Victoria Silverwolf
Vegetarian Werewolf
I have replaced character names with things like XXXX, with the exception of one story where the character's name is part of the title, and one story where the names of several real celebrities are used. Neither of these two cases should give anything away.
I have tried to keep title and style consistent. In one case, I have replaced single quotes with double quotes. I have not bothered to make American and British spellings consistent. There are some paragraph spacing oddities that I have been unable to fix after several editings.
To be on the safe side with this forum's policies, I have replaced profanity (unless very mild) with ****.
Good guessing!
______________________________________________________________
ONE
THE FIRE INSIDE
XXXX stood alone at the peak of Watchman’s Hill and waited for night. The city lay below, glittering with a thousand lights. Here and there a window was dark, like a missing tooth. Minutes crawled by as workers left their offices. Glowing hovers turned the streets into rivers of amber. XXXX wondered what it would be like to be a nine-to-fiver, settling into a shiny new vehicle at the end of the day, riding home to a clean, quiet apartment. Maybe a cat or dog, maybe even a boyfriend to keep her bed warm.
Daydreaming made the time go by. The last traces of sunlight died in the west. A few stars appeared. XXXX figured the bright one, low in the west, must be Venus. She vaguely remembered learning about it in school, before she had to drop out and hit the streets.
XXXX pulled the flexible ceramic gloves out of the back pocket of her jeans and slipped them on. They felt funny inside, like wet glass. She wiggled her fingers a few times. The man in the blurmask told her she’d get used to the gloves quickly, but she wanted to make sure they wouldn’t slip off.
“Don’t crack open the container before you put on the gloves,” the man had said. His mask shimmered like a melting mirror. There wasn’t anybody but a few drunks and dustheads in the alley, so the mask was just silly. Maybe he thought it made him look tough.
“Not stupid.” XXXX studied the man’s voice, his build, his gunmetal gray business suit, the way he moved. She’d be able to track him down if he double-crossed her.
“I know that,” the man said. He sounded like a TV preacher she’d heard long ago, all high-pitched and whispery. “That’s why I’m paying you. But I’ve seen a man fool around with supersilk without gloves. He didn’t even feel it take off his arm.”
_____________________________________________________________
TWO
BOYS WILL BE BOYS
XXXX looked across the table from YYYY, noticed the small smile dancing on his number two’s lips, and frowned. He'd just dumped enough work on YYYY to keep him quiet for a month, so why the smirk? YYYY's blonde hair curled lightly around a rounded, cherubic face, his blue eyes met XXXX’s clear and honest, but XXXX wasn’t fooled; beneath lurked a devil’s mind.
YYYY closed his data pad. “Is that it?”
“I think there’s enough there for you to be getting along with. And for me.” For every job he delegated to YYYY he found three more for himself.
YYYY stood and stretched. “I’ll be going then."
Still the slight smile. XXXX watched him go, tempted. A couple of seconds, and he’d be in and out of YYYY’s mind without him ever knowing... sighing, XXXX pulled his papers together. It was rude to read minds, it should come down to trust. Except, with YYYY, trust wasn’t always easy.
_____________________________________________________________
THREE
WHERE ONE LIFE ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS
XXXX fanned her wings gently in the soft autumn shade. It had been an interesting life, each stage lived to its fullest. As a pupa she ate in the sun, daringly dangling from the furthest leaf possible. Her chrysalis rode out a windstorm, the branch might have broken, but the grad student that found her next morning made sure she emerged in a relocation program. Now, after flying where none of her kind and flown in decades, her children safely scattered on the forest floor, she wondered.
Where would life take her next?
“This’ll show ‘em I’m not a fool.” YYYY held his coated insect pin aloft for a moment, savoring the thought of validation.
Then, he struck.
As the pin passed through her body, XXXX felt a strange sensation. Not like death at all.
“What! Who’s screaming?” YYYY cried.
“What the hell am I?” XXXX shrieked behind him.
“You’re a girl you idiot. Stop screaming.” Where’d that damned butterfly go?
“I wasn’t a girl before you stuck me!” XXXX felt a strange sensation in her stomach.
