Dark of the Moon
© 2024 by Walter Reimer and E.O. Costello

Thumbnail art by  pastelpastel


Seven


A fairly guarded article about the future of the werewolves in the Northeast U.S.A. got printed in the World-Telegram & Sun the next day along with an equally cagey statement that the late John Terhune had some plans in mind, and it was hoped that those plans would eventually be realized. I took pains to reassure my human readers that none of those plans would be bad for them. My editor approved, and he passed on to me that Mr. Howard was also pleased with how things were going.

That helped a lot, because I still felt that I was in the dark about a few things. I thought the Packs trusted me, but sometimes it was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

I paused, razor in hand, and stared at my reflection in the mirror while I asked myself again why I had accepted Michael’s invitation. I had been on dates before, of course, but I was thirty-five; I shouldn’t have been nervous.

But I was. I’d never sat down to dinner with a family of werewolves.

Well, we had a few things in common. Michael’s family, like me and my family, were Irish and good Catholics. That counted for a lot, and Michael had said that his folks liked me and my work.

I finished shaving and got cleaned up. After I made sure my shoes were shined, I got dressed in slacks, a polo shirt, and a suit jacket. Dressy, but casual. I checked my hair one last time and headed out the door.

My destination was a building in the West Village, not far from where I lived, and the weather was supposed to be nice so I wouldn’t have to worry about an overcoat or umbrella. I live over in Rose Hill, sort of nearby, and as a reporter I didn’t mind walking. It’s only a twenty-minute walk or so from my apartment to 125 Barclay Street, so getting to work isn’t bad.

I made it to the building on time and went up the stairs to the third floor. I paused to make sure I still looked presentable, squared my shoulders, and knocked.

Michael answered the door. He was dressed pretty much like I was, and he grinned as he opened the door wider. “Hiya, Knocko. Come on in,” and he closed the door after I stepped into the hall.

Older place, but neat and clean. There was a small half-table against the wall, holding a lit candle in a brass candlestick, with a few holy cards set around it. There was a crucifix on the wall, with pictures of the Virgin Mary and the Pope. The Pope’s picture had a small religious medal on a string hanging around the frame, and I leaned slightly in and saw a picture of a balding guy with a forked beard who was wearing bishop’s robes and had a wolf in his lap.

Saint Ailbe, Irish patron saint of werewolves.

I crossed myself, and Michael was midway through his own gesture when a gruff man’s voice said, “Michael O’Donovan!”

Michael completed his gesture straightened up. “Yes, Dad?”

“Is that our guest?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Then don’t leave him standing in the hall like a brush salesman. Get in here.” Michael gave me a smile and waved for me to follow him.

The living room was nicely decorated, with comfortable chairs and a sofa, with a radio sitting on the sideboard amid several framed photographs. Michael’s Dad was getting up from one of the chairs as I walked in. He was a big guy, nearly as tall as I was, with receding black hair, dark brown eyes and a hint of five o’clock shadow on his jawline. He was wearing trousers, a shirt and suspenders, and had a bit of middle-aged spread.

“Dad,” Michael said, “this is Peter Walshe.”

I stepped forward, my hand extended. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Donovan. My apologies; I was paying my respects,” and I nodded back at the crucifix in the hall.

He raised one eyebrow as he nodded. “’Mister O’Donovan’ is my grandfather. ‘Sir’ would be my Dad. Name’s Tom,” and we shook hands. Big hands, and a strong grip. “Have a seat, and we’ll talk. Mary and my wife, Maureen, are still in the kitchen.”

I took inhaled through my nose and said, “It smells wonderful.”

Tom nodded. “That it does,” and we started talking a little. He already knew I worked for the World-Telly, and I found out that he worked on the docks over on the Hudson side of Manhattan. A lot of the conversation came from Tom, who talked about the growing competition for work as jobs began to decline. One particular complaint was ‘shaping,’ which involved picking guys who would work a job, and the process required connections and reputation . . . among other things.

