quite a bit. After Miller had patted a woman’s rear for helping him in Wal-Mart, Mike had to beg and plead with the woman not to press charges, explaining that his “cousin” was mentally ill. That whole trip had been a complete disaster anyway, but they had needed something for Miller to wear, other than the outfit that he had been given when he turned up at a local church. After being nearly arrested twice, and at last banned from the store, they had managed to get Miller some standard jeans/t-shirt combos. They had also found him some work boots, which he seemed to like, as well as a long, dark coat, which Mike thought worked with the whole monster-hunter theme. Now, Miller looked like nothing special on the street. A Hispanic man in his early 20s, not terribly tall or broadly built. Only the wild eyes, wicked smile, and almost Scottish accent told you there was something off about the man.
After a short talk with the bartender, Mike returned to Miller with the drinks. He gladly accepted his new beverage and took a long pull on the mug.
“Ahh, much better,” he said.
“Good. Now as much as l like hanging out and drinking on a Friday night, why this bar?”
Miller looked at him thoughtfully. “Mike, you must learn to celebrate your life. There are two things that make this all worth it. Drink!” he raised his glass and his voice, “And women!” This little speech produced some giggles and outright laughs from nearby patrons.
“Miller, please don't get us kicked out of another bar for harassing the women,” Mike pleaded.
“Bah, your women are far too sensitive. I only wish to show them my gratitude for sharing their beauty with the world.”
“I don't thinking groping is the way to go for that,” Mike broke in.
“Fine, fine,” Miller said dismissively. “Actually, this time I was referring to a woman for you. Good God, do you need it.”
“Hey!” Mike protested. Technically he was still mourning his wife. It would be inappropriate to go chasing every girl he saw. Besides, he knew he wasn't ready.
“Yes, you need to meet a fine lass who can teach you how to freeze…”
“Chill,” Mike corrected after a moment, translating from clueless, “And stop trying to sound hip. It never works.”
“I think you should go dance with her.” Miller pointed to a woman who was dancing alone by a jukebox. She was brown-skinned, a little pudgy, and on the shorter side. Her hair was done in long dreads and she was dancing far too fast for the rhythm of the music.
“Yuck. Why her? Why not the cute blond over there?” Mike pointed subtly to a striking blond woman quite a bit younger than himself. Miller pushed Mike’s extended finger back to the original woman. He leaned in close to Mike's ear and whispered.
“Because in about five minutes, that lass is going to become a wolf!”
“What?” Mike almost jumped out of his skin.
“Aye. She is the one I've been tracking for days. Do you think I just like hanging out in strange bars?”
Mike stared at Miller for a second. “Actually, I did. Miller, I'm not going to go over there if she’s suddenly going to sprout claws and fur,” Mike protested. He flashed back to an image of his neighbor, transformed into a raging monster, pinning him to the ground. He trembled at the memory. “Aren’t you supposed to be the monster hunter? I'm just supposed to play sidekick.”
“But lad, it was part of our ‘deal.’ You wanted to be kinder and gentler to the Cursed. Go find out something about her. Keep her talking and away from anyone else. And do not let her leave the dance floor.”
“Why? You think it will stop her from changing if she stays in public?”
“Not at all. Mike, she’s looking for someone to eat. That’s why she is here. Well, not her, but that thing inside her.” Mike gulped. “She's going to try to get someone to go someplace private with her so she can have a nice easy snack once she's...” he paused.
“Playing for the other team?” Mike offered.
“Ha! Yes that works.” Miller gave Mike a little shove. “Go have a word with her. I'll be right here. Wait. First, finish your drink. I find it helps.”
“Miller, I'm going to get you for this,” Mike hissed. He slugged down his beer in one long shot. How did he let himself get talked into this? He put down his mug and began his approach. This is what he wanted, to help these people. Well, to avoid having to kill them. Still, he wished there was another way.
The woman was still dancing to her own rhythm. Looking at her closely, Mike noticed that she did have a pretty face, even if she was a bit overweight. It was mainly the spastic dancing and the sweat pouring off of her that was repelling the rest of the men. They just weren’t drunk enough yet, he figured. Letting out a long sigh, he moved next to her.
“Hi,” he said. He had no opening line and had not hit on a woman in 10 years. He’d forgotten how. He tried to break into a bit of a dance but all he could manage was a weak shuffle. The white boy shuffle.
“Well, hellooo,” the woman said, sliding closer to Mike. Much too close fo
r his liking. “Aren’t you a cute thing?” Mike smiled at first but then remembered her goal and immediately felt a bit ill. “What's your name?”
“I'm Mike.” He almost stuck out his hand to shake, but resisted the urge.
“I'm Catharine but my friends call me Kate. Will you be my friend?”
Mike was working hard to stay cool. His mind kept flashing back to the scene outside his home when he had met his first wolf. “Sure,” he answered, giving her a weak smile. She moved even closer in reaction, almost rubbing her hips against him.
“Oh, I love the drums in this song.”