_____________________________________________________________
FOUR
THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE
You noticed the smell first, that dank moss smell of deep earth, felt the touch of it cold in your mouth. Another step forward, heart pounding, and you were close enough to lift the curtain of ivy and reveal the white staircase that led, legend claimed, to the great hall beneath the forest.
Only a fool would have ventured farther. Only a fool would have entered the deepwood at all. And you had never been a fool.
"Had never been" of course the apposite phrase. You had never been a fool before.
Yet as you walked down the stairs, your heart calmed. It was clear nothing had lived there for many years, for a hundred, a thousand, for years uncountable, uncounted. The hang of roots, the dense tangle of briar and lightless fungi told you as if they whispered the truth in your ear: It is abandoned, this place. The Queen is gone and nothing lives beneath the forest, nothing but the stories and memories of that lordly and murderous court.
______________________________________________________________
FIVE
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
sweeping curved glass window - and saw the snow was
Falling was too passive a word. The harbour couldn’t even be
I have tried to keep title and style consistent. In one case, I have replaced single quotes with double quotes. I have not bothered to make American and British spellings consistent. There are some paragraph spacing oddities that I have been unable to fix after several editings.
To be on the safe side with this forum's policies, I have replaced profanity (unless very mild) with ****.
Good guessing!
______________________________________________________________
ONE
THE FIRE INSIDE
XXXX stood alone at the peak of Watchman’s Hill and waited for night. The city lay below, glittering with a thousand lights. Here and there a window was dark, like a missing tooth. Minutes crawled by as workers left their offices. Glowing hovers turned the streets into rivers of amber. XXXX wondered what it would be like to be a nine-to-fiver, settling into a shiny new vehicle at the end of the day, riding home to a clean, quiet apartment. Maybe a cat or dog, maybe even a boyfriend to keep her bed warm.
Daydreaming made the time go by. The last traces of sunlight died in the west. A few stars appeared. XXXX figured the bright one, low in the west, must be Venus. She vaguely remembered learning about it in school, before she had to drop out and hit the streets.
XXXX pulled the flexible ceramic gloves out of the back pocket of her jeans and slipped them on. They felt funny inside, like wet glass. She wiggled her fingers a few times. The man in the blurmask told her she’d get used to the gloves quickly, but she wanted to make sure they wouldn’t slip off.
“Don’t crack open the container before you put on the gloves,” the man had said. His mask shimmered like a melting mirror. There wasn’t anybody but a few drunks and dustheads in the alley, so the mask was just silly. Maybe he thought it made him look tough.
“Not stupid.” XXXX studied the man’s voice, his build, his gunmetal gray business suit, the way he moved. She’d be able to track him down if he double-crossed her.
“I know that,” the man said. He sounded like a TV preacher she’d heard long ago, all high-pitched and whispery. “That’s why I’m paying you. But I’ve seen a man fool around with supersilk without gloves. He didn’t even feel it take off his arm.”
_____________________________________________________________
TWO
BOYS WILL BE BOYS
XXXX looked across the table from YYYY, noticed the small smile dancing on his number two’s lips, and frowned. He'd just dumped enough work on YYYY to keep him quiet for a month, so why the smirk? YYYY's blonde hair curled lightly around a rounded, cherubic face, his blue eyes met XXXX’s clear and honest, but XXXX wasn’t fooled; beneath lurked a devil’s mind.
YYYY closed his data pad. “Is that it?”
“I think there’s enough there for you to be getting along with. And for me.” For every job he delegated to YYYY he found three more for himself.
YYYY stood and stretched. “I’ll be going then."
Still the slight smile. XXXX watched him go, tempted. A couple of seconds, and he’d be in and out of YYYY’s mind without him ever knowing... sighing, XXXX pulled his papers together. It was rude to read minds, it should come down to trust. Except, with YYYY, trust wasn’t always easy.
_____________________________________________________________
THREE
WHERE ONE LIFE ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS
XXXX fanned her wings gently in the soft autumn shade. It had been an interesting life, each stage lived to its fullest. As a pupa she ate in the sun, daringly dangling from the furthest leaf possible. Her chrysalis rode out a windstorm, the branch might have broken, but the grad student that found her next morning made sure she emerged in a relocation program. Now, after flying where none of her kind and flown in decades, her children safely scattered on the forest floor, she wondered.
Where would life take her next?
