Читать книгу The Werewolf Megapack - Александр Дюма - Страница 9

AND BOB’S YOUR UNCLE, by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Sometimes when it was night and Uncle Bob and Mom were fighting, Jake would go to the park and sit on the swings, listening to the rush of traffic on Franklin Boulevard and enjoying the dark. Everyone said the park was dangerous at nights, but Jake had never had any trouble there, in spite of all the rumors of bad things happening; Jake thought it was far more dangerous to remain at home when the adults were fighting: Uncle Bob was using his fists and Mom was throwing things. Just last week she’d smashed his Play Station by accident; Uncle Bob thought it was funny.

Uncle Bob wasn’t Jake’s real uncle, or so his mother had explained a year or so ago. “But, Jake, he’s like family. He takes care of us, not like the rest of our relatives; you know what they’re like—” She stopped and went on in a more subdued but injured tone, “Since your father died—”

Jake couldn’t remember his father, not really: the man had vanished when was four, and that was more than half his life-time ago. He relied on his mother to keep his father’s memory alive, but the things Mom said about his father changed over time; Jake could still remember when Mom had said it was a good thing he wasn’t alive anymore; that was shortly before she met Bob. “I get it that you want to have a guy around.” He shifted awkwardly in his slightly-too-large running shoes. Jake was small for his age and was often mistaken for being younger than nine, and it didn’t help that being undersized, his clothes made him look like a kid, since he wore younger children’s apparel because it fit, making a constant reminder about how dissimilar he was to his classmates; he hated the teasing he endured. Along with that, he also hated it when his Mom got down on one knee to look him in the eye, and he knew from Mom’s voice that was coming next. “But does it have to be him? Uncle Bob?”

She dropped down on one knee, so that she had to look up into his face. “Listen, Jake, you’re almost ten, and you can understand things very well. You’re really mature for your age, and you’ve always been a bastion for me. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” She often called him a bastion when she was about to ask him to do something unpleasant. “If you can just try to get along with him. Just a little.”

“I do try. He’s the one who picks the fights.” He rarely let himself be dragged into Uncle Bob’s ranting, but for the last six months, the verbal barrage had increased, and had been punctuated with vigorous slaps which Uncle Bob justified by blaming Jake for making him angry. Jake’s Mom always tried make Jake understand that Uncle Bob didn’t mean it—it was just that work was so hard and he thought it was unfair to be denied another promotion, or that he had had a bad week at poker, or that he was really tired and didn’t want anything noisy around him.

“Well, Jake, I need you to try harder. If you aren’t willing to help improve the family, then I think you may need an extra two hours in your room.” It was her usual threat, one she never actually followed through on: Jake would have loved more time in his room, even if it wasn’t very big and at the opposite end of the L-shaped house from the bathroom. At least his room was quiet, and it had two windows, either of which he could leave through if he wanted to.

“That would be okay with me,” said Jake, disheartened to have his mother take Uncle Bob’s side again. “I can do homework, and read.”

Esther Sparges frowned. “Don’t you have anyone you’d like to study with? You have friends at school—everyone does. Wouldn’t one of your friends like to have you over to play games, or work on projects together?” She had that wheedling note in her voice, as if she were offering him a treat rather than trying to get rid of him.

“Not really,” he said, not wanting to admit that he had no friends at school, just a couple of geeks he hung around with occasionally, who had the same taste as he did for spooky video games; he was especially fond of Shape Shifter.

Shaking her head, Esther got to her feet and began to pace. “I wish I knew what to do with you, Jacob Edwin Sparges, I really do. You’re a good kid, but you get up Bob’s nose every time you open your mouth. I hate being put in the middle of you two.” She clutched her elbows, her hands working. “It’s never easy when you have to blend a family. I wish you could make just a little more effort.”

Only we aren’t a family, thought Jake, and we aren’t blending. “Yeah.”

“If I could work something out with your Aunt Judy, but she believes everything Denny and Jennine tell her. They’re all against him, my whole family, and won’t give him a break,” Esther said aloud to herself. “Judy’s very closed-minded; she just doesn’t listen to reason about Bob.”

Jake went very still. “What do you mean?” He tried not to hope.

“Well, if you could stay with her for a while, until Bob and I work a few things out, it would be a lot easier on all of us, and that means for you as well as Bob and me. You’ve been one of her favorites, and it isn’t as if she has kids of her own.” She flung her arms wide in exasperation, then grabbed her elbows again. “You’d like to spend time with her, wouldn’t you?”

