Animal Behavior (9 page)

Louis didn’t look up at him again as he carried out the
procedure, but Alex couldn’t shake the unfathomable power of his stare. His
eyes had seemed jet black. Alex couldn’t tell where the pupil ended and the
iris began, but told himself that was just because the pupils were dilated in the
dimly lit room. His scientific justification did nothing to address the way
those eyes had made him
feel
.

Alex’s arms and legs were leaden. His feet seemed a part of
the floor. He could feel himself sway slightly; not side to side or back and
forth, but in slow, small circles—first clockwise then counterclockwise, over
and over again. He doubted that he could stop swaying if he wanted to, but it
was a moot point. He didn’t
want to
stop. Alex felt insignificant,
unnoticed. And he felt, maybe for the first time in his life, peaceful.

Then, like the bloom of a Fourth of July firework, a moment
of understanding flashed in his mind. Alex guessed he’d always known that he
was self-conscious, but he finally understood what that meant. For once, he
didn’t feel like all eyes were on him—waiting for him to make a mistake. His heavy
lids fell closed and a smile spread across his face. A thought came into his
mind, a whisper really, not in his voice—not in any identifiable voice. It was
just a serene, androgynous murmur that told him,
After this, Alex,
everything will be different
.

His revelation dissolved at the sound of clinking glass.
Alex opened his eyes and saw Louis tapping the side of the bowl with the wand.
He tapped three times, paused, tapped three times more, paused and tapped a
final three times. He began to stir the ingredients while reciting from the
notebook,

Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas
ferus lupus luna amor.

Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas
ferus lupus luna amor.

Vis vires fortitudo animus ferocitas bellus venustas
ferus lupus luna amor.

Louis tapped the wand three times more on the rim of the
bowl. On the third tap, Alex was released. His arms and legs tingled as if they’d
fallen asleep. He flexed his hands and shifted from foot to foot to get the
blood flowing again.

Louis divided the contents of the bowl into two zip-top
plastic bags and sealed them shut. He took a shallow brass dish, a square of
white silk, and a box of wooden matches from beneath the counter. He carefully
wiped out the glass bowl and the length of the wand with the silk, folded the
fabric in half and wiped the bowl and wand again. He repeated this once more and
placed the folded fabric in the center of the brass dish. He struck a match and
touched the flame to the corner of the silk. It flared with a surprising intensity,
like a magician’s flash paper. Not a trace of silk—or even ash—was left in the
dish.

Then, Louis was just a college kid again. He took the
notebook and disappeared behind the heavy red curtain. He returned with the
book and a photocopy of the “Confidence Potion” page. The uneven handwriting
looked like hieroglyphics. In the corner of the paper there was a doodle—an
inverted triangle with a tight spiral filling the center.

“Here ya go, Mr. McKenzie,” Louis said, sliding photocopy
and the plastic bags toward him. “Just follow the steps on this sheet, to make
this into a tea. You’re going to steep this in hot water. But before you do
that, you’ll want to prepare yourself and your space. First, you’ll want to
unplug all your electronics—your TV, radios, computer, cordless phones, everything.
Even when these things are turned off, the electrical impulses can interfere.

“Empty one serving into a mug,” he said, tapping on the
plastic bag of dried ingredients, “and pour some boiling water over it. While it’s
steeping, light a candle, and turn out all the lights. Here’s a piece of chalk.
Draw this symbol on the floor. Then you’re going to want to strip down—completely.”

Alex raised his eyebrow at this last step.

Louis continued, “Make sure to get yourself completely
centered. Try to block out all the crap—all the needless noise from the day.
When you’re feeling it, I mean
really
feeling it repeat this three
times.” Louis indicated the incantation he’d recited earlier.

“Then drink the tea. Totally drain the cup. Then put the cup
in a paper bag, hit the bag with a hammer until it’s smashed into powder and
burn the whole thing. One dose should do ya, but if you have to you can use the
second dose at the next full moon.”

Alex took the photocopy and the two plastic bags then
stumbled out onto the deserted downtown street. He heard the door click behind
him and when he turned around the shop was dark. Sliding behind the wheel of
his pickup truck, Alex felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him and hoped he
would be able to stay awake long enough to follow the ridiculous instructions
he’d just wasted forty-five bucks on.

