Photo by Dámaris Azócar on Unsplash
Tyler stood at the edge of the crowd, drinking from a bottle of vodka while he laughed with his pack. Were-wolf metabolism was fast; we got drunk fast, and we got sober fast, but drinking like that meant he was trying to get blitzed. I glared at him. “What is that mangy she-”
“-I will not have that language at a funeral, Denise,” Mother scolded as she scooped a serving of dill-reeking potato salad onto her paper plate. “Even if whatever you were about to say is true.”
“Uncle Fredrich taught me the best insults. I think he’d approve.” I took a tong full of Caesar salad from the picnic table buffet. Tyler was from the part of the family that was always in trouble. It started with small things like stealing people’s clothing while they were turned, then going after chickens, and eventually murder. And while Tyler hadn’t pulled the trigger that killed Uncle Fred, he was responsible for his death. He’d crossed a line, and my favorite uncle paid for it.
“We can’t be entirely certain, sis,” Daniel piped up. His plate was entirely full of jello. He had the plate of a five-year-old when he was in fact twenty-five.
“Tyler and his blood-stupid pack crashed a high-school prom on a full moon, and had the volley ball team for dinner. A day later, hunters show up for the culprits and kill Uncle Fred cause he was the janitor at the school.” I grabbed a ginger ale from the cooler at the end of the table. “Or do you think he stabbed himself with silver?”
“Can’t we just enjoy the picnic? It was in his will to have it after his funeral with everyone in the family welcome.” Mom led the way to a table. And were it not for the presence of certain people, it would have been a nice picnic. The sun shone, the temperature was perfect, and there was just a touch of cloud in the sky. I loved the smell of grass in summer.
I slipped into the picnic table seat. I could keep an eye on Tyler from here. “Mom, I know you don’t like conflict, but you can’t pretend this isn’t happening. That it might keep happening.”
Daniel sat across from me, his jello dancing as he placed it on the table. “In the old days they’d be dead already. The parents of anyone of those kids would have had the right to demand a pelt.”
Mom sighed and took a bite of her salad. I knew why she was conflict - averse. A fight like the one I wanted to start was how Dad had died when I was 11 and Daniel was 12. And she had a scar from her own near-death experience.
The beast within wanted blood. It fed on my anger and grief like a leech. It’d get bloated if I let it. That was the thing about werewolves, about our curse. It fed on us if we let it. I’d make it fat if I let it out to get revenge. The only time the beast got out was on the full moon, and even then, I kept mine on a short leash. But I’d still enjoyed letting it out a little when I’d helped the rest of the family stop Tyler. “If he isn’t stopped, more hunters will come. And they’ll end us all.”
Daniel nodded, and so did Mom. But there wasn’t an easy solution. We didn’t just kill our own, even when they were stupid. He should be exiled or forced to wear silver to keep his beast at by.
Mom broke the awkward silence. “Just leave it for now. The elders will handle it.”
“If he stays away from me, I’ll do the same.” And as if my words summoned him, he was coming here. He knew I was the one who took him down. That I was the reason he’d woken up in a cell with silvered bars. The beast didn’t like silver, which is why I wore it constantly.
He stopped a few paces from our table and stared. Shell shocked. I could smell the drink, but more than that. Fear. Regret. Self-loathing.
“Move along.” I growled, the words coming out guttural.
“I…I wanted to..” He took a swig from the bottle. “I wanted to apologize. “He was on the verge of tears and his hand shook.
“I’m not here to make you feel better. Take your apology and go.” I clenched the ginger ale can. It sprung a leak.
“You’re right. It should have been me. I should be dead.” His voice broke. He looked at the monument where Frederick’s ashes were inturned. When faced me, he was crying. “Please. I just.. I was wrong. I was stupid. I hurt the pack. I can’t bring him back. But… I can change.”
“I don’t care.” I was close to throwing the can of pop at him. But I wasn’t sure if I could stop myself from throwing it hard enough to give him a broken skull. “It is not my job to make you feel better. I don’t forgive you. I hope your guilt makes you miserable for the rest of your life.”
“I know it’s not your job to absolve me., but-“
“Then leave me in peace!” I shouted. I didn’t stand. If I did, a fight would start. I crushed the pop can, sticky pop dripping all over my hand and the table. The beast whispered that it’d get rid of all this rage and grief with bloodlust. Everything could be simple and clear.
“I’m wearing silver like you. And I’m going to The Roost.” Then he finally left.
“What’s the roost?” Daniel asked.
“It’s rehab for people like us. Or folks with other things that a human rehab can’t handle.” Mother passed me some napkins. “Will you forgive him?”
I wiped the pop off my hand. “Maybe if the change sticks. Uncle Fredrich would approve of that.”