Calvin scurried backwards quickly, hit a tree, and then fell on his ass. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The man in the very fancy looking suit remained calmly professional as he repeated, “Tim Kane, business werewolf. We have important matters to discuss.”
“That doesn’t exactly clarify anything for me, no offense,” Calvin replied. “Can I get dressed now?”
Tim nodded and gestured for Calvin to go ahead. Calvin retrieved his clothes from where he had hung them from a tree branch before transforming last night.
“What exactly is a business werewolf?” Calvin asked once he had his pants on.
A slight smile touched Mr. Kane’s lips. He was tall, well over six feet, broadly muscular, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Calvin guessed he was in his early thirties. “That’s just a title I’ve invented for myself. I perform clerical duties for the werewolves in our region and maintain an office in Seattle. As you can imagine, most of our kind aren’t fond of paperwork and bureaucracy.”
“Right,” Calvin said. He kept both eyes on this business werewolf as he finished getting dressed. “So what kind of paperwork and bureaucracy led you to sneak up on me while I was naked this morning?”
“As the officially recognized Guardian of this area you are obligated to destroy or detain the rogue necromancer that has recently taken up residence in your territory,” Tim answered pleasantly.
“Hold on. Officially recognized what, now?” Calvin hadn’t even known for sure that there was any kind of werewolf organization until this weirdo showed up out of the blue. The werewolves who had beaten him up on that ill fated trip to the Olympics had alluded to some kind of hierarchy, but Calvin hadn’t know any details, much less applied for membership.
“Guardian,” Mr. Kane explained slowly with a very professional smile still on his face. “The werewolves you met in the Olympic National Forest are members of one of the oldest packs in the world. They reported your existence to the Conclave of the Moon and included a positive review of your character as well as a description of the territory you claimed.”
Calvin frowned. “I never claimed any territory. And how the hell did they decide what my character was like? All they did was beat the ever-loving crap out of me!”
Tim looked slightly surprised, but only barely let it show. “You are aware that you are the only non-human in the area you roam while transformed?”
“Well, yes,” Calvin admitted.
“And you did reach an understanding with a nearby werewolf pack as to where your territory ended and theirs began?” Mr. Kane asked.
“I suppose I did, but really they just flat out told me never to come back onto their land unless I had some kind of official business to discuss.”
“Then what part about this matter do you find confusing?” A touch of impatience had crept into the business werewolf’s calmly efficient voice.
“I guess I just didn’t know werewolves were so...organized and official. I thought things would be more loose and tribal. I always imagined there being lots of different pack living in heavily forested areas. I thought maybe there might be some loose confederacy of pack representatives, but I never in my wildest dreams expected a business werewolf to show up to inform me of my obligation to destroy a rogue necromancer. Until last night I didn’t even know there were creatures besides werewolves!” Calvin protested.
“How strange,” Mr. Kane observed. “Did the werewolf who turned you explain none of this to you?”
“I never met the werewolf who made me,” Calvin told him. “He or she mauled me and left me bleeding in the woods until morning. I woke up all disoriented and I passed out for the rest of the day. I woke up right before the change.”
Tim frowned. “Highly irregular. And this werewolf never contacted you after the fact?”
Calvin shook his head. “Never.”
The business werewolf seemed just a little bit impressed. “Interesting. Well, you are a rare case indeed. However, rules are rules, and as the Guardian of this place you must deal with the rogue necromancer.”
“Seriously?” Calvin growled.
Mr. Kane nodded sagely. “Oh yes. We can’t go around making exceptions. There would be chaos.”
“There are evidently already zombies running around and a rogue necromancer, which I can only assume is a person who creates zombies. How is that any different from chaos, exactly?”
“As long as the local humans remain ignorant, you are performing your primary duty as Guardian. Were they to find proof of the existence of werewolves or any other supernatural beings, drastic measures would have to be taken,” Tim explained pleasantly.
Calvin took a deep breath. “Fantastic. How exactly does one deal with a necromancer anyway?”
“You have three choices when encountering a rogue supernatural being in your territory. You may kill them, detain them and report them to the Enclave of the Moon for transfer to our prison, or you may attempt to subdue them and convince them to become your vassal.”
“Vassal?” Calvin asked skeptically. “You mean like knights and barons in medieval times?”
Mr. Kane nodded. “Precisely. Though I caution against that third course of action. You are very young and your neighbors would likely take issue with you recruiting what looks like the beginnings of an army so quickly. Necromancers can be a nasty bunch. I recommend killing it. You don’t seem the type to enjoy all the red tape that goes along with a prisoner transfer.”
Calvin sighed. “That was what I meant. How do you kill a necromancer? Do they have some special weakness? Is there anything I should know besides the raising the undead bit?”
Tim the business werewolf frowned. “I don’t like to get too involved in these matters. A Guardian is expected to take care of problems on their own.”
“You have got to be kidding me. You show up out of nowhere, tell me to kill a renegade zombie maker, and then refuse to give me any helpful information? How do I know I can even trust you? You could be some lunatic or in cahoots with the necromancer! This could be some kind of sadistic trap and I would have no idea!” Calvin shouted. This whole interaction was getting ridiculously frustrating.
Mr. Kane nodded appreciatively. “Caution. That’s wise. You may survive yet. Here’s my card in the event that you need any official Enclave of the Moon business conducted on your behalf. Good day.” He handed Calvin a business card with his name and a phone number, no address or website.
“Yeah, I can tell already this is going to be a great day,” Calvin muttered. He walked out of the woods towards his parents’ house. They were under the impression that he spent full moon nights over at Logan or Harris’ house. He generally came over in the morning to change clothes and shower when he pretended to spend the night at Harris’ house otherwise he got a lecture from his mother about wasting valuable morning bathroom time in a house with five women living in it. Harris had four sisters, which befuddled Calvin greatly since they had somehow failed to murder the chauvinistic bastard in his sleep thus far. After pretending to spend the night at Logan’s house he could go straight to school and shower in the pool locker room, but unfortunately this had been a Harris night.
“I don’t care how many vegetables you ate last night, you can’t have Skittles for breakfast!” Calvin’s mother shouted across the house at his sister Gemma.
“But there are green ones! You always say that green things are healthy for you!” Gemma yelled back.
“Oh thank God, Calvin you’re home! Make your sister eat real food,” his mother pleaded when she saw him come through the front door.
Calvin walked to the kitchen, grabbed two bowls and the Raisin Bran box. He filled two bowls with milk and cereal and set one in front of Gemma. Then he sat down and started eating without saying a word.
“No! I hate Raisin Bran! It tastes like poop!” Gemma pouted. “The raisins even look like little bunny poops!”
“You’ll eat it,” Calvin told her sternly.
“Nuh uh!” Gemma stuck her tongue out at him.
Calvin sighed. How did she not know what was coming? “Yes, you will.”
“Nope! I’m getting the Skittles!” Gemma started to get up.
“Fine. That will be the last piece of candy you ever eat,” Calvin said quietly.
Gemma’s face paled. “No, not this again! You wouldn’t dare!”
Calvin nodded. “I most certainly would.”
Gemma gasped. “But then you wouldn’t get any more candy either!”
“I don’t get any anyway, you eat it all.”
“But...to throw away all the candy and snacks? You’re a monster!” Gemma sat back down.
“Eat your cereal,” Calvin told her.
Gemma did as she was told.
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