“This’ll show ‘em I’m not a fool.” YYYY held his coated insect pin aloft for a moment, savoring the thought of validation.
Then, he struck.
As the pin passed through her body, XXXX felt a strange sensation. Not like death at all.
“What! Who’s screaming?” YYYY cried.
“What the hell am I?” XXXX shrieked behind him.
“You’re a girl you idiot. Stop screaming.” Where’d that damned butterfly go?
“I wasn’t a girl before you stuck me!” XXXX felt a strange sensation in her stomach.
_____________________________________________________________
FOUR
THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE
You noticed the smell first, that dank moss smell of deep earth, felt the touch of it cold in your mouth. Another step forward, heart pounding, and you were close enough to lift the curtain of ivy and reveal the white staircase that led, legend claimed, to the great hall beneath the forest.
Only a fool would have ventured farther. Only a fool would have entered the deepwood at all. And you had never been a fool.
"Had never been" of course the apposite phrase. You had never been a fool before.
Yet as you walked down the stairs, your heart calmed. It was clear nothing had lived there for many years, for a hundred, a thousand, for years uncountable, uncounted. The hang of roots, the dense tangle of briar and lightless fungi told you as if they whispered the truth in your ear: It is abandoned, this place. The Queen is gone and nothing lives beneath the forest, nothing but the stories and memories of that lordly and murderous court.
______________________________________________________________
FIVE
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
"Oh, please tell us a story."The blonde haired girl whined
at XXXX, "Please.""You must be quiet in the library, little one," XXXX
smiled, and gestured behind the children who were
moving away from their gaudy plastic tables and crowding
around the ancient librarian. The glass-walled junior
around the ancient librarian. The glass-walled junior
reading room was a sea of bright colours in marked
contrast to the drab main room which could be seen
behind it. She needn’t have bothered, as the adult patrons
of the Kalmar City Library showed no signs of
disturbance; they continued poring over whatever it was
they were reading, heads bowed as if at communion with
the otherworlds of their e-readers and paperbacks. She
turned to look behind her high-backed chair - out of the
contrast to the drab main room which could be seen
behind it. She needn’t have bothered, as the adult patrons
of the Kalmar City Library showed no signs of
disturbance; they continued poring over whatever it was
they were reading, heads bowed as if at communion with
the otherworlds of their e-readers and paperbacks. She
turned to look behind her high-backed chair - out of the
sweeping curved glass window - and saw the snow was
falling heavier than it had been twenty minutes ago.
Falling was too passive a word. The harbour couldn’t even be
seen through the flakes that dashed and whickered across
the street.
"What if I start a story and your parents arrive, hmm?
Then what?"
YYYY had joined the little girl’s petition and now took
XXXX’s hand in an incongruous gesture of maturity and
consolation. "Miss… just a short one."
"A scary one!" Someone chimed up from the ball pond
and then disappeared underneath in a spray of primary
coloured balls.
It was unlikely that the parents would be arriving soon;
the bridge across the river would take at least an hour to
be cleared of snow, and the cars would be backed up, no
doubt.
doubt.
"A scary one, you say?" She asked, narrowing her grey
eyes as if searching for a suitably scary tale. A dozen
children called out in approval.
She shook her head in mock chastisement, and then
gave a theatrical sigh, "Okay, I’ll tell you a story. One that
I’ve never told any children before."
The room fell silent as the children settled on the large
foam play mat.
"Once upon a time…"
_____________________________________________________________
SIX
[UNTITLED]
The trouble with being a weather empath means that, while I can use the weather to do some really awesome stuff – like make people all depressed and that, when it rains – I also get affected by it. So it rains and I can spread misery like butter. I'm briefly happy (spreading misery is brilliant, I mean, who doesn't love some spontaneous bawling in the streets?) but then, I feel it. And I'm the one bawling. And, urgh, no. I am not an attractive crier. My face puffs up, my nose runs… I'm talking snot and spit and all sorts of facial liquids that I'm not even entirely sure have names.
The sun is good. Sometimes I like people. Not often, but it happens. And when the sun comes out and I like someone, I can pass a little ray of shiny joy into their lives and it fills me too, and I smile. I'm not a big fan of smiling, to be honest. It makes my face crease.