“Prob’ly,” Jake said, not wanting to sound too willing.

“But she says she won’t help me until I get rid of Bob. She says Bob’s bad for me—as if she knows.” She touched the livid smudge on her jaw and scowled. “It’s not as if men grow on trees.”

“Sure, Mom,” said Jake, wishing he had some excuse to get out of the dining room and have some time for himself, so that he could think.

There was a sound of the front door opening; Esther said, “Run along and do your homework. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Glad for this opportunity, Jake bolted from the dining room and headed to his own place where he could read in peace.

* * * *

Later that night, when Mom and Uncle Bob were starting to shout again, Jake slipped out the window and hurried off to the park. It was chilly so he had put on his anorak and pulled up the hood, but he wasn’t really warm as he sat on the swing, not moving, and stared out into the darkness beyond the lights on the four tall poles around the playground, casting more glare than illumination. He figured he would remain for another hour and then head home; the yelling should have stopped, and the two of them would be in their bedroom, making up for all the bad things they’d said. At least his homework was done and he would probably be able to get some sleep before he had to be up again. It felt better here alone than it felt in his bedroom right now. He had been scratching in the sand with a long, thin branch, making patterns at his feet when he noticed shining eyes at the edge of the light.

“Who’s there?” he called out; his question was met with silence. Jake felt a moment of fear, but then he realized it wasn’t a person looking at him, it was a big, black dog, with a long muzzle and a thick coat. As Jake stared at the creature, it gave a tentative wave of its tail. Jake got off the swing and started toward it, going slowly so as not to frighten the animal.

The black dog sat down and waited for the boy.

“Hey, fella,” said Jake, coming up to the side of the dog and holding out his hand to be sniffed, all the while being careful not to do anything sudden or to look the dog directly in the eyes. “You’re a big guy, aren’t you?” He noticed the dog was well-groomed, but lacked a collar, and instead had a peculiar kind of cloth with strange marks on it knotted around his neck, which seemed unusual. There was no license, no tags, nothing on the cloth. “You have a chip, boy? So they can find you if you get lost?”

The long head nudged Jake’s hand, its black nose deep in Jake’s palm.

Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This little gesture of friendship nearly overwhelmed him and he felt his throat tighten. Most of the time he didn’t think about being lonely, but now it was all he could do to keep from crying. He bent his head to the dog’s ruff and felt the soft fur touch his face, and waited until he could speak without sounding like a little kid. “I wish I could take you home with me, fella, but I can’t. Mom would have a fit, and Uncle Bob would probably go through the roof.” He couldn’t stand the thought of this splendid dog getting hurt, especially if Uncle Bob did the hurting. “I’m sorry. I’d like to take you home, I really would.” It would be great to have someone at home who was on his side, even if it were only a dog.

The dog nuzzled Jake’s face, then gave him a swipe with his long, red tongue.

Jake laughed to keep from sobbing. “It isn’t fair, fella,” he stated. “If you want to come with me, and I want you to come with me, there shouldn’t be any problem about it. But there is.”

As he rested his jaw on Jake’s shoulder, the dog made a musical kind of whine.

“I know, fella, I know,” said Jake, ruffling the fur behind his ears. “You got to belong to someone, anyway, I guess, so you have an owner. You’re too neat and well-fed to be a stray.”

The dog made a groaning sound and flattened his ears in pleasure as Jake continued to scratch around the base of his ears.; he took another swipe at Jake with his tongue.

“I like you, too, fella,” Jake said, and thought as he stroked the dense, soft fur. “But sometimes things don’t work out the way we’d like,” He was quoting Mom now, and he sighed. “Looks like we both have people at home. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He thought of the many warnings Mom had given him about strange animals and the many dangers they represented. He decided she was wrong about this dog, cloth collar or not.

The dog gave a soft yip followed by an energetic yawn.

“I sure hope you’re all grown up, fella, because you got really big feet. If you get much larger, you’ll need a barn for a dog-house.” He examined the large paw, and was rewarded as the dog lifted his foot into his hand. “Really big paw, fella.” He sat down next to the dog, trying not to think about all the things his Mom would be upset about if she could see him now. “You gotta have a name of some kind. Fella sounds really dumb. Maybe I can’t keep you, but I can call you something better than fella.” He leaned against the dog’s shoulder and thought. “Why not Ben?” he said after a long pause. “Like for Franklin Boulevard. Sure beats calling you Diogenes I. Vlamos for the park. Ben’s better.”