Two Weeks Later

The pain woke him. Alex’s jaws ached and his mouth was full
of grit. He spit into his hands and looked at a half dozen little white and
silver pellets.

What the fuck?

The digital clock read 3:19 a.m. He tried to stretch, but he
was pinned. He reached down and slid the plump leg off his thigh. Turning, he
saw a frizzy mane of red hair spread out on the pillow beside him.
Mandy?
Mary? Miranda?

He couldn’t remember the woman’s name and it took him a
minute to remember how she’d gotten there.
The tailor.
In the two weeks
since he’d drunk the potion, Alex had grown three inches and yesterday when he
brought in a stack of pants to be lengthened, she was behind the counter.

She’d been stuffed into a too-small shirt and too-tight
jeans. No one would have described her as pretty, but her scent was
intoxicating. She’d willingly told Alex what time she got off work and was
waiting for him when he pulled up to the curb. They’d come back to his loft and
he offered her a glass of wine. She hadn’t even finished her drink when Alex
yanked her off the couch and led her to his bedroom. He thought he’d ripped her
top when he stripped her. He’d have to remember to slip her a twenty to replace
it. Though he doubted that the cheap clothes had cost that much. He had her wet
and panting in no time. Poor thing probably didn’t even know what hit her.

Through the pain of his aching mouth, he recalled the way
her big, round ass had looked from behind when he had her on all fours on his
bed. The pale skin had turned deep red when he slapped it. The heat of it under
his palm had almost made him lose control. She was dripping wet and deliciously
aromatic when he plunged into her. The yielding flesh felt heavenly against his
pelvis. Her thick pubic hair teased his balls with every thrust. She was
already so tight that when her slick canal closed down on his cock, he came
almost immediately.

When he was finished, she flopped onto her belly and was
snoring softly in minutes. He wasn’t interested in cuddling, but sometime
during the night she’d slung her meaty thigh over him.

He slid out of bed, careful not wake Mandy or Mary or
Miranda. Bob lifted his head from the floor and watched Alex tiptoe to the
bathroom.
Don’t look at me like that. Not all of us have been neutered, pal
.

Bob groaned. Alex slowly closed the door and turned the knob
so the latch wouldn’t make a sound. He flicked on the bathroom light and opened
his fist. He rubbed the gritty bits under his finger, trying to figure out what
they were.
Fillings!

Alex brushed the porcelain and silver into the wastebasket
then faced the mirror, tilted back his head and opened his mouth wide. The
grinding edges of all his teeth were smooth and white. He ran his tongue over
his molars and shook his head. Sometime in the middle of the night all his
cavities had filled in with natural enamel and pushed out the fillings.

He stared at his naked reflection. The muscles in his arms
had grown again. The skin was pulled tight over hyper-defined peaks and
valleys. Overnight his chest had become broader and the hair on it was thicker.
It trailed down over cut abs before thickening again below his navel. He
glanced between his legs and smirked when he saw that his cock had grown again
too.
Nice
.

Turning away from the mirror, Alex stepped on the scale. He’d
gained another eight pounds since yesterday, and by the looks of it, it was all
muscle—and cock. He couldn’t help it, he had to get another look at the guy in
the mirror. Self-satisfaction washed over him and he couldn’t even muster up
the illusion of modesty.

Shuffling from the bedroom broke his admiration.
Fuck!
Why
had he brought her back here? That had been one of his new rules. The rules had
changed frequently in the two weeks since he’d taken the potion. The one that
he tried to follow was that he always went back to their place, never here. He
didn’t want any of them to know where he lived because he had no intention of a
repeat performance. Now he’d have to figure out how to get rid of Mandy Mary
Miranda without having her go all psycho-stalker on him.

Alex pulled a pair of boxers and a T-shirt out of the hamper
and slipped them on. The cotton strained to cover his chest. Mandy Mary Miranda
didn’t need to see him naked and get all wound up again.

The plan was not perfect, and it was certainly going to
sting, but it would get the job done. He pulled open the bathroom door and a
shaft of light fell on the redhead’s moony face. “Hey handsome,” she purred.
Mandy Mary Miranda propped herself up on one elbow and pulled back the sheet to
reveal her big, pendulous breasts. The scent wafted from the bed and Alex’s
cock jerked.
Keep it together, McKenzie.
He dug his thumbnail into his
palm until tears sprang to his eyes and his erection softened.

