Bad Wolf Read online

  “I saw what you did Nick. We both did. Are you a—”

  “No,” Nick said quickly and firmly, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

  “Are you a what?” Martin asked, a desperate anger in his voice. He sounded hysterical. “What the fuck is going on guys? I just blacked out and came too with my hands around Trent’s neck, there was a crazy punk rock riot going on that would have put Sid Vicious to shame, and I swear to God I saw someone fly through the air! You’re not going to tell me that wasn’t nuts?”

  “It was nuts,” Brandon sighed behind us. “We can’t keep this many secrets anymore, Nick,” he said, something soft in his voice that I wasn’t expecting. “At this point, it’s dangerous.”

  Nick didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he exhaled a long and steady breath. “Fine. But I need to park somewhere.”

  “There’s an empty parking lot right there,” Martin said, pointing to his left. His jaw was tense, and I could see how aggravated he was. It took a lot to aggravate him, he was normally so good natured.

  Nick pulled the car into a sketchy, half-empty parking lot for a bowling alley and a Dollar General.

  “Don’t I have any say in this?” Trent grumbled.

  “You know this isn’t up to you,” Brandon snapped.

  “Guys,” Nick said. He sounded tired. They both became quiet. “Bailey, Martin…there’s a lot you don’t understand about us.” He paused. I looked to Martin, who seemed perplexed and nervous. “We have secrets that you might not be willing to believe…that might compromise our friendships. But we have to be honest, because at this point you’re going to have to make some decisions for yourselves. And it may be wise for you guys to distance yourselves from us.”

  “What the fuck is all this cryptic nonsense?” Martin growled, his fists balled up at his side.

  “Like I said, you probably won’t believe me. But there’s a whole other world that you’re not aware of. We try to keep it secret from people like you—”

  “People like me?” Martin spat.

  “Shhh,” I said, taking his tense hand and giving him a reassuring look, even though I could feel the fear thundering through me. It all sounded crazy and ridiculous, but I knew Martin was in the same position I was; even though we couldn’t outright accept these strange things, we couldn’t dismiss them either. We had seen and felt too much of something otherworldly.

  “People who are truly human. Who aren’t corrupted,” Nick paused, and Trent cleared his throat in the way he did when he was nervous. If this was some kind of a joke, they were all incredible actors, that was for sure.

  “Martin, Trent was that wolf you saw the other night.”

  The information hung in the air, and Martin said nothing, his lips tense and his eyes shrewd. I watched his face, somehow nervous for Trent.

  “Brandon and Trent are shifters. They’re what you’d think of as werewolves, except that emotion rules their transformation almost as much as, if not more than, the full moon.”

  “And you? What the fuck are you supposed to be? A goddamn fairy?” Martin spat.

  “No. I’m…a demon.”

  A shiver ran down my spine at the ludicrous assertion. ‘A demon?’ I thought. ‘That sounds so heavy.’

  Martin snorted. Still, something in my eyes told me he didn’t entirely dismiss it. “So what, you’re from hell? You used the power of the devil to throw someone in the air?”

  “Martin…” I said, but he ripped his hand away from mine. I could see that he was trembling as well.

  “No Bailey, it’s okay. I am from hell. It’s the unfortunate truth,” there was something tender in his tone. I hadn’t heard Nick speak so much in my life, but he was breaking my heart now with the sad tune that sang through his words.

  “But my powers don’t come from hell. The come from another place. Akia, or, The Other Realm. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here as Brandon and Trent’s guardian. I’m here to protect you and everyone they interact with from corrupted magic. And clearly, someone is after them. It may be best if we called this whole tour off.”

  “So you expect me to believe that you have some satanic powers and that you’re from hell, but you want what’s best for us? Did you make me attack Trent?” Martin spat viciously.

  “Hey!” Trent growled, whipping around to look at Martin. His gaze was fierce, and I saw that horrific wolfish look on his face as he snarled. “Nick saved your life. I don’t care if you don’t believe a word he says but it’s the truth.”