The dog lay down, head raised, paws stretched out in front of him, alert and content at once.

Jake draped his arm over the dog and pretended, just for a little while, that Ben was his dog and that they were out for Ben’s night-time walk and just taking a break from their rambles. After about ten minutes, the dog noticed something approaching, and a low, rumbling growl grew in his chest. “What is it?” Jake asked, trying to figure out what Ben had smelled, because it had to be an odor, since Jake couldn’t discern any reason for this change.

A guy in a county park ranger’s uniform came into the playground light, a flashlight in his hand. As the light flickered over the big black dog and the youngster beside him, the ranger said something under his breath. Aware that Jake and the dog were watching him, the ranger’s attempt to smile failed utterly because his face was lit from beneath by the flashlight, making him appear sinister. “Kind of late for you to be out, isn’t it, son?” He had a nice voice—deep but not booming; it kind of made up for the weird light on his face.

“Ben’s gotta be walked,” said Jake, scrambling to his feet; next to him Ben stood up.

“Yes, he does, but it’s a little late for walking a dog.” He saw the set look in Jake’s face, and tried to soften his remarks. “He’s a real handsome dog—that ruff makes him look wolfish.”

“I think so, too,” said Jake, realizing it was true.

“Still, it’s after ten. There’s a ten o’clock curfew for youngsters like you.”

“My Mom had to work late, and somebody’s gotta walk Ben,” said Jake, making a big show of shrugging.

“Without a leash?” the ranger inquired.

“He’s easier to handle if I just hold his collar. That’s why it’s cloth,” Jake improvised. “When I’m taller, I’ll get to use a leash.”

“How old are you, son?” The ranger had taken a notebook out of his pocket.

“Nine. I’ll be ten in two months.”

“What grade are you in?”

The black dog whined a little and looked as if he wanted to move on.

“Fourth, at Burbank,” Jake said. “Look, I gotta get going. Ben’s hungry.”

“Next time don’t wait so long to take him out. This isn’t a safe place for a kid after dark, and the curfew is real, you know.” The ranger bent down to make sure Jake could see his concern; Jake longed to hit him. “You should be home in bed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jake in the same tone he used with Mom when she lectured him about Uncle Bob’s problems.

“Are you sure you can get home okay?” the ranger asked as Jake and Ben went to the paved walkway leading out of the park.

“Yeah. We know the way, don’t we, Ben?”

The big dog gave a merry little croon.

The ranger looked displeased but he said nothing more; he scribbled something in his notebook and waved to Jake before continuing on his rounds.

* * * *

Jake and Ben walked together for about half a mile, as far as West Sycamore; Jake had spent most of the time trying to figure out how he could keep Ben without Mom or Uncle Bob finding out about him. At the intersection, Jake turned right, headed for the last quarter mile between him and home, but Ben halted, refusing to go farther. Jake pulled on the cloth around Ben’s neck, but to no avail. He let go of the collar and pointed down West Sycamore.

“It’s not a long way, Ben, Three blocks down and turn into Barrington Court. It’s the rear unit of number 22,” said Jake, trying not to plead. “Come on. it’s not hard to find.”

Ben moved away from the boy; he was now out of reach, and putting more distance between them by moving sideways. As Jake came toward him, he threw back his head and howled, a sound so eerie and forlorn that Jake stopped still. Ben wagged his tail, turned, and hastened off into the night, Jake trying to follow him.

Two blocks later, Jake gave up and turned around, his head down and a feeling of tremendous loss weighing heavily upon him.

* * * *

The middle-aged woman in the boxy tweed suit at the door had to call out twice to be heard over the vacuum cleaner; when Esther turned the machine off, she gave Jake’s mother a tentative smile through the worn screen. “Missus Sparges?” she repeated. “Missus Esther Sparges?”

Esther made a grimace that was supposed to be a friendly expression. “Yes?” She stayed away from the door.

“I’m Isobel Matthews—from Luther Burbank Elementary—Jake’s school? We sent you a letter a month ago about your boy, but we haven’t heard anything from you, and we really do need to talk.” She pressed her lips together, then explained. “I’m a psychologist for the district, and Ms Davidson, your son’s teacher? has expressed some concerns about him.”

“My boy’s fine,” said Esther, bristling. “If she says otherwise, she’s wrong.”

