I should dismiss Din. Then again, in the light of the torches, I can see his interesting tattoo around his right arm. A subtly muscular arm, and a torso with very nice definition. Besides, golems tend not to take a hint when you try to dismiss them.

Oh, darn, I am already behind schedule. The poor man is not an art exhibit, he is a person needing my help. I already decided against a suit, going for a black t-shirt, jeans and, well, another shirt, blue with spirals. Din doesn't care, and the man is too knocked out to notice.

Strangely enough, going to art school prepared me for a career as a freelance scientific innovator, or as some fools call me, 'mad scientist.' Whatever. Studying illustration, I learned the sense of flair, the painstaking attention to detail and the feverish obsessiveness every good innovator needs. Staying awake during your high school biology classes helped too.

Wait. He has a name. Daniel Elfman. In one band or another; I've been irregular in my concert-going. Heck, I missed Bad Religion.

I remember he sounded so desperate in that phone call. He was so soft-spoken with the vocal inflections of a native Californian. "It's just put in the medical books. Doctors call it late onset lycanthropy. The more literary call it Nebuchadnezzar syndrome."

I remember that I went for the simple supernatural explanation. "A werewolf?"

"I don't turn into a wolf. I just seem to think I'm a wolf. Especially angry. Then it seems to build into a blood-lust, nothing is safe when I am in that state. My doctor can't decide whether to put me on anti-seizure medication or anti-depressants. My brother and my nephew would have a fit if I used medication, but with all due respect, unless they can convince me that body thetans are making me act like a snarling wolf, I don't want their opinion."

He sighs. "I actually haven't told them yet. I don't know how they'll take it. My wife already reacted badly." He gulps, bowing his head. "She . . .she left me. When I told her about the diagnosis. After she left, I went into a rage. I trashed my house. My fucking studio equipment was ruined. My djembe I got in Ghana. When I came to, I . . . I couldn't stand what I did. What am I now. So, I took the car and drove. They said you could help. "

"I liked being human. I know that lycanthropes get together and roam in packs, I think that's what they call them. Great, if you developed it at an early age. But I'm used to being human. I mean, I was always weird, but now, I have . . .nothing. My music, my family, my friends, I'm losing it all because of some genetic misfire."

So, because of that faltering voice, I called neurologists, biochemists, psychiatrists, alchemists, herbalists and an occasional shady grave robber. Thousands of dollars in bribes to Chinese customs later, I purified a tincture of several herbs, some to sooth, some to cure lycanthropy. I remember rummaging through open markets for any night-blooming flowers.

Din must have knocked him out to prevent him from finding the secret passage. That's no concern. He is waking up, squinting through tiny square eyeglasses.

"Mr. Burton?"

"You must be Mr. Elfman."

"Yeah, last time I checked." He sighs, lowering his head. What lovely hair, short, curly and coppery. Why am I getting distracted again? "You can call me Danny. Everyone else does."

"Of course. Let's get started," I say as briskly as possible with a dry mouth. I point to a large lamp, now in ultraviolet. "First test. Simulates moon cycles. New moon right now." Some people diagnosed with lycanthropy are triggered by new moons, other people full moons.

"But I remember I first transformed when I was angry."

I nod. "It is usually best to isolate other causes too."

I turn on the lamp, watching ultraviolet light cycle into white light. Nothing.

I look up at the wheel. "Oh, pain too." I grab the wheel and turn, but only an inch. This is an old fashioned stretching rack and I don't want to break that body. He winces and turns, squinting suspicion through those glasses. I couldn't help but smirk with one hand on the wheel. The other hand is in my pocket, adjusting myself.

Jesus, I'm getting distracted again. "Instead of that, I'm going to use this." Not mine, but I did do some tweaking. I turn on a long black board with thin needles pointed toward Danny. He winces as the machine sends capsaicin rays at random times and intensities. He's writhing, baring teeth and helplessly flexing muscle.

I should not be enjoying this. Stop staring at all that skin. This is only to help him.

The cycle stops, and he hasn't transformed. He did say anger seems to do it. I am not, however, good at sarcastic remarks.

"Look, there is another part of this I, you know, tend to have trouble with?"

"Get on with it."

"Anger. I can't do sarcasm, I mean, I get something really good and funny, but that's, like, you know, ten minutes after someone yelled something. It's not a requirement, you know, in my line of work, it's not as if my colleagues are into, what do rappers call it, the dozens."

Danny rolls his eyes. "Well, being on this rack is annoying me. Know when I'm going to get down?"

I shrug. "It can take anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour."

"I have a meeting about preproduction for a track my band . . ."

 "Former band?"

"Well, I still have to be there."

"It isn't going to be Beverly Hills Cop Part 4: Axel Finds Love with a Transvestite, is it?"

"It's a living."

"Yeah. Playing concerts for drunk punks who don't know Kurt Weill from Sid Vicious, and getting in forgettable tracks for even more forgettable movies." I don't know why I said that, but hey, I ran with it. It will get him good and pissed.

He glowers, leaning forward, and stretching his torso. I must no longer have control over my hands, because I walk over and trace my finger over his collarbone. "Cancel it. I might keep you longer than usual to test more of my . . ."