  Martin didn’t say anything. The information was spinning in my brain, and I was having a hard time keeping any of it straight.

  “So…Marie. Was she controlling Martin? Is she…is she a demon too?” “She was controlling Martin, but it’s unlikely that she’s a demon. If she is, it isn’t the way in which I’m one—meaning, she isn’t a guardian. But she was most likely a witch or a nymph.”

  “So…what other ways can you be a demon?” I said, still not entirely believing, but curious as to how elaborate this potential fiction was.

  “Well,” Nick turned to face us for the first time. I studied his face to see if he believed what he was saying. He looked dead serious. “I’m here as a guardian to redeem my soul. I’m looking for second chance in the afterlife. That’s why I’m here, to protect people like Trent and Brandon—they were born human but have been corrupted in ways that can lead them to harm others and themselves. But of course, there are demons who don’t want to be redeemed. They act on behalf of hell, Hades, whatever you want to call it. Some are even rogue, acting on their own free will.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I felt invigorated, like I had a little too much coffee and I was sitting on the edge, just a little too close to discomfort.

  “It’s a lot to take in, and I don’t expect you guys to completely believe us either. But it is my responsibility to do what’s best for you. And you both need to decide for yourselves if you want to call this tour off, because I can’t explain all that’s been happening lately. I really don’t know if your lives are in danger.”

  Everyone in the car went silent. A woman walked by, scolding her child as he wailed. I watched them, a little envious of their dilemma. Part of me didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to deal with trying to make sense of all of this.

  Finally, I spoke up. “What about Brandon? Why didn’t he transform yesterday if he’s a...you know, werewolf?” The word felt strange and heavy on my tongue.

  “I did,” Brandon said in a small voice. “Remember how I ‘went to the store?’ Anyway, I think we need to find a hotel or something. It’s getting pretty hot in here.”

  I pulled out my phone and scanned my hotel finding app, knowing better than to press the issue further. Without consulting any of them, I picked one with decent reviews and a low rate. “Done. Take a left onto Tennessee street.”

  Nick started the van and we moved out onto the crowded street, congested with rush hours traffic. The only sound our breathing and the whirr of the engine as we headed off towards the grapefruit colored horizon.

  Chapter Three

  On our way to the hotel I saw a big neon sign in front of a run-down building that said, “Clam Shack Karaoke Night $200 Grand Prize” in pink, glowing letters. Something inside me gravitated towards it. I don’t know what it was, but of all the things I couldn’t control, with the punk riot, Trent hating me, and two of my friends being werewolves (not to mention the third being a demon), it seemed like the van’s broken brakes were one thing I could fix.

  Plus, I was in desperate need of a distraction.

  “Pull over!” I called out loudly.

  “What is it?” Nick asked, alarm in his voice. He pulled the van over into the Clam Shack’s parking lot, probably assuming the worst.

  “I…I really need a drink,” I finished lamely, unable to think of a better excuse for forcing my friends into a karaoke bar. Still, I was surprising myself with my lies lately—certainly beat, “my hamster ate m
y homework.”

  “Are you for real?” Brandon asked, incredulously. “You were pretty drunk right last night. I’d be surprised if you weren’t still hung over.”

  “Yeah well…” I started, unsure of how to defend my reckless drinking. The truth was the idea of having another drink was still pretty repulsive to me, even hours after the worst of my hangover subsided.

  “I can’t handle all of that werewolf demon stuff. I need a drink,” I said, letting the lie fall clumsily out of my lips. It was partly true, anyway.

  “Okay,” Nick said, parking the car right in front of the shack. My jaw dropped open at how easy it was to guilt them with this supernatural stuff. I snapped my mouth shut quickly and jumped out of the van, heading for the door before anyone could see the incriminating look on my face.

  Like I said, lying isn’t my forte.