“I don’t mean that he’s disruptive, or that his grades are falling. Nothing like that,” said Isobel hastily. “Quite the opposite; Jake is very quiet and self-contained. He has artistic talents. He’s good at science. He’s an excellent student.”

“Then why are you here?” Esther demanded, setting her vacuum cleaner aside and coming up to the screen.

“Because he’s showing signs of serious depression: that can be dangerous in children Jake’s age. There’s reason to be worried. He’s withdrawn, he keeps to himself, he spends his lunchtime alone, he writes stories about a hero with a secret identity, he wants nothing to do with school activities beyond his classroom work, he is—”

“Oh, God, you psychologists have to find something wrong with everyone, don’t you?” Esther glowered at Isobel. “Look, you’ve got Jake all wrong. He’s kind of shy, and he’s real sensitive about being small. He’s had a rough time of it. Why can’t you leave the poor kid alone?”

“Because he’s at risk, Missus Sparges.” She paused. “May I come in? This isn’t the sort of discussion one should have on the porch.”

Esther hesitated. “I think our conversation is over,” she said, trying to be authoritative and ending up sounding petulant.

“Oh, I hope not, Missus Sparges, for your son’s sake,” said Isobel. “I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain so he won’t end up in serious trouble.”

“That won’t happen; not to Jake.”

“It very well may, if we can’t find out what’s bothering him and try to do something about it.” Isobel wanted to encourage Esther, so she added, “You don’t want to see him hurt by this, do you?”

“Look, lady, I think Jake still hasn’t got over his father’s death, and that makes him quiet and…thoughtful.”

“When did his father die?”

“Five years and seven months ago,” said Esther a bit wistfully, an emotion that faded and was replaced by truculence. “He was okay, and then he was real sick, and then he was dead. At thirty-one, he got sick and died. And I was left with bills that ate up all the insurance money and a four-year-old to raise.” She was afraid that sounded bad, so she added, “It hasn’t been easy for either of us.”

Isobel had seen information about this in Jake’s file, but didn’t mention it to Esther. “Would you like me to refer you to a counselor, or to one of the community support groups? You might be eligible for food stamps and money to help cover the costs of raising a child. I’d be glad to help you through the process, if you like. It might make it easier for both of you, and that would take some of the stress off you and Jake.” She tried to be reassuring but could tell by Esther’s frown that she wasn’t succeeding.

“No, I wouldn’t.” She knew she had been too blunt, so she added, “Thanks. We’ve managed this far, we’ll get along the rest of the way.”

“I hope you’re right, Missus Sparges,” said Isobel, doing her best to engage Esther’s attention in a more positive way. “But for the sake of your boy, I hope you’ll consider having him evaluated for depression. It won’t cost you anything. The district has to pay for it.”

“You mean you’ll pay to find out we have to buy him drugs and things, and you aren’t going to buy those for him, are you?” There was a touch of panic in her eyes now, and she took hold of her elbows. “If you want to hook a kid on legal drugs, you go right ahead and do it, so long as it isn’t my boy.”

“But Missus Sparges, I hope that he won’t need anything more than counseling, or perhaps some kind of therapy. We won’t know that until he’s been interviewed by the district psychiatrist. I need to have your permission to set up the appointment.”

“Well, you don’t have it,” said Esther.

“But it could be very important,” Isobel persisted. “This could head off trouble down the line. The teen-age years are very vulnerable ones, especially for a boy like Jake. Depressed children can act out in very damaging ways. Think about those terrible school shootings—”

“Oh, God, not the Columbine thing again. Jake’s nothing like those two lunatics, nothing at all like them.”

“I agree,” said Isobel promptly. “But if he goes untreated in some way, he could end up in that kind of hidden anger that took hold of those boys. He might not go on a rampage, but he could do something desperate.” She pressed on the screen. “Let me explain it to you, so you can make up your mind what you want to do.”

“I’ve already made up my mind what I want to do. It’s you who’s having trouble getting the message.” She really wanted a cigarette right now, and more than that she wanted this Isobel Matthews to go away. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “Besides, Jake will be spending six months back east with my sister, Judith, and that would fu—screw up any therapy, wouldn’t it? Maybe, if he’s still have trouble when he gets back, we can talk about it again.” She reached for the front door, prepared to close it on Isobel.

“Here,” said Isobel, holding out her card. “If you change your mind, call me. I want to help you, Missus Sparges, and your son.”

