And with that reminder, Josh went back to the tablet he was reading that had access to a database of mismatched files labeled things likeCase File 2549andFairy Declaration Magenta with Pink Sparkles. It wasn’t a database so much as an electronic pile of documents with no organization.
He kept reading.
By late afternoon Stratos joined him. She didn’t greet him but just shot him a bitter look as she sat beside him with a tablet of her own. Three minutes later she’d discovered exactly what he had.
“No organization? Like at all?”
“None that I can see.”
She sighed. “No wonder they need techies.” And that was the last thing they said until evening. At least Wiz brought them both food around six. Stratos got another steak. Josh got thin broth that tasted like exactly what he needed. After the first few sips, he slurped it all down before going back to his latest fascinating read: Case File 1079. Inauspicious title, to be sure, but it was about a team of werewolves tasked with destroying a clay golem. They steadily chomped on the creature’s muddy legs until someone took a swipe at its face and got a hold of the scroll in the thing’s mouth. Once they destroyed the scroll, the golem disintegrated. It was the standard way to disable a clay golem, but clearly these werewolves had no idea. And since the scroll was ripped to pieces and then burned, no one could read the thing and find out exactly what it said or how it had been created.
Idiots.
He made notes for his own reference guide and then pulled up another file. It looked like he’d need to read the entire database before he could start forming theories of his own. And that would take a really, really long time. Especially since there seemed to be a pile of arcane books hidden somewhere that no one had bothered to digitize. And no way in hell was Wiz letting him get access to that.
So he read. A lot. Thankfully he was a speed reader. And he tried to stay pissed off while he was working. It was the only way to avoid the crushing guilt he had for going psycho on Nero’s face. But the more he read, the more he came to respect what Wulf, Inc. was doing. The case files went back to the beginning, when the wolves had first organized. Case number one involved fighting a demon in Salem, Massachusetts, and it made him wonder if there had been something behind the witch trials other than human greed and religious zealotry. Either way, the wolves had taken out a really nasty demon and decided to organize.
Somewhere along the way, they’d run afoul of fairies and ghosts until an intrepid Englishman with mysterious powers decided to forge an accord in the late 1800s. That document was like the first Bill of Rights for magical creatures, or maybe the Constitution, because it set out three branches of weird and their governing bodies. All the case files were built on top of that as each branch policed its own and took out any magical creature that violated the Accord’s principles.
And what was first and foremost under the Accord’s rules? Don’t freak out normal people. Don’t eat them, don’t hurt them, don’t scare them into insanity. A little mumbo jumbo was forgivable, but anything that brought the population to real awareness of the woo-woo was punishable by death, dissolution, or reversion to “before the primordial goo.”
Reading the case files was like reading scripts fromX-FilesorDresden. He didn’t get the full cinematic glory, but his imagination had no problem filling in all sorts of exciting details of heroic combat. And this was real life. Better yet, he was part of it now!
Or he could be. If he chose.
And God, he wanted to say yes. So what if his life had been turned upside down? How else was he going to keep a harpy having a really bad day from destroying a Swiss ski resort? Or barter for some luck from a real leprechaun? It was like stepping into the pages of his favorite books, and the little boy inside his heart was leaping with joy at every new case, every mysterious new adventure.
He managed to hold firm to his indecision until he started reading the most recent case files. All of a sudden the monsters were getting bigger and badder. Casualties started mounting because claws and fangs weren’t enough to defeat bad guys with special abilities. And if they hadn’t known ahead of time about the scroll inside a clay golem’s mouth, then they sure as hell didn’t count on vampiric pumpkins.
Worse were the files featuring Nero and his previous team. They’d been the stars of Wulf, Inc., dispatching demons and banshees with apparent ease. Until ten days ago. And that case file had been the hardest of all to read.
It was after midnight when he finally turned off the tablet. Stratos was still reading, her body posture as intense as when she competed inCS: GOfor a $20,000 prize. Wiz was still here too, his posture relaxed as he turned the pages of something written on vellum that smelled like dead rats.
Josh’s head was swimming, and that was nothing compared to the riot of emotions in his head. Tired of fighting it, he leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep rather than face the guilt, panic, and desire that tumbled about his brain.
He let it all ping-pong through his mind, eventually quieting enough for three words to steadily grow to block letters in his brain.
CALL TO ADVENTURE
Normally he’d leap up and say yes, yes, yes to something like that. But that was in a video game or a novel. It was a thousand times different—and scarier—in real life. He could really die, in really excruciating ways.
His reading had revealed a secret network of werewolf packs who lived normal lives. In fact, this estate was perched right next to one. He didn’t have to stay under the auspices of Wulf, Inc. to thrive as a werewolf. Hell, he could finish his PhD and teach at nearby Hope College if he wanted a nice, sane normal life. Or he could join the fight against dragons, demons, and the random bitter shapeshifter.
He let that question bounce around his brain for a while. He fell asleep before he had an answer, and his dreams took up the quest. Nightmare after nightmare had him dying by some monster’s acid-throwing power or morphing into a putrefied goo that ate Savannah.
It sucked, and it terrified him. And by morning, it solidified exactly what he was going to do.
JOSH’S NOSEtwitched. He smelled food, and his stomach grumbled in need. He was still in the library, and the smell came from a thick, fluffy omelet currently being consumed by Wiz with refined zeal. Josh watched the man’s long fingers cut precise bites, and Wiz grinned as he read the hunger off of Josh’s face.
“Want some?” he drawled.
“Yeah.”
“Too bad. This is mine.”
Dickhead.
“Good news is Nero woke up a couple hours ago. His face is fixed, and he said all is forgiven. So you’re off my leash and can make your own food. Just try to puke into a toilet this time.”