Mike looked at the juke box. The song was “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. He couldn't hear any drums. “Umm, yeah. Me too.” He gave Miller a nervous glance. Miller just grinned back and gave him a thumbs-up. He hated that guy so much. “Can I get you a drink?” He’d do anything he could to get off the horrible dance-floor. He was pretty sure no one was pointing and laughing at his lame dance moves yet, but it was just a matter of time.
“Oh no, I'm just loving dancing right now. Although I am feeling a bit hungry.” She smiled at him and again his stomach did a little flip-flop. They danced for a few minutes in silence.
“So, what do you do?” Mike asked, trying to take his mind off his terrible dancing skills and the looming near-death situation.
“Oh, I work for FedEx delivering packages. But I don't really want to talk about work.” She grabbed his butt and pulled him towards her. She gave him a nervous laugh. “Look. This is going to sound really forward, but um, do you wanna go someplace a bit more private and, ah, you know…” she dragged a fingernail from his chest down to his belt buckle, “mess around a bit?”
“Hah, ah well…” He returned the nervous laugh. “That is pretty forward.” . “Uh, well, my friend and I only got here a few minutes ago, and um, I really don't want to ditch him. He’s new in town.” He pointed at Miller, who waved at them both.
“Ooh, he’s cute.” She put her arms around Mike and said, in a deep, sultry voice, “He can come too.” Mike could feel the heat coming off her in waves. She leaned forward as if to kiss him, but instead licked his chin. “Mmmm, you’re a tasty one.” Rubbing against him, she let out a little moan. “What do you say?” For a moment, Mike was too horrified to answer. Then Miller was beside him.
“Well, hello lass! Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he said. She giggled at his accent and seemed to stumble a bit. She pulled hard on Mike to keep her balance.
“Sorry, a little dizzy. Must be all the heat in here.” The look she gave Mike was so full of lust that he somehow managed to blush a deeper shade of pink. “I think I might need to lay down a bit,” Catharine said, sliding down to the floor. Her entire body began to quake and her eyes rolled up toward the top of her head. People turned to see what was going on.
“Is she ok?” someone asked.
“Just give her some space,” Miller said. He put up his arms to push a few curious people back.
“I think she’s having a seizure. Make sure she doesn’t swallow her tongue,” a man said. Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
“Trust me, you really don't want to put your hand near that mouth.” To Miller he said, “Don't we need to get these people out of here?”
“Worry not, Samson, I will make sure your new friend doesn’t hurt anyone.” Mike looked down at Catharine's body. Her eyes had filled with an inky blankness and foam was streaming from her mouth and down her cheeks.
“Give her some space!” Mike yelled, pushing people away.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong with her eyes?” someone else screamed. The sound of tearing cloth brought Mike's attention back to Catharine. Her pant legs had torn open to make room for the huge masses of muscle forming down her legs.
“Oh, I hate this part” Mike said. Someone screamed. Catharine rolled over and spit out a mouth full of teeth and blood. Her spine suddenly stretched and the muscles in her arms expanded like balloons. The crowd backed further away, but did not run, caught up in the horrible spectacle. Mike kept his distance. Having seen this before, he did not want to watch it again.
In a moment, the beast that had been Catharine rose from the ground. Its hands were dripping blood from the huge claws that had just burst through its fingertips. New, sharp fangs stuck out of its jaw. It was taller than Catharine had been by only a few inches but it was no longer fat. Muscle rippled through its arms and across its stomach. Catharine's clothes had, for the most part, stayed together, giving the beast an almost silly “werewolf on the town” look. Its face was still mostly Catharine's, besides the black, empty eyes and the short fur that covered its entire body. It howled at the crowd that circled it, which gasped in response. For a second, no one moved. Then, the beast charged towards Mike and the crowd exploded in panic. Miller was thankfully fast enough to stomp down on one of the beast’s legs with a steel-toed boot just as it leapt. The beast howled as its bones crunched. It fell face–first, inches away from Mike.
“Do not let it feed!” Miller yelled.
“Oh really? I was going to just let her nibble on my arm,” Mike said. He moved farther away from the creature. People were running in all directions, screaming and trampling each other. Next time Mike would make the game plan. There had to be a better way.
The wolf limped toward the door, dragging its busted leg behind it. Miller let it pass, helping an Asian woman back to her feet.
Mike followed at a distance. The beast took a swipe at a passing patron, but was too slow to connect. It leapt at another man, managing to pin him down. Mike ran up and gave it a quick kick to the ribs, knocking the man free. It howled in frustration.
“Sorry, lady. None of that.” Mike and the wolf locked eyes for a moment, before it fled through the door. “Miller, what now?”
“I follow it and make sure that it does not hurt anyone. You track us.”
“Got it.”
“Make sure you find us by daybreak!” Miller shouted.
Mike took off in the other direction, towards where the van was parked. “Ok, no problem.”
“Daybreak, Samson!” Miller repeated once more, and was gone.
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