  Inside the dusky bar there was a gaggle of sorority girls and frat boys, a blur of white faces, blonde hair and summer dresses sitting in the back, cajoling raucously over pitchers of beer.

  “Well, we fit right in,” Trent muttered sarcastically. It was true, we stood out like sore thumbs, but it couldn’t be any worse than what we had experienced before. At least these people seemed less likely to start a riot (though not any less likely to roll around on dirty mattresses, I thought with a smirk).

  “Anybody else want something to drink?” I said, forcing myself to fight a grimace at the wafting scent of alcohol.

  “Me. I am too damn sober for all of this melodrama,” Brandon, giving me a good-natured wink. Nick shook his head and Martin and Trent avoided eye contact with everyone.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a breath before I braved the bar. “Hey, look, there’s karaoke, maybe you should sign up Trent…” I said, trying in vain to get his attention. He shot me a dirty look.

  “Maybe you should sing, Bailey,” Brandon said with a devilish smirk. It was good to see his good humor returning to him.

  ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘maybe if I sing Trent will find it so funny he’ll loosen up…’ It was worth a shot.

  “Yeah, sure. Why don’t you sign me up?” I told Brandon, flashing a joyous smile that may have been trying too hard.

  “Okay, well you asked me to,” he sang out with a glint in his eye. I could tell he wanted everything to be back to normal again.

  I ordered half a dozen shots for Brandon and I, figuring the best way to get it over with was to just throw the liquor back. I sat at the bar for a minute, surveying the stage. There was an old man with bloodshot eyes and a beer belly manning the karaoke, giving the girls lecherous stares as they came up to sing pop songs from the 90s. I felt a longing pang for college, for Jason, for all of those things in South Florida that I had moved on from.

  “Here ya go,” the bartender said, the glass clattering with the bar.

  I took it with a smile, and threw it back quickly, trying to quell all the longing inside of me. I waved at the guys sitting at a table in the corner, and Brandon came running up from the sign-up table, a large smile on his face.

  My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, half hoping it was Jason.

  ‘Stop it,’ I told myself. ‘Jason sucks.’

  It was Aamir. My heart began to race.

  “Want 2 come to the show 2nite?”

  I turned off my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. After everything I had experienced thanks to his tip, I wasn’t sure that I ever wanted to talk to him again. For all I knew, he was some kind of nymph or rogue demon or whatever.

  He dated one, at least.

  No thank you. I wasn’t about to deal with any more of that bullshit than I had to.

  I finished my drink, the delicious buzz curling around inside of my veins. I watched the clumsy girls onstage sing Destiny’s Child, and I suddenly felt inspired. It had been years since I sang at church, and I remembered loving it. I also played piano for ten years, but for some reason I stopped playing altogether in college. I could blame it on a lack of access to a piano, but I knew the truth. I was scared that music was a waste of time, that I had to focus on marketing to make sure I had a career.

  ‘Look how much good that did you,’ I thought bitterly.

  “You ready?” Brandon grinned at me, taking a shot glass in his hand and tossing the amber liquid back with a grimace.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I laughed, finishing my third shot. I felt a heady whoosh come over me.

  “Bailey Thompson!” called the old man onstage, looking over at Greek life table with a smile. I shook my head and stood up, butterflies bursting in my stomach.

  I walked up to the stage and I saw his face drop. The alcohol gave me a little sass, so I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, sir,” I said. He grumbled something I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t care. I jumped on the old, dingy stage, buzzing with energy and alcohol. I wasn’t proud of the events that led me here, in a beat up old karaoke bar in Tallahassee, but we needed that prize money and Trent was acting like he was too good for all of this.

  Well I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not. As far as I could tell from the competition, it was worth a shot.

  I took the microphone from the host’s hand and avoided making eye contact with the crowd, keeping my eyes trained on the blue screen before me. The ruckus let me know that none of the fratty boys or bleach-blondes were paying any attention to me—they were all there to get hammered and laid. The weird, embarrassing singing on the stage was just a plus.

