The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer Series Book 1) (39 page)

He's a Marine. Don't embarrass him.

"Anyway,"
Lefty continued, a smile once again on his face. "IED hit our convoy, took
my arm. I was stateside with nothing to do and Bob asked if I wanted a job. So
here I am."

"If
you don't mind me asking, how come you don't have one of those prosthetic arms?"
Xochitl grabbed for another beer.

"On
a waiting list," Lefty replied. "VA's backed up. Lots of us make do
until our names come up."

Pinche
government.

"Man,
why didn't you say anything?" Prez asked. "Bob would hook you up."

"Nah."
Lefty took the last remaining pretzel. "I do just fine with one hand."
He nudged Xochitl with his elbow. "If you know what I mean."

"¡Híjole!
You wouldn't know what to do with this." Xochitl waved her hand down her
figure.

"Ay
mamí, you could teach me." Lefty made a kissy face at Xochitl. She smacked
his arm.

Once again Xochi and her newfound
brothers roared with laughter and clinked their beer bottles in salute to one
another.

"Good
morning! Time for the bottom of the hour weather forecast. It's gonna be a nice
one folks! Seventy-three degrees will be the daytime high—"

Xochitl
slammed her hand down on the clock radio by her bed, shutting up the obnoxious weatherman.
"Ugh." She rolled over and squinted at the clock display.

8:30
A.M.? Who the hell set the alarm?

Next
to the clock, she noticed a glass of water with a post-it note sticking to it.

Morning. You're going to need this.
— V.

"Ugh,
Vern." Xochitl groaned and rolled over on her back.

She
rested her arm over her eyes to block out the sun's rays. Soft material brushed
against her cheek.

That's
weird.

A
sudden searing pain stabbed her arm, and she shot up in bed. Directly over the
scars on her right forearm was an over-sized, rectangular gauze bandage.

Holy
Crap! What happened to my arm!

Xochitl's
stomach twisted in a tight knot, making her feel like she'd vomit any second.

"Madre
de Dios. Please make the world stop spinning." Xochitl grabbed the edge of
the bed.

Gently
she pulled the bandage away from her skin, wincing as it ripped the tiny hairs
off. Underneath, the words
La Güera
were drawn in calligraphy —
the style akin to Felix's graffiti art.

"¡Ay
carajo!" Xochitl swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her head
pounding in her skull like a drum. "Where the hell are my pants?"

She
tried to focus as she scanned the room for her jeans. They had been neatly
folded on top of the chest of drawers. She staggered across the room, tripped
over her own feet and slammed into the rustic piece of furniture.

"¡Jódame!
Get a hold of yourself, Xoch," she mumbled. She snatched her jeans.
Wobbling, she tugged them on and zipped them up.

Cottonmouth
in full effect, Xochi licked her lips and downed the glass of water in one
gulp. Her stomach immediately flip-flopped.

Maybe
I should have sipped it.

Clutching
her middle, she walked gingerly to the door and out into the hallway. She leaned
against the wall, using it as a crutch, and made her way to the kitchen.

A
heated debate echoed loudly down the hall.

"Well,
don't you think it's a little premature to pass such a controversial bill?"
a male voice asked. "The ACLU has already filed motions with the Supreme Court
on grounds that it's discriminatory."

"No,
it's not. People are getting hurt. Killed," a female voice responded. "I
say it's about damn time. They should all be rounded up and disposed of."

"That's
a little extreme," a different male said, clearly trying to keep his voice
under control. "What you're calling for are concentration camps."

"I'm
just saying what others are too squeamish to say," the female stated as
Xochitl leaned against the door jam.

Prez
was standing at the kitchen counter in front of a blender. Next to him, a small
television tuned to a political talk show featured pundits sitting around a
table. Xochi recognized the blond woman but couldn't remember her name. She did
remember not liking the woman.

"On
that note," the host interrupted, "we'll take a commercial break."

"Shut
that off." Mick flipped his newspaper over to read the next page.

There
was a time when college radical activist Xochitl would have been glued to the
television set, watching the "experts" expound on the political
discourse of the day. Saving the downtrodden and disenfranchised was her
passion back then. But those days were well past, and she agreed with Mick.

Turn
that pinche government crap off.

Now
all she wanted was coffee.

"Which
one of you pendejos is responsible for this?" Xochitl raised her arm
showing off her new body art.

"That
would be you, love," Mick said as he snapped his paper straighter,
bringing the front-page headline into view.

SENATE PASSES FEDERAL WEREBEAST DEFENSE
MANDATE!

That
was quick. Add a little fear as fuel to the fire and Washington goes to work.

"You're
one crazy chick." Prez turned to her, a glass of some kind of green
concoction in his hand.

"What
the hell are you talking about?" Xochitl sat down at the table across from
Mick, trying to read the front of the paper. "Last thing I remember, I bet
you guys that I could beat you at pool."

"Girl,
you did more than that," Prez said, crossing to her with the glass of
green goop.

On
the front page of Mick's paper, Xochitl noticed a small picture of a woman in
police dress blues to the right of the main article.

Holy
crap! Lucy Lowell!

"
Can I borrow that real quick?" Xochi
snatched the paper from Mick.

"Hey."
Mick threw up his hand.

