"Huh?"
"Lycanthropism," said Grandma. "That's just a fancy word for the werewolf curse. But really, it's nothing more than a supernatural virus. It gets passed on in the saliva, like rabies. If a bite breaks the skin, there's a pretty good chance you've got it."
I shivered.
"After your grandpa and I learned all there was to learn, we came back. We brewed ourselves a wolfsbane cologne and wore it everywhere we went, keeping track of the people who avoided us because of the smell. To be double sure, we went to their homes every full moon, to see if they were there or not. The ones who were never home we knew were werewolves.
"Then one full moon, we went out on our motorcycles, and went after them one by one. Xavier was the hardest. He always kept himself shielded by the pack. He'd let all the others take the silver bullets meant for him. Selfish to the last."
"But in the end, you got him," I said.
"Yes, we did, Red." But she didn't say any more about it.
It was all too hard to take. Being deaf, dumb, and blind would be better than knowing the truth. These were dark days, getting darker by the minute, and I didn't even want to think about the nights. I looked to Marissa, who seemed almost hypnotized by the sight of that little musical jewelry box. On the cover was a mountain lit by a full moon. I opened it to the sound of the innocent music, and the sight of the not-so-innocent silver bullets.
"I've never used a gun, Grandma," I said. "I don't ever want to." Once, when I was little, I saw a man get shot. It happened right in front of me, on the street. Ever since then, you could say guns and me didn't get along. My dad calls it "ballistiphobia," but I call it just plain hatred. Either way, I didn't know if I'd ever be able to touch a gun, much less fire one. I guess Grandma understood, because she took the music box from me and gently closed it.
"I don't blame you, Red. I don't blame you at all. You've got a decent heart," she said, although I wasn't sure whether or not I really did. She put the box away, and hid it behind the loose bricks again. "Different times call for different weapons."
Marissa rolled her eyes. "C'mon," she said. "You gotta kill werewolves with silver bullets. Everyone knows that."
But Grandma shook her head. "If there's one thing I learned in all of this, it's that instinct counts for a lot. If Red's instinct is to stay away from bullets, then maybe he should stay away from them."
I turned to Marissa. "What does your instinct tell you?"
Marissa looked at me, then at Grandma, and closed her eyes, going deep into herself, I guess, to tug at some of those instincts. She took a deep breath, and another, then she opened her eyes.
"It seems to me my instincts are telling me only one thing... that Cedric Soames is going to be harder to defeat than his grandfather."
There are werewolf legends, and there are werewolf facts. Grandma knew the difference, and that night, until the sun made a lonely appearance on the horizon, she gave us a crash course in the Lycanthropic sciences, as she called it.
On the power of the moon, she told us this: "The full moon ain't an exact sort of thing. The phase of the moon is always changing slightly. For three days, the moon is full enough to boil the blood and make a man turn wolf. The second day the curse is at its strongest, and the higher the moon is in the sky, the more deadly the wolf."
On werewolf appetites, she told us this: "In human form, they can eat anything humans eat, although they're partial to meat. In wolf form, they're driven to eat their weight in meat each night, and it must be the meat of a fresh kill."
On the mind of the werewolf, she told us this: "The mind of a human infected with the werewolf curse doesn't always start off being evil, but the way I see it, a person turns evil real quick."
On werewolf redemption, she told us this: "Ain't no such thing. No antidote, no remedy, and no turning back. Only way to save a werewolf's soul is to end its misery, and hope the good Lord truly does have infinite mercy."
And of our chances, she told us this: "We all have to die someday. Let's hope we die as humans."
By dawn, my eyelids felt as heavy as the boughs on her tree-lined street, but a plan had already started forming in my mind. Marissa went home, and I closed my eyes to take a quick nap― but when I woke up, it was already late afternoon. Grandma was still sleeping. I didn't wake her. Instead I slipped out and set a scheme in motion. It would take everything I had inside me to pull it off, and now I was restless as a caged animal, eager to get started. My plan was twisted and nasty and clever and cruel. I left that morning with a grin on my face, feeling as wicked as a wolf.
7
The back room that didn't exist
My Mustang was parked near the Cave again. Cedric, in his arrogance, was making no attempt at hiding it, as if he were taunting me. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to the old pool hall and stepped inside.
The place was true to its name: dark, dingy and smelling of stale cigar smoke and spilled beer. The pool hall was empty except for the overweight manager, who stood behind a counter, yakking on the phone. Even though I saw no customers, I heard the crack of billiard balls somewhere deep in the recesses of the place. My heart began to race, and I had to take a few deep breaths to get it under control.
The manager hung up the phone and plodded out from behind the counter. "We don't open till five," he said.
"Sounds like your back room's open."
"I ain't got a back room."
Again I heard the crack of the balls being hit from the back room that didn't exist. I grinned at him, and the manager sighed. "Listen, I don't want any trouble."
"You've already got trouble back there," I told him. "A little more won't make a difference."
Still, he didn't let me pass. He just stood there, wide as a wall, leaving no way for me to squeeze past him. I wasn't about to give up. The only way he was going to get rid of me would be to pick me up and throw me out bodily, and if he tried, I wouldn't make it easy.
Then, from the shadowy threshold of the back room, came a voice.
"Cedric says it's okay."
I recognized the voice as Loogie Stefano's, a kid I knew from school―that is, until he dropped out last semester. His real name was Luigi, but an endless stuffy nose had earned him the name Loogie.
The manager stepped aside. "Welcome to the Cave," he said. "The management cannot be held responsible for injuries or death."
By the time I reached the back room, my eyes had adjusted to the dim light. There were about a dozen of them there― some faces I recognized, some I didn't. I realized I had no idea how big Cedric's gang was. Was this most of them, or just a small handful? Were there dozens and dozens of them around town that nobody knew about? I didn't see Marissa's brother, Marvin, there, and that was just as well.
When they saw me, they all looked at one another. Could it be that they were a little bit scared of me? Or maybe they were scared of what Cedric might do to me. Either way, I felt like I had some kind of power in the situation.
Cedric was at a pool table, ignoring me. He kept shooting until he missed. Then he finally looked at me. "If you got business here, spit it out. Otherwise, get lost."
I held back an urge to go postal on him for stealing my car―but I knew that would just get me a one-way ticket to the hospital, or worse, the morgue. I had to play this like a game of pool, cleverly banking my intentions off the sides.
"I know all about you, Cedric Soames," I told him. "I know all about the 'Wolves,' and what you really are."
Cedric returned to his game. "So what are you gonna do about it?"
"Who says I'm going to do anything? There's a roomful of you, and only one of me."