  “Go Bailey!” I heard Brandon call across the room. I smiled to myself, my nerves slightly dissipating as I noticed the slur in his voice. At least I wasn’t the only crazy one in our group that thought this was a good idea. The music started, and I rocked to it slowly, my eyes still furiously glued to the screen.

  It was Elton John’s “Your Song.” I both wanted to kiss Brandon and laugh at him for picking such a cheesy tune, but it was perfect for the number of shots I had thrown back in the last ten minutes. I took a deep breath before I let the classic words flow forth: “It’s a little bit funny...”

  The music coursed through me, sending shivers down my spine. It had been years since I sang like this, more often than not alone in my room with a hairbrush. I closed my eyes, taking in each note and then letting it fly, each word taking a part of my soul with me. It soothed me, lulled me into a hypnotic trance I never wanted to break free from. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

  Boy was I drunk.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind...” I cried out, letting the raucous build of the chorus consume me. I opened my eyes and saw that every person in the goddamn bar was looking at me. In a panic, I focused my gaze on my boys in the back. Trent was looking straight at me, a lazy smile spread across his beautiful face. His steely gray eyes looked moist, like there were tears welling up just waiting to burst forth.

  Hot tears came to my own eyes as butterflies erupted in my stomach. I was so angry at him for all the weird secrets, terrified of his strange shifting abilities, and confused by the tender stretch of a smile across his face, illuminated only by the dim, hazy bar lights.

  ‘Holy shit. I’m in love with him,’ I realized, a strange pull gripping my heart. The tears flowed down my face freely, warm and comforting on my cool skin.

  “How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”

  I handed the mic back to the old lecherous man, embarrassed by the absolute silence that followed my performance. All thoughts about getting Trent to sing had left me. I ran out of that stupid grimy bar as fast as my wobbly legs could carry me.

  I took a deep breath as the humid night air hit me, warming up my numbed fingers. I brought them over my chest protectively, gripping my arms as I pressed my back against the concrete wall of the bar.

  “That was so stupid,” I muttered, a hot wash of shame overcoming me. But singing in the Clam Shack was the least of my worries. It was the revelation, and the years of denial. I would never be over Trent. I brought my hands up
to my face and clutched them over my mouth and nose, forcing myself to take deep breaths. Maybe I was overacting. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

  ‘But it’s not. And you know it’s not.’

  In the parking lot I noticed a drunk couple pressed up against a car, giggling and necking in each other’s arms. It was my immediate instinct to look away—I hated PDA, and like most people, it made me uncomfortable. But something stopped me. Something about the way the guy held her kept my eyes trained on the lovers. His hands were loose around her waist, tender, like he wasn’t afraid of losing her. And her smile was big and goofy, like she wasn’t trying to be cute for him, like she wasn’t afraid that he might catch her face at a strange angle, be repulsed by the double-chin her earnest laughter brought and decide against calling her back the next morning.

  I realized, with a sharp, ugly pang of envy, that I had never had that. That’s why I was always annoyed at happy lovers unable to tear themselves away from each others limbs. It wasn’t because of some unspoken societal rule that it wasn’t acceptable—I didn’t actually put much credence in those kind of things. It was because I had always felt alone in this nuanced way that no one else in my life could remedy, no matter how much they loved me. Not even the few boyfriends I had had. Especially not Jason, and I had been with him the longest.

  “Hey,” a gentle voice ripped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Trent, his eyes soft with concern.

  “Hey,” I said back, trying to force a smile. “I just totally sounded stupid didn’t I?”

  His brows creased together as if he was trying to figure something out. “No. You sounded wonderful. Why didn’t you ever tell me you could sing?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think my voice is anything to write home about. It’s pretty whatever, I can sing a few ballads. I’m not a rock star like you.”

  He shook his head, his black hair flopping over his eyes. I felt my heart skip a beat. “You were incredible. So I guess we’re even.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “You didn’t tell me about your voice, and I didn’t tell you about my…lupine condition.”