“Can’t the union do anything about it?” I asked.

Tom snorted. “Some people still have it in for werewolves, Peter – “

“Pete. Or Knocko.”

“Knocko, eh? Heh. Well, I’m not getting any younger, either, so after a certain point few if any will look my way. But enough of that. Tell me about yourself.”

“My parents live in Woodlawn, over in the Bronx,” I said. “Dad worked on the railroad, and now has a small mechanic’s shop. My Mom says her job is looking after him.”

Tom chuckled. "You were in the War?"

"Yes, Sir. Joined up in '42, soon after Pearl Harbor."

He gave me a sharp glance. "I told you before, 'Sir' is my father. Call me Tom. Where'd you go?"

"Army. Sixth Special Service Brigade."

"Ah. The Werewolf guys. Heard about 'em from a few vets and parents of others I work with. A few of 'em recall you. Good things."

I laughed. "I'm relieved to hear that, Tom."

"I served in the Great War, but spent it here," Tom said. “Got a touch of the Spanish Flu, and by the time I was out of the hospital we’d licked the Kaiser. Got my strength back working on the docks, and met Maureen at a church social. Mary’s our oldest, and then Michael here,” and he gestured at my friend. “Danny’s the youngest, will be getting out of high school soon. With a diploma, if I have anything to say about it.” He stopped and twisted around in his seat as the kitchen door opened and a variety of delicious aromas wafted out. “Dinner ready?”

“Yes, it is,” came an older woman’s voice, and I stood up as Tom’s wife Maureen bustled in with a heavy-looking covered tureen and placed it in the center of the already-set dining table. “Mike,” she said, “could you go find Danny and get him in here?”

“Sure, Mom,” and my friend headed out the door. I didn’t see him go, because I was looking at the young woman who came in from the kitchen behind her mother, carrying a basket of rolls and a pitcher of iced tea.

Maybe five inches shorter than my six feet, maybe a couple years younger, dressed in a floral-print dress that ended below her knees. Her black hair fell in curls to her shoulders, and I found myself smiling a little wider.

She was very pretty.

Tom, naturally, was at the head of the table, with Maureen at the far end. I held out Mary’s chair for her to Tom’s right, while I sat beside her and to Maureen’s left. That left two empty chairs, with the windows facing the street behind them.

“Get in there, you little – “

“OW!” The door opened and a younger version of Michael came in, rubbing the back of his head. “Mom! Michael hit me!”

“Then hit him back,” his father growled. “But later. You two get your hands washed and come to the table before the food gets cold.” He glared at the two, who promptly headed for the bathroom.

With everyone sat down, we all crossed ourselves and Tom said Grace before he lifted the lid from the tureen. Everyone sniffed, smiled and made approving noises as Tom ladled out a bowl full of a toothsome lamb stew into a bowl, and passed it down to his wife. The basket of rolls and the pitcher of iced tea went around as well, and when everyone had been served I tried a spoonful.

“This is delicious, Mrs. O’Donovan,” I said. She smiled, and her smile broadened when I added, “It smells and tastes wonderful, and I can’t imagine how great it smells and tastes to werewolves.”

“Flattery, Mister Walshe?”

“Peter, please, Ma’am. And it’s not flattery if it’s the truth.” She gave me a look, and for a while there was just the sounds of silverware on china and chewing.

I felt like someone was staring at me, and I turned to see Mary looking at me. She caught me looking back at her, and she blushed and quickly returned to her meal.

“Peter?”

I turned to face Mrs. O’Donovan. “Yes, Ma’am?”

"How'd you get in the newspaper business?"

"Well, I got out of the Army, Ma'am, and like a lot of other guys I was looking for something to do. The paper had an opening, and I figured I could bring what I learned about werewolves to the table. I got lucky, you see; one of the UP wire guys knew me, and he put in a good word. So they hired me, and I started learning from Dave Kozinski. He had the werewolf desk at the paper.” I glanced to my left. Tom was nodding.

