Safely in the private conference room, I shut the door and stripped quickly. I wasn’t as fast in my shift as our Alpha, but few were. Still, only a minute or so passed from when I lay down on the industrial carpet and pulled shift energy into my core to when I rose to all four feet in fur. I shook myself, my ears flapping, and blinked as I adjusted to the fuzziness and faded colors of wolf sight. By way of compensation, a barrage of information reached my sensitive ears and nose.
No one was in immediate danger, so I took a few seconds to stretch out the kinks in my muscles and settle into my fur. Shifting wasn’t horribly agonizing, but it wasn’t comfortable either, as muscle and sinew, organ and bone, reshaped themselves. I usually came out of my shift momentarily feeling like I’d been run over by a herd of buffalo.
That soreness faded fast, though. As I stretched, the joy ofwolf, of nose and ears and strength and speed, washed through me. Humans would never understand. Even as a gay teen, hiding and afraid, the bad parts of wolf society had been worth it to scentand hear and feel the world beneath my four paws.
Now, as I hit the doorhandle with my paw and popped the lock to go out openly in fur, many of those bad parts were behind us. Gone were the days when the little pack kids couldn’t know about us till they hit thirteen, for fear of an incautious word. Gone were the days when even some wives were kept in the dark until their husbands felt sure enough of them to offer a mate bond.
I paced into the main room and Nick’s little human girl, his wife’s daughter, waved at me and called “Wolfy!”
I made sure to wag my tail hard as I crossed the room toward the kids. Teaching children who romped with wolfy family members that they still needed to beware of strange dogs was one of many unexpected new challenges. I heard Nick behind me telling his daughter, “Yes, he’s a wolf, not a dog, and see? He’s wagging his tail. That’s a good sign he’s happy but we still don’t run over there.”
Jang-mi rummaged in a bag as I reached them. “Here, let’s try this for size.” She pulled out what looked like a miniature pony saddle with a girth and extra straps.
Resigned, I stood in front of her as she buckled me into the device, adjusting several straps around my barrel and chest. When she went to pass another strap from the back of the saddle under my tail, I silently lifted a lip.Just no.
She sighed. “All right. We’ll do without the crupper strap, although the saddle’s more secure with it.”
I sheathed my fangs once she removed the offending bondage. My back wasn’t that high above the ground. Dylan could either stay on or get a bit of a bump. Kid would live.
Her overprotectiveness was understandable because she’d lost two pregnancies before Dylan. Sadly, our wolf DNA made that a common story. Our surviving children were precious to the whole pack, but that didn’t mean we needed to keep them in bubble wrap. In fact, our boys healed a lot better than human children. If Dylan fell off, his bruises would be gone within a day.
Garrett peered down at me as Jang-mi stepped back, and I— okay, maybe glared up, feeling foolish with that black and fake-gold saddle on my back and the straps wrapped around me. Luckily for Garrett, he kept the lurking smile off his face.
Respect, Eighth.I gave him a little rumble and he inclined his head. “Thank you, Fifth.”
Dylan waved his sword around with an agility that suggested the “armor” he was wearing had some give to it. His scent indicated foam, plastic, and new vinyl, and I wrinkled my nose, but his mother had done a surprisingly good job creating shoulder plates and realistic spiky bits. Dylan shouted, “It’s my Warg! I’m going to ride him!”
Jang-mi intercepted the flailing blade. “Not if you decapitate him with your weapon, young warrior.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Dylan eyed me, his head tilted as if wondering how close he could come to a killing blow.
Jang-mi slipped the sword from his grip. “I’ll hold onto this till we get there.”
Across the room, Leanne called, “Let’s get the show on the road.”
One of the older boys cheered. “Candy!”
“Everyone to the vans,” Nick directed, our pack Second naturally taking charge. “Follow Garrett.”
The pack hall was located out in a sprawling suburb, away from nosy eyes. The big properties and spread-out houses didn’t make for good trick-or-treating and in any case, we didn’t want to attract neighborly attention. We climbed into three big SUVs and headed into the city in search of candy.
Daylight was fading, the sky a purple velvet in the east and rimmed with gold and lavender in the west. Once we reached the neighborhood where the outing was planned, yards and front steps bore pumpkins and skeletons. Many trees were adorned with ghosts and orange lights and draped with festoons of fake cobwebs. We passed an animated monster and the kids cheered and waved.
Our little caravan pulled into the parking lot of a small local park and we got out.
As my paws hit the pavement, I sniffed the air. A little smoke reached my nose from blocks away, probably a woodstove butperhaps a bonfire despite the dry fall. The scents of grass and weeds, of people and werewolves, gasoline and hot metal, sun-warmed tar, fading flowers, distant curry simmering, and bread in the nearby trash can blended in a symphony of impressions. I could hear squirrels in the trees overhead, a mouse in the weeds, an owl waking to its evening hunt. When I was in skin, I loved my sharp color vision and my opposable thumbs, but this sensory intensity was one of the joys of being in fur. I inhaled more deeply.
Nick said, “Okay, we’ll head west first, hit up the next couple of blocks, then see how it’s going. Trent, let me know if you need to get the kid off your back and out of the saddle. Bark twice.”
I yipped once to show I understood.
Dylan wasn’t too heavy for me to carry. I’d occasionally run in fur with a backpack, and I could manage forty pounds. He was wiggly, though, and prone to clutching my ruff in a tight fist when he lost his balance. Alpha was going to owe me big for this performance.
By the fourth block, I had to admit the “charm people with the tame werewolf” idea was turning out to be a decent one. When I carried my little orc and his goodie bag up to the doors, and folks said, “My, what a big dog!” Garrett would say, “He’s a werewolf. One of our best friends.” Then I’d wag my tail, cock my head, pant, and act cute. We’d all studied the “appease the humans behavior-suite” lecture. Rick Brown had made training videos. Ears down, big eyes, look goofy. I knew the drill.
Reactions from the folks in the houses were mixed, of course. Some not great. No one slammed a door, but I got some glares and a few humans drawing back, the whiff of fear or anger in their scents. No slurs, probably because these suburban homeowners weren’t quite up to that language in the face of a princess, three elves, Superman, Batman, an evil wizard, a black cat, and their parents. Not to mention the cell phones the momshad out videoing the cute kids and incidentally, anyone causing trouble.
On the good side, a lot of people were fascinated and amused. With my orc bouncing in the saddle and the little princess clutching my ruff and leaning against my shoulder, my aura of danger was definitely defused. Operation “Werewolves Make Good Neighbors” seemed mostly successful.
