Aurendel - Strays

Kate almost didn't go in to the veterinary clinic on Tuesday. She hadn't slept well, between old memories and new disturbances. All night she'd alternated lying awake with intermittent chaotic dreams. One of the dreams was familiar--seeing the face of the child she hadn't had. She always woke crying after that one. She didn't remember most of the rest, except one: she'd dreamt that the black wolf was chasing her again, as it had in reality Friday night, but this time it caught her and turned into Harold Wolf. When she woke from that one, she was all hot and bothered. What an absurd thing, that her unconscious mind should make that word association with the name.

She had to admit, Harold had definitely been flirting with her all along, enough to make Jack jealous--the old hypocrite! It served Jack right. Over the years she'd known him, he'd gone off on trips here and there, never inviting her, fobbing her off with excuses why she wouldn't want to go to Jamaica, or wouldn't like the Phillippines, or whatever. She suspected he had lady friends at these and other places. At least he had the decency not to have any locally--that she knew of.

Kate had gone in to work, groggily, but hadn't been able to concentrate on what she was doing. She ended up canceling her last few appointments and leaving early. As she drove home, Patsy Cline started singing "Crazy" on her radio. She had to pull off to the side of the road as she heard "Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you . . . Crazy for lovin' you."

She felt like a fool. She had been drawn to Jack for his tales of adventure, in awe like a little girl. He was a sexy old guy, in a Sean-Connery-meets-Ernest-Hemingway kind of way, and he was extremely talented and interesting. So in spite of his faults, she'd told herself she was content with Jack, but she'd been lying to herself. He was just part of the pattern: she always tried to win the love of men who were unavailable, emotionally or otherwise. For Pete's sake, she'd lost her virginity at the age of nineteen to her history professor, a married man. How stupid could a girl get? And eleven years later, she still hadn't learned. There was a part of her that was convinced that if she just did or said the right things, the frogs would turn into princes. When would she grow up and realize life wasn't a fairy tale? She resolved to start right now. When Jack came back, she'd tell him so.

Kate carefully pulled back out onto the road, feeling calmer now that she'd reached a decision. Even though this Harold guy had been a catalyst to get her to react, she didn't want to see him again. She went straight home without even glancing at the turnoff to Jack's place.

Kate's house was a small, white two-bedroom cottage snuggled down amidst a canopy of moss-draped oaks, sweet gums, and magnolias. Inside, the living, dining, and kitchen spaces were all one big room, full of light and air from the vaulted ceiling with its skylight. Pine cabinets and floor gave warmth and hominess, while the china blue and white color scheme soothed the eye. Although nothing in the room was frilly or frou-frou--Kate despised anything "precious" or kitsch--it was a gently feminine refuge from the relentlessly testosterone-soaked ambience of Jack's place. All those trophy heads he had!

Kate had just stepped out of her shoes and was going through the mail when she heard an urgent knock at her door. Wondering who it could be, she opened the door, to find Harold standing on her porch looking thoroughly flustered, but all too attractive in jeans and a white oxford cloth button down shirt. Before she could say anything, he said, "Kate, I really need to speak with you. May I please come in?" She hesitated. "I've been waiting for you to get home," he added, "because I wanted to talk to you before Jack got back."

She shouldn't let him in. She bit her lip, then stepped aside, opening the door wider and nodding to him. He walked across her threshold with a sigh of relief. Remembering her manners, she invited him to sit down on her blue and white chintz sofa, then offered him a drink, which he refused. She sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, leaned back, and looked at him, waiting. He didn't say anything, but several times looked as if he were about to. Suddenly he jumped up, startling her. Then he began pacing, tapping his walking stick on the floor as he walked up and down the living room. Then he spotted her guitar case where she'd set it down by the hall.

"May I?" he asked abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

He rubbed his forehead. "This is very difficult. Music might make it easier."

"Sure."

She didn't know what to expect, really. He took out the guitar, sat back down beside her, then threw himself into an impassioned rendition of "Iris". She was surprised by the intensity with which he sang the chorus:

And I don't want the world to see me
‘Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

By the time he finished, he appeared to have regained his composure. Meanwhile, she'd lost hers. He set the guitar down by the sofa, then said, "Kate, I came here to ask you something and to tell you something." She waited, and he continued. "I'm going home tomorrow. When I leave, I would like for you to come with me," he said, staring intently at her. As she questioned him with her eyes, he added, "I want you to come home with me as my mate for life."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "Yes. Will you?"

"I don't even know you!"

"That's the other reason I'm here," he interrupted hastily. "I want to tell you the truth about where I'm from, who and what I am."

Something about the way he said that bothered her, and she shivered. He swallowed hard, then continued. "Jack told you I was from out of state. Well, I'm not just not from this state, I'm not from this country. In fact," he hesitated, "I'm from the Nine Kingdoms. Specifically, the Eighth Kingdom."

"The what?"

Keeping eye contact with her, he explained slowly, "As far as I can tell, there's little or no magic here in your world."

Now Kate was really getting alarmed, and she tried as slowly and unobtrusively as she could to reach for the cordless phone on its cradle on the lamp table behind her. This guy was a certifiable nut case, and while she didn't want to set him off, she did want to have the phone handy to dial 911, for all the good that would do.

He was still talking, in a low, controlled voice, explaining how he'd been traveling through the kingdoms when someone or something had pursued him, he'd blundered through a magic mirror and found himself in Okachula. "It seems that two local fishermen netted this mirror and sold it to Tom Downey's Antiques, then Downey sold it to someone else, and Jack went to buy it back. He'll be home tonight, and I'll leave tomorrow."