Mary was gazing intently at me, listening.

I tore my gaze away from her – damn, those eyes were pretty – and said to Maureen, “Dave taught me a lot, namely how to put together a newspaper story. And he once told me – let me think; ah – ‘Buncha guys think they wanna write about the wolves. Some get scared right off, Walshe, and don't wanna do it no more. Others make wisecracks, an' get the wolves mad, an' I gotta set things right. Others? Too stupid, ten thumbs on a typewriter.’"

Everyone laughed, and I grinned at the memory. I could almost hear his voice. Dave retired a couple years after I got hired on, when he was sure I could handle the job.

“What about the G.I. Bill?” Mary asked, and I turned toward her. “Have you ever gone back to school?”

“I might,” I said. “It’d be useful if something happens to the newspaper.”

Michael got a mischievous look on his face. “Danny’s in the newspaper business, too,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I got a paper route,” the youngest member of the family grumbled.

“And as soon as you graduate, I want you looking for a real job,” his father said sternly.

“What do you do, Mary?” I asked.

She smiled. Pretty smile. “I work at Aronson and Aronson, in the secretary pool.” She shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

“Enough talk,” Maureen said. “I’m sorry, Peter, but your stew’s getting cold.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’d hate to waste it,” and while I finished eating the others either had seconds or finished their own meals. I used part of a roll to clean my bowl.

Damn, that was good stew.

“What do you think about the murder?” Danny piped up as soon as he’d finished his second helping. Tom glared at him before he looked my way.

I smiled. “I didn’t expect to talk shop tonight, but you work for the Journal-American, right?” He nodded but kept a wary eye on his father. “You read it?”

“Just the Wolf Queen,” Michael said quietly.

“Yeah, I read it,” Danny said. He glared at his older brother.

“What are they saying about the murder?” I asked. I knew that they didn’t have a dedicated reporter covering the werewolf beat. Armbruster and I were the only two left in the New York area.

Danny looked a little uncomfortable about being put on the spot. “Well, they’re saying that Mr. Terhune got killed ‘cause the other packs wanted him out – OW!” He rubbed his right ear where his father had smacked him. “I’m only saying what they think happened! Honest!”

“Tom?” I asked, and the elder O’Donovan looked my way. I almost flinched. “I don’t read the Journal-American, but what have you been hearing?”

He blinked and thought for a moment. “It’d be a terrible thing,” he said slowly, “if it were true that another pack had murdered poor Terhune. Reminds me of stories my Gran would tell me, about the old days. But me, well, I’m thinking it could be almost anyone, really. Fellow makes himself that prominent, there’s others might think he’s getting above himself, you see.”

I nodded and caught Mary looking at me again. I smiled at her. “What do you think?”

“I agree with Dad,” she said. She smiled at me, a little shyly.

I turned back to Maureen. “Mrs. O’Donovan, I want to apologize for talking about such a subject after such a wonderful dinner. Could I make it up to you by washing the dishes?”

Tom gave a slight snort of a chuckle, while his wife looked surprised. “Now, there’s a fine guest,” she said happily.

I left my suit jacket hanging on the back of one of the dining room chairs, and Danny and Michael cleared the table and stacked things up while I got the sink ready. My shirt had short sleeves, so that wouldn’t pose a problem. Maureen and Mary put away the leftovers before they retreated to the living room.

Danny was moping a little as he walked over to the sink. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I got told to dry the dishes,” he grumbled.

“Good,” I said. “We can talk while we work,” and I plunged my hands into the hot soapy water. “So, graduating high school?”

“Yeah.” He armed himself with a dish towel. “You sure there aren’t any leads on the murder?”

I started putting clean dishes in the rack, and he waited a few moments before drying them completely. “The police are working on it,” I said, “and there might have been a witness, but he’s disappeared.”

“Dead?”

“I hope not. I hope he’s just hiding out. He’s a werewolf.”