“If you want to help, go away,” said Esther, ignoring the card and shutting the door with what she intended as finality.

* * * *

“Esther, honey, that kid of yours is bad news—what have I been telling you all along?” Uncle Bob was stretched out on the sofa, a six ounce glass of tequila in one hand and an open Negro Medalo on the coffee table beside him.

“They’re just picking on him, because he’s not like the other kids in his class,” said Esther, with a conciliatory smile. “You know what teachers are like these days: anyone a little bit different they want on Ridalin or some kind of drug. They all seem to want cookie-cutter kids in class.”

“They’re right in Jake’s case; he needs something,” said Bob with a an angry chuckle. “Think about it. The kid’s always skulking around. And the games he plays!”

Esther knew better than to defend her boy too vigorously, so she looked down at her shoes. “I’m going to call Judith again; see if I can talk some sense into her, you know?”

“Judith!” he scoffed. “She’s not gonna do you any favors, honey. You know how she is. She’s jealous that you got a man and she doesn’t.”

“I gotta try, for Jake’s sake.”

Bob grew sulky. “Well, if you’re gonna be stubborn about it—I just wanted to spare you some disappointment when your sister says no again.” He propped himself on his elbow and drank a mouthful of tequila and chased it with a generous swig of Negro Medalo. “When’s dinner?”

“Half an hour. It’s in the crock-pot. Can’t you smell it?”

“Hard to tell. They’re redecorating the fourth floor and all I can smell is paint.” He finished off his tequila and frowned at Esther. “So, are you going to get your begging out of the way?”

“After dinner,” said Esther. “And keep your voice down. Jake’s in his room. I don’t want him to overhear us.”

“Fat chance. That kid is lost in a book or playing his video games.” He gave her an accusatory stare. “You bought him that play station gizmo. You know we can’t afford it.”

“I paid for it out my tip money,” she said sullenly.

“Oh, crap!” He sat up, his face darkening. He stabbed an accusatory finger in her direction. “You think you’re doing him a favor? that he’s grateful to you for it? He should have had to work to earn the money himself.”

“Bob, he’s nine.” Esther could hear herself whine and felt ashamed.

“Nine, nineteen, no difference. He can run errands, cut lawns, do odd chores, all kinds of things. That way he’ll know the value of his things.” He sneered at her. “You make nine sound like he’s just learning to talk. Keep coddling him like this and you’ll turn him into a faggot. Wouldn’t Judith like that?”

“He’s a kid, Bob. He needs to spend his time studying and learning. Jake’s bright and very imaginative, and he likes trying things out. That’s what kids do. That’s their job.” Esther reached to take away Bob’s beer, but she was a fraction of a second too late, for Bob anticipated her move and threw the beer at her, cursing her as he did. The bottle struck her shoulder; Esther screamed and shouted obscenities. She rushed toward the kitchen door and slammed it closed as Bob struggled up from the sofa, calling down maledictions on her and her boy as he hurried toward the closed door.

“You bitch!” Bob roared.

Esther shrieked as Bob kicked at the kitchen door. “Don’t you wreck my house, Bob!”

“You gotta learn sense, woman! That kid is weird!” Bob bellowed, kicking harder and yelling when he hurt his ankle. “You gotta draw a line with him! He’s gotta know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Down the hall Jake was listening and becoming more disheartened by the second. He guessed dinner would be late, if at all, and he was hungry, but not hungry enough to take on Mom and Uncle Bob when they got like this. He pulled a Kit-Kat bar out of his school satchel and unwrapped it, biting into it slowly to get the most out of it. What he really wanted was some of the pot roast he could smell all the way from the kitchen, but that was out of the question. He glanced at the clock: 6:48. Mom and Uncle Bob would be at it for another hour or so—it was their usual pattern, and then another hour of resentful silence, and then, for some reason that made no sense to Jake, they would end up making energetic love. “Well,” he said quietly, “the pot roast probably won’t be ruined. The crock pot cooks real slow, Mom says.”

“Esther, you gotta listen to reason!” Uncle Bob shouted.

“Leave me alone!” was her answer.

Slowly Jake finished the Kit-Kat bar and opened one of his windows. Then he picked up his school satchel and climbed out onto the lid of the garbage can, jumped down, and started walking in the direction of Diogenes I. Vlamos Park. It was almost sunset and he could find a place in the bushes where he wouldn’t be noticed. He reckoned that three hours should be about right.