Storms equal anger. You see how this whole thing works? I'm sitting in my house and the old lady across the road is sitting on her porch rocking and knitting and cooing over that ugly cat she's got, and the kids are riding up and down and up and down right outside her home. She's just taking it. She's mad – she must be. I would be. I'd shout. But she does nothing! So when the storm comes I use it to give her a little bit of anger and I watch as she goes back inside and comes out again with a shotgun. She gesticulates, mostly, and waves the gun around but she doesn't actually shoot. The kids ride off and the storm hits me. Now I'm angry the stupid old biddy didn't take their wheels out. I mean, **** has a shotgun.
With all that in mind, I'll tell you about mist. What mist does to me. Mist is… kinky. You know. Soggy. Sort of clingy and… wet.
_______________________________________________________________________
SEVEN
THE LAW
Captain XXXX slowly sat up in bed and looked around the confines of his cabin. It was claimed that he had a slightly bigger room than the rest of the crew, a simple consideration to his rank, but it was not that much bigger than the other officers, although he did have an attached office and a small bathroom and toilet attached.
He stood up, automatically flipping the switch on the wall, that caused the bed to slowly raise itself upright, becoming in its new position a wardrobe. He did not immediately reach for his uniform, instead standing still, stretching his muscles, feeling the odd taint of artificial gravity. It was a metallic taste, a faint, dizzy feeling, something that every one had to deal with, but it did not make it any more bearable. In fact everyone had developed their own way of dealing with it, and the one he went with was a good strong cup of coffee.
Not the printed crap in the main Mess, but one from his own private supply, made with the help of a genuine coffee machine, the kind that was more percolator than anything else, and something that he kept in his room. Perfect way to start the day, his grandfather had said about a strong brew, and it was something he agreed with to his core. The fact that it seemed to help with the artificial gravity was a welcome side-effect.
As he did every morning, he made sure the little machine was loaded with ground coffee granules, that the filter paper was fresh and that there was a small amount of water in the reservoir, then he flicked the switch, and waited for the water to start to flow.
He leaned past the machine, grabbed his still stained mug, picked it up and...
There was a horrible, acrid smell, burning plastic, and a thin strand of smoke seemed to spiral up from the percolator, as the lights flickered and died a slow lingering death.
“****!” swore XXXX, this was not the way he liked to start the day.
_______________________________________________________________
EIGHT
QUESTS AND ANSWERS
“I hope it's a wolf!”
The other two boys stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they looked at XXXX.
He missed their footsteps behind him after a few paces, and turned around.
“What?”
YYYY put his finger to his lips. “Shhh! You can't say things like that, especially not here.” He turned apprehensively about, peering through the trees surrounding the trail.
XXXX sighed, fingers reaching automatically for the comfort of the hide pouch at his waist. He rubbed the leather. Finally he looked up at his friends.
“Well, it's true, you know. And I'm not the only one. ZZZZ, you know your wish is for an eagle. You think the gods don't know that?”
ZZZZ flinched, darting a fearful glance toward the treetops, but at last he nodded. “Of course. I mean, no, I don't think they don't know. It's just ... I don't know.” He gave up and started walking again.
YYYY was more stubborn as he trailed along. “It's not for us to say. We do not choose our spirit guides, they choose us. I know you want to be a warrior, but--”
“I have to be a warrior!” XXXX planted his walking staff ferociously. “The wars are coming to our people; you know it, I know it, everyone knows it. We need warriors.”
A beam of sunlight struck him, lending force to his words, but it was only caused by the thinning of the trees at the edge of the ceremonial clearing. ZZZZ glanced at the sky again, but the sunlight had nothing more to say.
_____________________________________________________________
NINE
HEIRLOOM
The store sign creaked gently in the breeze. XXXX looked up at the noise and saw the awning read, “Lost and Found”. This shop was the reason he came to this small Ohio town in the middle of nowhere. The highways here were lined with corn fields and tractors, and there was a constant musk of farm animals; not the kind of smells he wanted to get used to.
XXXX was hoping to be in and out of the state as soon as humanly possible. The sooner he got what he came here for the better.