“Listen. You’ve gotta go. My wife works the overnight shift
and she’s going to be home any minute.”

Mandy Mary Miranda sat up and covered herself with the
sheet. Her beady eyes widened a bit. “Your WIFE?”

Alex shrugged, “Sorry. I usually don’t do this, but you just
looked so hot I couldn’t help myself. I feel awful—so guilty. I really love my
wife. She’s everything to me. If she ever found out I’d done this, it would
kill her.”

Mandy Mary Miranda scowled and Alex realized he’d made a
huge tactical error—a woman scorned and all that shit. He amended his lie. “It
would kill her.” He paused to feign a look of crushing sadness. “I mean, it
would kill her even sooner. She’s sick, terminal. She doesn’t have long…” Alex
let his voice trail off as if he couldn’t bear to continue.

The nameless woman glanced down as if trying to decide what
to do. Finally she rose, pulling the sheet around herself, and quickly dressed.
Alex grabbed his jeans from the floor, dug out his wallet and held out a bill. “Here.
Take this—for a cab and for your shirt.”

Mandy Mary Miranda looked at the twenty, and down at the
tear in her top, then back at Alex. “Fuck you, asshole!”

Alex tried to look contrite, but was awash with relief. The
redhead slid on her shoes, grabbed her purse and stomped out. He stayed in the
bedroom and listened for the front door to open then held his breath waiting
for it to shut again. Instead he heard, “Oh, and don’t bother coming back into
the shop for your pants. If you want them, they’ll be out back in the alley.
Asshole!”

The door slammed and Alex listened to the heavy footfalls, a
pause and the rattle of the elevator. He relaxed as soon as he heard the doors
slide shut.

“Dodged that bullet. Huh, Bob?”

The dog cocked his head.
You have a wife?

* * * * *

The Next Day

The morning after his run-in with Mandy Mary Miranda, Alex
had found his pants in the alley behind the dry cleaners—exactly where she’d
said they would be. Unfortunately, she’d cut the zippers out of every pair,
rendering them unwearable. He sat in the prison waiting room in a pair of
shorts and a T-shirt.

When his name was called, Alex slid the battered sports
magazine into his manila file folder then followed the rail-thin guard down the
corridor. She led him to a room filled with round cafeteria-style tables and
colorful plastic chairs. Small groups were huddled in hushed conversations
beside an absurdly cheerful seascape wall mural.

Even if Desdemona Lustre weren’t sitting alone, he would
have been able to pick her out of the crowd. Her waist-length plum-colored
dreadlocks were pulled back in a tie-dyed scarf and her loose gypsy clothing
hid the curves of her full body. He took a seat across from the fortune teller
and tossed the file folder on the table.

“Dr. McKenzie,” she said quietly, a serene expression
covered her face.

“Miss Lustre.”

“What brings you to visit?” she asked, but Alex had the
distinct impression that she knew the answer to her own question.

“I stopped by your shop a couple of weeks ago at the
recommendation of my friend Diana Wallace. I met with your employee, Louis. He
set me up with a confidence spell.”

Desdemona’s dreadlocks bobbed as she nodded. “Yes, Louis is
coming along nicely. He’s been a wonderful apprentice. I trust he was able to
help to your satisfaction?”

Alex clenched his teeth. He wanted to smack that serene look
right off her round face. “You trust wrong, Miss Lustre.”

The fortune teller leaned in on her elbows and rested her
chin in her hands. Her fingers were covered with mismatched rings and rows of
bracelets jangled at her wrists. “How so, Dr. McKenzie? Have you not seen your
confidence boosted? Louis should have provided you with a second dose of the
tea—”

“Yeah. Confidence boosted. Second dose received. But there
have been some…unexpected side effects.”

Alex opened the file folder and pulled out the photocopy of
the spell. He slid it across the table. Desdemona lifted reading glasses from
the beaded chain around her neck and situated them on her nose. She picked up
the paper and read aloud, “A pinch of rosemary, and one of thyme, a grain of
dried wolf’s blood. It all seems in order.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “A
grain
of wolf’s blood? Not
a gram?”

Desdemona looked over the top of her readers. “Heavens no!
Not a
gram
of wolf’s blood, that would be—” She stopped short and the
serene expression fell from her face. Her eyes widened and her brow rose. “A
gram, Dr. McKenzie? Are you quite sure Louis measured out a gram?”