* * * *

When it got dark Jake left the thicket of bamboo where he had been hiding, and he made his way over near the playground. Little as he wanted to admit it, he was hoping he might find Ben wandering about in the park; he wanted so much to see the big dog again, and to make the most of companionship the animal provided. He kept away from the well-lit swings, and instead went over to the jungle-gym, where there were more shadows and he would not be as readily seen. He climbed up into the bars and sat watching the traffic through the trees, trying to keep from feeling sorry for himself; he wished he’d brought his play station and a couple of games. He knew it was useless for his Mom to call Aunt Judith. She wouldn’t want to take him. No one wanted to take him. Desolate and alone, he did his best not to think at all. After a while, he began to doze, and as he dozed, he thought he saw Ben coming, and he smiled. Only it wasn’t really Ben, it was a tall, angular man with a long head wearing a kind of parka with a fur collar. He held the cloth with the strange writing on it in one hand; he offered it to Jake.

“Wouldn’t you like to be one of the pack, Jake? Have a place where you’d always be wanted?” the man/dog asked. “Have somewhere you’d always belong? Wouldn’t it be good to have friends and comrades?”

Muzzily Jake answered. “Not…gonna happen.”

“It will if you’ll let it,” said man-dog Ben. “Put on the…collar; tie it loosely around your neck and wait a little while.”

“Why?” Jake asked, feeling a bit more awake, but certain he was still dreaming.

Ben didn’t answer his question, but asked one of his own. “How much do you know about wolves, Jake? Not Hollywood wolves, the real animals?”

“I seen some things on Discovery. I know they eat mice, mostly, and stay with the same mate.” In the way of dreams he felt he could hear himself speak.

“You’re a good boy, Jake, a clever one. You know how to keep secrets and you could go far.” Ben came and leaned against the jungle-gym. “It’s not a bad life, with the pack. We could use a youngster like you.”

“To be a wolf?” Jake almost giggled. This was better than any video game.

“Well, yes, whenever you put on the collar.” He held it up again. “We don’t hunt very often—in the city, we don’t have to. But every now and then, we will settle on…

You know how there are some wolves who give all wolves a bad name? We look for humans who are like that: they give humans a bad name. We don’t need to wait for a full moon, or to be cursed, or any of that nonsense. We keep our activities under control, at least we do after our first kill, which is kind of an initiation, to see if the life will suit you. After that first kill, we don’t do anything…impulsive. The pack agrees on the prey, and then we put on our collars, seek out the offender—” He stopped as if trying to find a way to explain.

“Then what?” Jake demanded, excited by what he heard even though it was only a dream.

Ben frowned with concentration. “When we have him cornered, we go in as a pack, and…and…” Suddenly he smiled. “And Bob’s your uncle!”

Certain now that this had to be a dream, but fully alert, Jake sat up so quickly that he banged his forehead on one of the jungle-gym’s bars. “And Bob’s your uncle?” he repeated.

“And everything works out,” said Ben. “We’re safe; we leave no incriminating evidence behind us, and we go back to our jobs and families except on those nights when our pack meets.” He put his large, thick hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Think about it, okay? We’d be glad to have you.”

Jake’s thoughts were suddenly racing, and possibilities flared in his mind. This was so much cooler than Shape Shifter! Dream or no dream, he was suddenly all for trying this promise of a secret identity life, just to see what it was like; he took the collar and held it up, squinting at the arcane writing on it. “What does it say?”

“It tells your body how to change,” said Ben as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“This dream gets better and better,” Jake exclaimed as he tied the collar around his neck, expecting nothing much to happen. Almost at once he felt a straining of his arms and a lengthening of his foot, his heel rising and making a sharp bend in his leg. His neck and shoulders changed, and his ears did something creepy on his head. His nose thrust out of his face and his teeth rearranged themselves in his suddenly much longer mouth. Looking down he saw his hands condense into paws with long, hard nails, and he felt the base of his spine tingle as his tail appeared. For a minute or so he itched fiercely as the fur sprouted, and then he could seen more clearly in the night and he was overwhelmed by the rich sea of odors everywhere.

Ben patted his head. “Good boy, Jake. Give it a try. See how it feels. Make the most of your first kill.”

Jake tried to say all right, or even cool, but his mouth could no longer accommodate the shape of the words, so he yipped, then started off, clumsily at first, but gaining balance and confidence as he hurried toward 22 Barrington Court, to find out what Uncle Bob and Mom would think of him now.