Mickey peeks from behind the man’s legs, and Harold finally realizes we’re still standing on his porch. He ushers me in, and I’m greeted by two paws on my chest and a happy dog right in front of my face. I give the rowdy Rottweiler a scratch behind his ears while he tries to lick the coffee cup in my hand.
“Down boy,” Harold says.
Dutifully, Mickey climbs down on all fours and follows us into a spacious living room, which is clean and sterile. Cold, almost soulless.
I drop my bag on the coffee table.
Harold looks at the bag, his eyes narrow for a nanosecond. I flash him a soft, sugary smile. “I hope you don't mind if I make this the checkup area.”
His smile stretches wide, teeth showing, as he nods. He sits down on the couch and takes a sip of his coffee. I set mine down on the table.
Harold's eyes follow my movements, but I ignore him. I sit down on the other leather couch and pat beside me, lookingexpectantly at Mickey. He whines but doesn't come up. I look at Harold, mentally grinding my teeth.
He’s sipping his coffee comfortably. Doesn’t look like he intends to make things easy for me. So I kneel on the floor and get to work.
Mickey doesn't really need a checkup. He is healthy as can be, which is surprising considering his owner’s track record with living beings.
Harold's eyes track my every movement. It feels instinctive, like he’s so used to being on edge, he doesn't even realize he's doing it. I wouldn’t have noticed the scrutiny if I didn't know what he did. What he was.
He takes another sip and places the cup on the table.
I pause my inspection of Mickey’s coat and pick my cup off the table to take a small sip. “Everything looks good. I’ll just take a few more minutes, then you can bring him to the clinic in a few days,” I tell him.
He nods and grabs the cup again, taking a few more sips. I drop my cup back down to check Mickey’s eyes.
This time, when Harold sets the cup back on the table, it sounds empty.
I carry on with my work in silence. Too tired to make conversation. It’s not like I’ll be meeting Harold ever again anyway. Besides, he doesn’t really deserve the common courtesy of small talk.
“On second thought, I don't think you'll need to come to the clinic,” I say after ten minutes.
Harold tilts his head, frowning. “You said the annual check-up needs—” he stops when his body starts trembling with violent shakes. The couch rattles against the wall as his body jerks.
I pat Mickey to keep him calm. He doesn’t seem too bothered, though. Maybe he belonged to Harold’s wife and wasn’t too fond of his new dad. Well, I’m here for the rescue.
I pull out a treat that I know he loves and offer it to him. He munches away, watching Harold crumble.
Once the wave of confusion is gone, Harold's eyes narrowat me. “What is happening to me?” he demands.
I smile. “We don’t need you for the checkup, so you can carry on,” I wave him off. He looks confused for a second before his expression morphs into rage.
“What the fuck, you little bitch?” His voice comes out low.
“Honestly? Not at all surprised it took you just one drink to show your true colors. Sure, it was poisoned, butjeez, man. Where did all those manners go?”
“I will kill you,” Harold shouts, his voice turning unnaturally growly, his features becoming sharp. Suddenly, with a loud snap, his nails turn into claws.
He pushes his palm against the couch to stand up, but falls right back down, then slides to the floor.
I keep patting Mickey while he pants at me. Harold’s hands move around desperately, clawing at the floor, then the table.
I stand. Mickey whines at the loss of attention. “Come here, boy.” I walk him over to the other side of the room. Why should he suffer through watching this? He didn't choose his human.
Well, ‘human’ is a stretch.
“What did you do to me?” Harold yells.
“Oh, nothing, it's just a little bit of Valmeron with some Myocardiner that makes a werewolf gopoof. Doesn’t do much to humans, but surprisingly lethal to werewolves. The research was a bitch, by the way, so you better appreciate it. It’ll only paralyze you, then make you die of a heart attack. Neat, right?”