Alex sat back and crossed his arms over his ever-expanding
chest. “Yes, Miss Lustre. I’m sure. We discussed it. He had a hard time reading
your chicken scratch and reasoned that it must be a gram because a grain would
have been nearly impossible to separate out from the jar.”

“Oh dear.”

Alex uncrossed his arms and leaned in. “‘Oh dear’? That’s
all you have to say? ‘Oh dear’? Did he poison me or what? What the hell was in
that jar, lady?”

“Dried wolf’s blood. A very potent ingredient.”

“C’mon. It looked an awful lot like paprika to me. There’s
no way in hell it was dried
anything
blood. What was it?”

Alex realized he’d raised his voice when the policewoman
pushed away from the her spot beneath the two-dimensional palm tree painted on
the cinderblock wall and began walking toward them. Alex raised a hand in an
apologetic gesture and the guard stood down.

“What kind of side effects have you been experiencing, Dr.
McKenzie?”

“Well, let’s see. I’ve put on forty pounds—of pure muscle—in
two weeks. I’ve grown three inches. My bald spot has filled in. My hairline has
inched forward. Hell, I’ve got hair
all over
my body. All my senses have
grown incredibly acute—”

Desdemona nodded and smiled. “Well, those hardly seem like
negative effects, Doctor.”

Alex leaned across the table and waited for the voodoo queen
to bring her ear close to his mouth. “And I can hear dogs,” he whispered, “Not
just barking. I can
hear
what they’re thinking. And I can communicate
with them.”

Desdemona sat back hard and the smile faded from her face. “When
did you say you met with Louis?”

“Almost two weeks ago.”

The woman looked toward the ceiling as if making some sort
of calculation. “Two weeks. That was the full moon. It will be full again in
another fifteen days.”

Alex pulled the waiting room copy of Sports Digest from the
file folder and turned it so the fortune teller could see the cover photo of
retired Russian basketball phenomenon Sergei Markov. He tapped the image of the
imposing center’s upper-arm tattoo. “And what’s this all about? I’d never seen
that symbol before Louis gave me the photocopy of your spell and then I’m
sitting in the visitors room waiting to see you and there it is again . What
does it mean, the triangle with the spiral?”

She fidgeted and her face flushed. “The inverted triangle
represents the head of a wolf. The spiral symbolizes the intertwined connection
between man and beast—their spirits, their essences—flowing in and out of one
another.”

“So why does this guy have it tattooed on his shoulder? What
the hell? Did he stop into your little shop too?”

Desdemona reached out and touched Alex’s hand. She removed
the glasses from her nose and let them dangle on their chain, and met his gaze
and held it for a long moment. “No, Doctor. Sergei Markov did not gain his—power—from
a potion or a spell. He got his…
special abilities
the old fashioned way.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “What ‘power’? What ‘special
abilities’? and what the fuck does ‘old fashioned way’ mean?”

“Dr. McKenzie, you must remain calm. It is the only way you
will—”

Alex glanced at the guard and turned back to Desdemona,
struggling to keep his anger in check. “How did Markov get his ‘powers’?”

Desdemona chewed her lower lip. Her blush faded and her face
went sheet-white. “Sergei Markov was bitten by a werewolf.”

* * * * *

That Evening

The tattered mailing label bearing the prison’s address
crackled under the heel of Alex’s hand as he slid his computer mouse across the
magazine cover. He’d logged onto the Internet as soon as he’d returned home
from his visit with Desdemona Lustre and he’d been staring at his computer
screen for the past three hours.

There were plenty of websites devoted to lycanthropy.
Werewolf lore was a popular topic on the internet. He’d brought up the images
in his search engine and cringed at the snarling, red-eyed man-beasts. When he
typed in werewolf symbol and werewolf totem, none of the results featured the
spiral-in-a-triangle design. He turned his attention to tracking down Sergei
Markov.

The search of the athlete’s name netted more than a million
results. Alex learned that the Russian had retired after just a few seasons. He’d
invested most of his basketball money and rolled a portion into a huge tract of
land in Talbot, Minnesota. Markov eschewed the press and fans in favor of a
quiet life far from the limelight. He now ran Luna Farms—a small but successful
organic farm producing gourmet meats and cheeses.