I slumped into my desk chair, pulled my glasses off and rubbed at my eyes. I’d been working on the accounting all afternoon and felt like my eyes were full of sand and glass that were dancing the tango.
It didn’t hurt that the act of removing my glasses and closing my eyes in front of an unknown werewolf was a show of strength. Not watching him. Not keeping my guard up. It was a brutal insult.
Like I said, I don’t like werewolves. Sue me. And no, I don’t have a good sob story about how they killed my favourite uncle for no reason or something. They’re just generally violent and cocky and it’s my right to dislike them based on the small sampling of assholes I’ve met.
“Well?” I asked, putting my glasses back on to bring the wolf back into focus. He lounged in the faux-leather chair across from me, one leg crossed over his knee to look casual, but he gripped the armrests tightly.
“There’s sickness in my pack,” Lincoln said simply.
“Get a bottle of NyQuil and some Kleenex,” I replied.
Lincoln shook his head. “I don’t know how much you know about werewolves, but we don’t tend to get sick,” he said. “If we do, it doesn’t last long. Our bodies run too hot, metabolism too fast. We fight it off fast. Within a day.”
“Good for you,” I replied. “Thanks for the werewolf biology lesson.” I knew most of it already.
“My aunt has been sick for over a week, and it’s not getting better,” he said. “It seems mild. But it won’t go away. None of the humans have it yet. But we’re worried what might happen to them if they catch it.”
It wasn’t uncommon for wolf packs to have human members. It would be totally creepy if everybody always married within the pack. And not everybody wanted to be a wolf, so a lot of human members stayed human and never asked to be turned.
I sighed and gave in, my better nature finally taking over despite my biases. “Listen man, I’m not a doctor.”
Lincoln’s face flickered with emotion for a moment before going stony again. He leaned forward and put his face into his hands, elbows on his knees. “We’ve tried doctors. Nobody can do anything. We think it might be a… magical sickness.”
I frowned. Magical biological warfare wasn’t unknown. But it was usually a large scale thing. And it spread fast and hard through a population unless it was caught early. Most magic users wouldn’t dare use something so reckless. And if it was a magical virus, a doctor would have been able to diagnose it. Sounded more like a curse, hex or enchantment.
“Pissed off any demons or mages lately?” I asked.
Lincoln shook his head. “We’re still trying to get our shit together,” he said, something he shouldn’t have admitted to a total stranger. “We haven’t had time for anything but infighting.”
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t know anyone in this area that has the ability, or the inclination to do something like this. Creating illness in humans is difficult magic. But creating illness in werewolves? I can’t even imagine. You’d be fighting the wolf magic with a totally different kind. It would take an insane amount of energy or skill. Maybe even a council.” My brain started to run through my mouth the way it did sometimes. “Unless it really is a demon you’ve made angry, and then it could be any number of things. I heard your brother’s a bit of a pussy hound. Succubus maybe?”
Lincoln was suddenly leaned over my desk, fangs bared and growing longer by the second, green eyes lit up by the magic coursing through his veins. It would have been hot if I hadn’t felt a little like I might piss myself. But he really needed me, or he wouldn’t have come himself, he’d have sent a lackey.
“Maybe the pussy hound comment was a bit much,” I said. “Just tellin’ it like I hears it though.”
Lincoln turned and walked to the other side of the room. “You’re fucking insufferable,” he growled. When he turned back his features had levelled out, and he seemed to have backed off from Red Alert. “You should put that on the sign out front.”
“‘No Solicitors’ seemed more important,” I said.
“I disagree,” Lincoln replied as he gripped the backrest of the chair and leaned over it. “Are you willing to help or not?”
I shrugged. “Man, this isn’t my area of expertise. Cursed object? Awesome. I can disenchant that baby with minimal casualties and be on my way. I’ve dealt a little bit with ghosts and the undead, so I could probably give that a go. Any kind of potion or spell you need done: I’m your guy. But I’m not a PI. Did you try Mage Johnson down near Loring Park? I hear he’s got a magical investigation thing going on.”
Mage Johnson was an idiot. And yet, he probably still had better connections to hunt down a magical poisoner than I did.
Lincoln shook his head. “You’re the best,” he said. A look of desperation wrinkled his brow for a moment. “I don’t want anyone to die.”
Sure, werewolves are dickheads. But there were humans in his pack that were at risk. And above all, mages value life. This wolf was asking for my help to save people.
“Me neither,” I said. “I’ll come take a look. But no promises, ok?”
A little smile flickered at the corner of Lincoln’s mouth. “Ok,” he said.
“And I’m charging the absolute hell out of you for my consultation alone,” I replied, tapping my keyboard to wake up my computer so I could print out a receipt. If there was one thing about werewolf packs: they were all loaded, hierarchy problems or not.
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