An Apple for the Creature

harmed, when he heard another voice.

“Stop this,” Patricia commanded, a sudden strength in her voice that had not been evident before.

Marlowe jumped to his feet, moving back toward the kennel cages, the dogs within them still carrying on. The Bad Hour hung above him like a frozen wave of oil, its master’s command halting it in mid-attack.

The demonic entity spun angrily in the air, turning its fluid mass to confront the old woman.

“No more,” she said with a shake of her head. “This is done now. . . . We’re not going to hurt anybody else.”

The Bad Hour again transformed itself into the injured Petey, but Patricia looked away.

“Don’t show me that anymore,” she said. “Petey is gone, and as much as that hurts me to admit, nothing’s going to bring him back.”

The Bad Hour did not care to hear this, swirling around the older woman, trying to get her to look at it, trying to get her to reconsider her words.

But Patricia refused.

“I’m done with this,” she said. “Done with feeling this way . . . done with all the violence that my pain has caused. . . .”

The Bad Hour’s roar was deafening as it gripped the old woman in hands crafted in shadow.

“I’m done with you,” she said, looking into the bottomless hollows of its empty eyes.

Something seemed to pass between them, a conversation not meant for anyone else.

“I know there’s a price to pay,” the old woman said, still looking into its churning face. “I knew that when I called you to me, and it was a price I was willing to pay.

“And one that I’m still ready to pay to send you back to the Hell that I summoned you from.”

The Bad Hour roared once again, feeding upon the anger exuded by the older woman that had caused it to grow larger, and larger still. It held her in its nightmarish grasp as a terrible mouth formed upon its indistinct shape and it lowered itself down onto her, swallowing her up in one tremendous bite.

The thing of darkness hovered there above the kennel floor, digesting its latest meal.

Remy watched the shapeless thing, curious as to whether or not its hunger had been sated. The demon surged toward him with a thunderous growl, and a rush of air, but Remy stood his ground, still managing to keep the angelic power inside him under control.

The Bad Hour kept its distance, as if the glow of Heavenly fire radiating from Remy made it reconsider what it might do.

Then the revenge-fueled beast suddenly turned its amorphous head to one side, and with a sound akin to a chuckling laugh, the undulating mass of darkness seemed to collapse in upon itself until only the tiniest dot of the deepest black remained.

And that was soon gone as well.

Confident that he could now control it completely, Remy pulled back upon his angelic nature, quickly returning to his human guise, and checked on the health of the dog trainer. Her pulse was steady, and she didn’t appear to be physically injured in any way, but she moaned in the grip of delirium, repeating the words I’m sorry over and over again.

The dogs in the kennel had ceased their barking, as if sensing that the danger had passed, and Remy turned to see Marlowe cowering in the corner by the open back door as if preparing to flee.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Bad dog,” Marlowe said, hanging his head in shame.

“Why are you a bad dog?”

“Not listen,” Marlowe said. “Remy told Marlowe to stay . . . good dogs stay.”

Remy smiled, raising his hand to motion the dog to come to him.

“You’re not a bad dog,” Remy told the Labrador as he came, muscular tail wagging crazily. “You’re a very good dog.”

“No more school?” the dog asked.

“No more school,” Remy repeated with a laugh, the dog lovingly licking at his face and ears.

As only a good dog could.

Pirate Dave and the Captain’s Ghost TONI L. P. KELNER

Toni L. P. Kelner coedits urban fantasy anthologies with Charlaine Harris—including the one in your hands right now. She is also the author of the “Where are they now?” mysteries and the Laura Fleming mysteries. Kelner was awarded a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for the Laura Fleming series, and an Agatha for Best Short Story. She’s also been nominated for the Anthony, the Macavity, and the Derringer awards. You can find more of her bragging on Facebook, on Twitter, and at www.tonilpkelner.com. “Pirate Dave and the Captain’s Ghost,” her contribution to this anthology, is the second short story featuring Joyce and her beau, Pirate Dave. “Pirate Dave’s Haunted Amusement Park” was published in the Harris/Kelner anthology Death’s Excellent Vacation.

“Hello?” I said into my phone. “Is that Pirate Dave, the hottest vampire to ever sail the seven seas?”

“Arrrr!” he growled in reply, which was a lot sexier than you might think. Or maybe growls are just more appealing to werewolves.

We indulged in a few moments of witty banter, then David said, “Not that I’m not delighted to hear your voice, Joyce, but I thought the full-moon run was tonight.”

“I went out for a while but the weather isn’t that great.” Before he could remember that the chance to run with other werewolves had been the part of the seminar I’d most been looking forward to, I said, “Have you looked over that list of ideas for the park?”

Our home and business was Pirate Dave’s Adventure Cove, an amusement park in Bartholomew Lake, New Hampshire. I adored the place, but it needed major updating to bring in more business. With the park closed for the winter, David and I had had plenty of time to discuss options. Unfortunately, those discussions could be awfully loud—fortunately, the makeup sex was worth it.

“I’m not docking the Brazen Mermaid,” he said flatly.

“Look at the numbers. When you add up insurance, maintenance, and operation costs, and compare that to how many guests actually ride—”

“How can we have a Pirate Dave without a Brazen Mermaid? It’s the park centerpiece. It’s on our logo!”

I sighed. “Fine. But check out my other ideas, okay?”

“I will. Tell me, how have you been getting along with the other wolves?”

“Good. Great. Making lots of friends. And today I found out how I became a werewolf.”

“Didn’t we already know that? You were bitten.”

“Yes, but it turns out that only people with were blood can Change after being bitten. Vanilla humans aren’t affected. Well, other than blood loss, scarring, and a newfound fear of canines, of course. But if the bitee has enough werewolf in the family tree, his or her body will try to Change at the next full moon.” I didn’t mention what happened if the person didn’t have enough were blood—the slideshow had been pretty gruesome.

“Then you have werewolf kin?”

“I guess so. I should find out where it came from.” My parents were dead, but there was a family Bible and other records.

David paused just long enough to be significant before asking, “Would finding your ancestry link you to a pack?”

“God, no! I’m still footloose and fancy-free.”

“Ahem.”

“From the werewolf perspective, that is. No pack affiliation.”