He pushed the door open and was greeted with a small metal hanging chime, clanking to alert the shop owner of a visitor. The space was full of aged, heavy looking shelves; many of them filled with old books. There were knickknacks everywhere, and as XXXX walked through the aisles he saw a lot of what was too be expected at a small town antique store. Tea cups, stain glass windows, pictures of a local football hero from years ago filled the shelves. The shop keeper sat behind a large wooden desk with one of those antique cash registers in front of him that you would only see in a small town.
He wore his spectacles low on his nose and the few gray hairs left on his head were sticking up in random disarray.
“Hello. Welcome to Lost and Found, where things get both lost and found, depending on what side of the counter you’re standing on.” The old man said with a denture filled smile.
“Good morning. I’m XXXX. You have a nice little shop here,” XXXX offered his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, the old man stretched a slightly shaking hand out and shook XXXX’s with a firm grip.
“Pleased to meet you XXXX, YYYY is my name and I’ve been a purveyor of antiques and such for many years … grew up on a farm not five miles from town here. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“Well I see you have a lot of nice things here but I am here for something a little more specific,” XXXX reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a photo. “You see I have reason to believe you may have something in your possession that belongs to my lineage.”
XXXX set the picture down on the counter and slid it towards YYYY, who adjusted his glasses and took a good look.
The image showed a couple standing by a lake. The photo must have been eighty years old if a day; the woman in a one piece bathing suit, her hair could have been golden blond judging by the tone of gray. The man was in a suit - a full dark suit with tie and all; not the normal beach attire. Hanging from the woman’s neck was a pendant.
“See that necklace? It was in our family for generations. Those are my Great-Grandparents and it was passed down to their daughter and then to my mother. We lived in Boston and about 30 years ago, my parents were robbed and the bastards took her rings, my dad’s wallet and the pendant.”
XXXX could see that YYYY was interested in the story and his brain was working on what this had to do with him.
_____________________________________________________________
TEN
MR. MCKINLEY'S WORKSHOP
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…No, wait, this story can’t begin like that. That’s a story for a different day!
Mr. McKinley’s toy-shop stood empty and quiet for the night, beneath a dark and starry sky…
Yes; that’s the story I shall tell…”
Mr. McKinley’s toy-shop stood empty and quiet for the night, beneath a dark and starry sky. Now, this is not a modern shop with large, colourful window displays; nor is it large. Two smallish windows overlook the pavement from either side of the shop door, their glass aged but never grimy; smart navy-blue and cream paintwork worn but never peeling.
On this particular night, in the pearl moonlight, this shop seems - for all the world - to be no different to any other toy-shop, on any other side-street, but it is. In fact, Mr. McKinley’s toy-shop - I shall simply call it ‘The Shop’ – is quite extraordinary! Mr. McKinley, you see, isn’t simply a shop-keeper, no, he is also a Magician. Not some workaday rabbits-from-hats magician either, but a bona fide Grand Master of the Order-type magician and all that being one of those entails. For now, though, I shall leave Mr. McKinley sleeping soundly upstairs and dreaming of galleons and Pirate Gold.
_____________________________________________________________
ELEVEN
SUPERHERO
We'd all had enough of superhero movies, and the wannabe superheroes they'd spawned, and the satires of superhero movies, and the anti-hero movies. We'd had enough of heroes.
Casting Ben Affleck (who’d already ruined one superhero movie) as Batman was really the final nail. The Batman-Superman movie was a disaster, and it put people off the whole notion of capes & tights altogether. Not even Joss Whedon was spared – after Batman-Superman, the Agents of Shield show fizzled, Avengers 2 was a box office bomb, and Robert Downey Jr. went back to rehab. Well, first he went back to hookers & coke. Then he went back to rehab.
The last “real” superhero, Phoenix Jones, was also dead, and the utter stupidity with which he chose to meet his end was just too juicy for the tabloids to pass up. What did he think would happen when he waltzed into a brawl between the Crips and Bloods? He got shot. A lot.
That was the trouble with superheroes. They were unrealistic - even the ones, like Batman, who didn't have any particular magical powers, just a lot of money and more hours in the day than anyone else in the Universe, so he could learn all the martial arts, ninja skills, design all the gear...it was exhausting to contemplate. And then when some **** like Phoenix Jones tried to imitate Batman, he just ended up dead.
!