Hero Cop Released Under
The Federal Werebeast Defense Mandate

Officer
Lucille Lowell of the former ACTF Division of the LAPD will be released
tomorrow morning under the Federal Werebeast Defense Mandate. Officer Lowell
was incarcerated three months ago for killing her mother, Elizabeth Geneva
Lowell, who had turned into a Werebeast during the initial outbreak of the Kyon
Virus. As no precedent for the murder of an Afflicted was in existence at the
time of Elizabeth Lowell’s death, it has been determined that Lucy Lowell was
accused and convicted of second-degree murder with unwarranted haste. At
today’s White House briefing, Press Secretary Raul Schwatzwutz stated, “Now
that the decree legalizing the killing of dangerous Weres has been passed by
Congress and signed into law by the President, the immediate release of the
unjustly convicted has been made mandatory.” However, unofficial sources
suggest the national attention garnered by the Folsom Prison Werebeast Riot
“forced the hand of the Oval Office.” Corroborating reports of Officer Lucy
Lowell saving hundreds of lives, both prison staff and inmates, drove the
momentum and “Congress had no choice but to pass a law that would grant her
freedom.” Myra Brown, an inmate at the prison, was quoted as saying, "If
Lowell didn't hand those Beasts their furry behinds and make those other dog
boys sit up and beg, they'd've found our dead bodies in that chapel."

"Hey."
Prez snapped his fingers in front of Xochi's face, drawing her attention away
from the article.

"Huh?"
Xochitl looked up at Prez.

"Good
article?" Mick snatched his paper back.

"Here
drink this." Prez thrust the green drink in front of her.

Xochitl
sniffed the glass. Repulsed, she jerked her head back. "Ugh, smells like
ass." She held the glass at arm's length and set it on the table away from
her.

"It'll
help." Prez slid the glass back in front of her. "Trust me. Just hold
your nose and drink it."

Xochitl
eyed the glass and whimpered. She pinched her nose and downed the green guck.

"Ack!"
She gagged and handed the glass back to Prez. "That's disgusting."
She scraped her tongue with her teeth, attempting to rid herself of the taste. "Coffee.
Please for the love of God, coffee."

Prez
rolled his eyes but returned with the coffee pot and a mug, setting them in
front of her. She eagerly poured the brown nectar into the mug and took a quick
sip to test her stomach. She felt fine.

Huh.
Prez's hangover potion worked.

"So,
you were saying." Xochitl leaned back in her chair, clutching the warm
mug.

"You
went to get us some beers," Prez said.

"You
were very chummy with the bartender. Kept commenting on how you loved his
tattoos." Mick smirked at Xochitl over his newspaper.

"The
next thing we know," Prez continued, "you come back to the pool table
wanting to make a bet. You beat us at pool, we get tattoos. And if we beat
you—"

"So
I lost." Xochi guessed.

"No.
You kicked our asses," Mick grumbled.

"Yeah,
were you raised in a bar or something?" Prez asked.

"Yes,"
Xochitl said, not elaborating. "So?"

"So,
we got our tatts." Mick put down his paper and pulled up his shirtsleeve.

Leaning
in, Xochitl saw a small two-inch
X Man
tattoo inked on Mick's right
shoulder.

"Holy
shit!" Xochitl burst out laughing but stopped abruptly, her head
throbbing. "Agh." She put her head down on the table.

"Serves
you right." Mick sneered. "We're all scarred for life. Kept saying 'I
own your asses now.'"

"Lefty
got one too?" Xochi asked, knowing she was in the doghouse.

"Yeah,
the brainiac came up with the design." Prez leaned back against the
counter, holding his own glass of green goop. "Kid's got a thang for you."

Xochitl
would have protested but her head hurt too much. "So if I won, why this?"
She lifted her arm in the air.

"Said
you wanted to take back your identity, or some shit," Mick huffed. "What
does goo...er...ra mean anyway?"

"It's
pronounced weh-da," Xochitl replied. "The kids in my neighborhood
called me that. It's what you call a light skinned Mexican. Only they meant, white
girl, you don't belong."

Xochitl
looked up to see both Prez and Mick staring at her with sympathy. Embarrassed,
she shrugged them off.

"So,
where's Bob?" Xochitl asked, changing the subject. "And Lefty? I want
to thank him for marking you for me."

"Bob
left early this morning. Said something about needing to get home." Mick
folded his paper and took a sip of his coffee.

"Oh,
I'm sorry I missed him." Xochitl yawned.

"Lefty's
outside by the lake with Vern and Miguel." Prez nodded toward the kitchen
window.

"Miguel's
up?" Xochitl darted to the mudroom.

The
cabin's backyard sloped toward the lake, and through the screen door Xochi
watched as Miguel, wrapped in a blanket, stood at its edge, talking with Vern
and Lefty. Even from her vantage she could see Miguel looked better, calmer
— more like her baby brother.

"Miguel!"
Xochi shouted and waved, trying to get their attention. The men looked at her, then
turned around. Miguel whispered something to Vern before walking further up the
lake.

"Miguel!"
Xochitl called after him again and trotted down the hill toward Vern and Lefty.
"Where's he going?"

"He
just needs some time alone," Vern replied.

"Time
alone? He's been alone." Xochitl took off after her brother.

"Xochi!"
Vern called out, but she didn't look back.

I'm not letting Miguel out of my sight. Not
again.

"Miguel,
wait." She grabbed his arm.

"Leave
me alone." Miguel shrugged her off and kept walking.

"¿Qué
pasa, mijo?" Xochitl jogged around her brother and stopped in front of him.
"Dígame."

"I
need to be alone." Miguel cast his eyes to the ground.

"Alone?"
Fear gripped Xochi, and she hesitated. "Or away from me?"

"Just
alone." Miguel glanced at her.

"You're
lying." Xochitl looked into her brother eyes. "I can always tell when
you lie."

"Like
when I told you I didn't work for Memo?" Miguel shot back. "I was
working in his chop shop for months and you didn't know shit!" he spat.

"Miguel,
I'm—"

"You're
what? Sorry?" Miguel turned and headed for the cabin.

Xochitl
spun him around to face her. "Yes, I'm sorry. But I'm also trying to help
you."

"Help
me! How can you help me? I don't need your help!"