"Uh-huh." Kate felt it would be a good idea to have a long talk with Jack. Encouraging the delusional was not helpful. The telephone felt cool and smooth in her hand, and she held it behind her back. In a pinch, it could do for a weapon, if only to cold-cock him.

"There's something else," Harold said. He glanced away uneasily.

"What?" Kate asked warily.

He turned back to her. "Look at me."

"I'm looking."

"No. You're seeing what you expect to see. Look at me."

Kate looked, but had no idea what she was supposed to look for, so she shook her head, puzzled.

"You think I'm human, don't you."

It was a statement, not a question, and it floored her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she nodded mutely.

"Look again."

She looked into his silver-grey eyes, and suddenly they blazed green like a cat's, and she started. Then she gritted her teeth. No parlor tricks with ophthalmic drops or colored contacts were going to freak her out. As his eyes went back to normal, she set her chin, and asked, "All right, if you're not human, what are you?"

"I'm a wolf."

She practically jumped off the sofa, and started backing toward the hall to her bedroom. There was a pistol in her nightstand, if she could just get to it.

"Wolves mate for life, Kate," he said.

She bit her tongue to keep from making a sarcastic remark about men with delusions of fidelity.

"Don't be afraid, Kate," he said. "I wouldn't hurt you. Wolf's word of honor." He got up from the sofa, and she took another step backward. "You don't believe me, do you?" he asked. "You think I'm mad."

"No, of course not," she lied hastily. His nostrils flared as if he could smell the falsehood. Maybe he thought he could. Abruptly, he turned his back to her. She stood there, wondering what he was doing. Then he shrugged off his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked.

"Proving to you that I'm telling the truth," he replied, kicking off his mocassins.

"Listen," she stammered, "I'll call the sheriff." That seemed not to faze him. "I've got a gun, and I won't hesitate to use it!"

Then as his jeans dropped to the floor, her jaw did too. He had a tail. The phone fell from her nerveless fingers, and the clatter it made on the floor caused her to jump. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at her, then stepped free of the crumpled jeans, back still towards her. "Give me a minute," he said. "I've never Changed in front of a human before."

"What?"

As she watched, his body began to distort and shift, and he whined slightly. Then she realized she was staring at a black, furry shape crouched in the middle of her living room. It got up and turned toward her. It was the black wolf. Premise A is not possible, her mind told her, ergo... The wheels and cogs ground to a halt as logic went out the window.

Kate's vision began to tunnel, and she told herself not to faint, she'd never fainted and was not going to start now. The wolf walked toward her, and she had the appalling sensation of her blood running cold. It tingled unpleasantly in her veins, like an I.V. that'd been refrigerated. To her astonishment, she found that she'd dropped to her knees. How did that happen? And how did the wolf get so close so quickly? She was looking right into its silver eyes. As she fought for coherence, she decided she would have to kill Jack for this. She wasn't entirely certain how, but it seemed like a good idea. This was all his fault.

The wolf nudged at her, and she cried out involuntarily. It looked into her face, then leaned in to coldnose her cheek and whuff softly in her ear. It stepped back and looked at her again. She shook her head, wondering what it wanted. The wolf caught her hand in its mouth, and she gasped at the powerful jaws and sharp fangs closing. But it held her hand so carefully its teeth didn't even dent the skin, and it gently tugged at her. So she got to her feet, and it led her back to the sofa. Then it stood up on its hind legs and used its forepaws to push her into a seated position, and jumped up onto the sofa beside her, where it lay down on its stomach with its head and forepaws in her lap.

Kate sat frozen, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. All kinds of clues were falling into place now, but she couldn't really blame herself for not figuring this out, since there weren't supposed to be such things as werewolves. There was the coincidental appearance of Harold and the wolf at the same time. Then there was Jack: he'd never go out of his way for another human being, but he'd bend over backwards to help out an injured or lost animal. The wolf and the man were both injured in the same place. No one had any luck finding the wolf until what now seemed to have been a well-choreographed wild goose chase led by Jack. And its pursuit of her had an explanation, of sorts.

The wolf raised its head and pawed at her arm. She lifted a hesitant hand and patted the huge head, and it nuzzled her hand, its tail thumping on the sofa cushions. She stroked its ears, feeling the velvety fur at their bases, then buried both hands in its thick mane. It whined with pleasure as she scratched its back.

And now the wolf had come to ask her to be its mate. In its human shape it had flirted with her, serenaded her, fought with Jack over her. No one had ever fought over her, or sang to her, before. That was flattering. Not only that, but somehow, Harold--the wolf--had seen inside her in a way that ought not have been possible. His description of his ideal mate obviously was intended to fit her. He'd sung her favorite song as if he meant it. But she couldn't be a wolf's mate, could she? The idea was unsettling. And that meant his family was a pack of wolves, didn't it? This was too wierd.

The wolf rolled onto its back, and she began to rub its chest and belly. Such an undignified pose, with its feet up in the air. However, it seemed to enjoy the rub. In fact, she noted uncomfortably, it seemed to enjoy the attention a bit too much. Then the wolf changed back.

And now instead of an animal, she had a man lying on her sofa with his head in her lap and her hands on his bare chest. Oh. This was too much. She hardly knew him, had just found out he wasn't human. So it surprised her when she heard herself ask, "Do wolves often take human mates?"

"Seldom," he replied. His voice was almost a growl, deep in his throat.

Remembering all the folk tales and horror movies about werewolves, she asked, her voice cracking and squeaking, "And... do wolves ever eat humans?"

"Seldom," was his unreassuring answer. Then, staring intently into her eyes, he said, "I'm hungry, Kate. Very hungry." He half sat up, half pulled her down to fasten his lips on hers in a deep and lingering kiss.