“Oh.” Danny thought for a moment as he industriously dried the dishes. “If he’s hiding, he might be in a tunnel.”

I paused before reaching for the scouring pad. “A tunnel?” I asked as I started scrubbing the pot the stew had been cooked in.

“You don’t read the Wolf Queen?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, she’s got her lair in an old tunnel under the mansion.”

“Mansion?”

He nodded. Needed a haircut soon, I thought. “Yeah. See, the Wolf Queen’s got an alter ego, right? A rich lady, lives in a big mansion on the east side of her city.”

“Not New York?”

“They’re cagey about that.”

I nodded. “Sure, I get it. So when she goes out, she goes down to the tunnel?”

“Yeah.”

Hmm. Out of the mouth of babes, I guess. Cunningham was probably already looking, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell him.

The kitchen door swung open. “Are you two finished?” Mary asked.

“Almost done,” I said. “With the washing, that is.” Danny gave me a sour look, but kept on drying.

“I wanted to know if you might want to take a walk,” she said, making it more of a question than a statement.

“I’d like that,” I said, “very much.” I let the water out of the sink and dried my hands. “Let me finish up here and I’ll get my jacket.”

“Okay.” She went back into the living room. I could hear voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said.

I leaned in close to Danny. “Can you tell me what they’re saying?”

He gave me a sly look. “Dry the pot, and I’ll tell you.”

“A bargain,” and I grabbed a dry towel and started in on it. “Well?”

He cocked his head and listened. “Just telling her to keep an eye on you.”

I chuckled. I’m from an Irish neighborhood, too. If a girl stepped out with a guy, you can bet there would be several pairs of eyes on them at all times to make sure nothing improper happened. “Sort of expected that,” I said as I finished my job. “Thanks, Danny.” We shook hands, and I went to get my jacket.

Mary was wearing a light sweater over her shoulders, and we headed out and started down the road. I noticed that she kept a couple feet between us and I asked, “Do I smell that bad to you?”

She grinned up at me. “No, silly, but any closer and I’ll have your scent on me when I get home. Mom and Dad will ask what we’ve been up to.”

“Makes sense to me,” I said, and reminded myself that I was walking with a werewolf. “You look very pretty.”

“You look handsome. Better than Michael said,” she chuckled. “So,” she said as we walked down the sidewalk, “tell me about yourself.”

“You already heard about what I do for a living, so okay. I got married before I left for Europe – “

“What? I don’t see a ring on your finger.” She gave me a hard look, and sniffed. “And no woman’s scent on you.”

“I was getting to that,” I sighed. “Doris was her name. I went overseas in ’42, and she went to work at a war plant over in Yonkers.” I glanced down at the sidewalk. “There – I was told there was an accident, and – she didn’t make it.”

Mary gave me a sympathetic look. “When?” she asked softly. Somewhere, off in the direction of Little Italy, I could hear a howl. Very melodious.

“Just after Christmas in ’44.” I sighed. “No kids, and I – well, let’s say that I didn’t expect Michael’s invite.”

She sniffed, and I gave her my handkerchief. She waved me off, taking a handkerchief from her purse. Mary dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “I – I had a fiancé,” she finally said. “George.”

I waited.

“His folks told me,” and she paused to blow her nose again, “that he d-died on Luzon. In the Philippines.”

I nodded and we kept on walking as a car pulled out of an intersection a block or two behind us. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Mary nodded, and I really wanted to hold her hand, but . . .

I thought I heard the car speeding up.

Suddenly I was in France again. I grabbed Mary and dove into the nearest alley.

As bullets started ricocheting across the brickwork.

I’m taller than her, so I had her covered up pretty well, and I didn’t feel anything hit me apart from a few chips off the bricks. I pulled away from her, stood up and stuck my head out around the corner.

A late-model sedan was heading down the street. I couldn’t make out the license plate.

But I thought I saw a lupine silhouette.




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