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Werewolf Librarian

By J. L. Ender

The world turns cold, leaving me drained and human. I lie in a patch of mud, my head pounding. A parting gift from the transformation. I lift a hand to rub my temples, and the glitter of my chipped nail polish catches weak starlight.

The tattered remains of a dirty yellow sweater cling to my shoulders. My favorite sweaterโ€ฆ ruined. Ugh. The rest of my clothes are filthy but intact. Except the shoes. I never wake up with shoes. Itโ€™s a problem.

My stomach turns. Where am I this time?

A forest in deep gloom surrounds me. The moon has set, and clouds rule the sky, leaving the world a profound gray that will linger until dawn. A bookโ€”an enormous collegiate thesaurus from the libraryโ€”rests on the ground beside me. I pick it up and do my best to wipe away the grime.

I start walking, and realize I know these woods. A few minutes later, I stumble onto Main Street, between Reels Movie Theater and the Murkwood Public Library. I check the parking lot, but thereโ€™s no sign of my car.

Great. I probably ate it.

Iโ€™ll have to walk home. Where else can I go without car, shoes, purse, phone, or wallet? At least Iโ€™ve got pants this time.

I pass Old Man McFryerโ€™s grocery. Rattling resounds through a short alley to the right of the big, glass double doors. A dangerous silhouette noses around the trash cans a few yards away. A big, wolfish silhouette.

I duck behind a light pole just as golden eyes turn my direction. Good thing Iโ€™m skinny.

Another werewolf. In my town? I canโ€™t allow that. I tell myself itโ€™s not about territory, that I want my little corner of the world to stay safe.

But what can I do? I canโ€™t control the change. The wolf inside feeds off me, uses my body, and I get nothing in return. I changed back when the moon set, so why is he stillโ€ฆ wolf-y?

The werewolf lumbers off like a freight train gaining momentum. Deciding to hurry home, I turnโ€”

And find the wolf inches from my nose.

โ€œWho are you?โ€ the beast growls. He hunches to lock eyes with me, then straightens, rising to three feet taller than my scant five feet and three inches. โ€œThis is my territory.โ€

I clear my throat and lock my knees so they wonโ€™t tremble. โ€œNo. Itโ€™s mine. Go away.โ€

The werewolf chuckles, a throaty sound like a garbage disposal. โ€œSo fight me for it.โ€

โ€œThe moonโ€™sโ€ฆโ€

โ€œGone?โ€ The werewolf laughs again. โ€œSo youโ€™re still parasitic. Beat it. Youโ€™re not worthy of my time. Iโ€™m after less stringy game.โ€

Parasitic?

I force steel into my voice. โ€œIf you hurt anyone in my t-t-town, youโ€™ll have me to answer to.โ€

I suppress a groan. Did I seriously just stammer like Porky Pig?

The werewolf laughs at my empty threat. He throws back his head and howls, then puts a catcherโ€™s mitt-sized claw against my chest and pushes. I fall backward into the gutter, dropping the thesaurus, then stagger to my feet, straining for the wolf. My wolf. Out of reach.

The werewolf towers over me. โ€œYou know, suddenly stringy isnโ€™t sounding half bad.โ€

I call for the wolf again. Obey me.

The werewolf raises his paw, claws out. This time Iโ€™ll be torn openโ€”

Fur ripples across my body, and muscle follows. In a half-second, I gain two feet of height and nearly a hundred pounds of muscle. I strike the werewolf like a battering ram. He slams into the brick wall of the alley, shattering blocks.

With a roar, he darts up and swipes at me. I duck, raking my claws across his chest as I shove him. He roars againโ€”in pain this time. Before he can recover, I pick up a loose brick and clock him. The block shatters against his forehead.

The werewolf swings at my gut with one paw, then the other, then bites at my arm. I dodge everything, his attacks whiffing empty air.

I leap backward, pick up my fallen book, and swing it in an upward arc as the werewolf lunges toward me. It connects with his chin.

His fangs click. โ€œOof!โ€ He flies back and hits the wall again.

And then his eyes turn blue.

Huh?

โ€œNo,โ€ he groans.

Heโ€™sโ€ฆ shrinking. Fur and claws slide away. I rock backward, landing in the street, which smells of still-warm asphalt.

I hop to my feet, but thereโ€™s no threat. A skinny, naked man wobbles on knobby knees and takes off, squealing and crying as he runs.

Thatโ€™s just embarrassing.

I will my humanity back, and it comes, leaving me cold and tired. Could Iโ€ฆ?

It hurts a little, and I feel more tired than ever, but I turn into the wolf and back. I have control. Somehow.

Parasite? Not anymore.


The libraryโ€™s overhead lights hurt. Swallowing two aspirin dry, I settle into my seat at the counter with a cup of coffee. Everything from the night drop needs to be checked in. The giant stack of books doesnโ€™t care about my headache or respect my werewolf powers.

Including a rather filthy thesaurus. Iโ€™ll have to clean that to boot.

Sighing, I pick up the top book. The Werewolf in Lore and Legend.

I glance around. The only other librarian on shift is stocking books in some distant wing of the rambling old library. I start to read.

โ€œExcuse me.โ€

The morningโ€™s first customer slaps a book on my counter. The skinny werewolf. In human form, heโ€™s barely taller than my counter. I read the title. Workout Regimens for Dummies.

He blinks. โ€œMaโ€™am?โ€

He doesnโ€™t recognize me.

I plaster on a smile. โ€œSure thing.โ€ I check him out and hand him the book. โ€œHave a nice day.โ€ My grin stretches into something wolfish. โ€œAnd good luck.โ€

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. L. Ender is the author of the superhero series Steel Fox Investigations and mecha vs kaiju mayhem The Cold Below, as well as a number of other novels and short stories. Ender has worked as a dishwasher, a beef jerky labeler, a warehouse worker, a shelf stocker, a greeter, a traveling technician, a laser engraver, a package handler, a copywriter, a graphic designer, a librarian, an editor, a dispatcher, a phone operator, a hotel clerk, and hopefully someday soon as a novelist… He lives in Ohio with his wife and fellow writer SCE Ender.


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