The last things I hear before falling back are ropes snapping, the wheel spinning and a growl. He clutches at my arms and roars "Get me down!"

Oh Azathoth, he's going to kill me.

"Look . . .I'm sorry, that was part of the test, I didn't mean . . ."

The roar is now a growl. "Now."

I untie the ropes attached to his feet, not sure if I should like being at his feet. He leaps on me. I manage to grab on to a table and tumble down. His stance is stiff, glaring, snarling. His hands are on my chest, holding me down. The hairs on his arm and chest stand on their ends, his white teeth bared. I remembered all the nature documentaries I watched, and immediately bowed my head. I'm taking the submissive posture, ears back and slinking. Please don't hurt me, Mr. Scary Redhead.

He stays there, trying to assess what is going on. That's it, Danny. Just stand while I grab the syringe back.

I stab it in his upper arm, coincidentally right on the tattoo. He howls in distress as I push the elixir in. Please, let all those old Chinese men be right.

He stays where he is for a while, then he pants. "Oh fuck," he murmurs.

"No damage done."

He doesn't move, though. He just inches in front of me. Then I see this odd smile.

"Are you all right?" He nods.

"You're not angry . . ."

"Yeah, but it wasn't just anger that fueled me."

"Huh?"

"If the elixir didn't work, I would have tried to fuck you without regard for life or limb."

I don't use words like that regularly, somehow Danny saying it made me hitch my breath. I am going to get in so much trouble if I reciprocate, he is just a patient . . .

Wait. What did that contract say? If successful, after payment, he is no longer considered a patient. "I will need my payment now."

He tilts his head, confused. Man, some people need to have a neon sign displaying what I am trying to say.

"I want to . . .do the same thing too, but I cannot if you're a patient. You pay, you're no longer a patient."

He nods. "Hold on." He stands up. "It's hard to think of human matters after you go through a change." He leans over, "Trust me, that's not the only thing that's hard right now."

I reconsider again like a moron. "Your wife?"

"Ex-wife. Fuck her."

After a hurried writing of a check, he pounces in front of me. With no preparation, he slides down in front of the crotch of my jeans, hands now lower on my hips. I stroke his wrists, relieved that the rope burn is not too awful. Just because I am starting to feel hotter than I did earlier, I take off my long-sleeved shirt.

He bares teeth in that grin of his, making me scared and excited all at once. He yanks off my jeans and underwear and spreads my legs. I yelp at the first lick of head of the penis, prompting him to chuckle low and strange. I sit up, fully touching the tense muscles of his back, finally cupping the small of his back. Meanwhile, I hear the wet sounds and growls as he continues to lick and suck. I feel so flushed, hot where he is, where I can feel his breath and saliva, his quick tongue and oddly soft lips.

Orgasm happened fast, making me squeeze my eyes, stifling a cry before Din trudges in to investigate. Then again, what will he see? His master sitting on the lab floor, a man leaning over him?

At least I did, because I am not sure what Din will make of what I do next. I push Danny down, wrapping my legs against his, drawing a gasp from him. I stare at him for while, swearing that I could see my come on his lips.

The not so scary now redhead starts to speak. "Um, that was quick."

"Yeah, funny how not disturbed I am by this. I mean, someone doing, well, that, on the lab floor." He looks worried. "Not that I am complaining. At all."

He nods, and I slide my hand down his pants. Teasing, I slide back up his chest, pressing against the muscle clefts, pinching the nipples.

"That smarts, Mr. Burton."

"You call me Tim," I say with a giggle.

I couldn't duplicate what Danny did, not being very experienced at this, all those years scaring classmates at Cal Arts and scaring everyone else as the 'mad scientist.' I do know how to unzip pants, how to coax his penis out, how to give little teasing touches and long strokes.

When that is the only sex act you can do much of, you get good at it. Really good, if Danny's squirming and gasping are any indication.

I lean my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat increasing, sometimes giving the head of the penis a gentle squeeze while keeping at the strokes.

"Oh . . oh!" He closes his eyes, his face relaxing, looking less wolf and more child. I feel something splash against my leg. Looking down, I can see his come got on my leg and a little on my t-shirt. I wipe the rest of it with my t-shirt. It will wash out.

He opens his eyes and starts to laugh. "You know, I should cancel that meeting. I wouldn't be able to get there on time with Los Angeles traffic anyway."

I shrug. "I . . . didn't expect this."

He shrugs and gives a shy smile. "I didn't either." He pauses to rub his face. "So, this injection. Permanent?"

"Not really, but it does take a while to dissolve. You should have no problems with, you know, transforming."

He nods. "That's nice. I'd like to have more control over when I ravage people. I wouldn't want to hurt you next time . . ."

"I'd like there be a next time."

He sits up, chuckling. "Willing to take a chance on a soon-to-be divorced guy with an insane schedule?"

"If you're willing to date a mad scientist with little to no experience with relationships."

He sighs and does one thing I didn't expect. He hugs me. It's a nice hug, strong for such a slender man. "Why not?"

I'll have to tell Din to expect a guest in a few days.
***
End.