A Holiday of Roses - Part 3

Author's Note: This is a short story based on the characters established in my current "work in progress" novel, Belly Full of Roses. The events in this story take place about ten years prior to Belly Full of Roses. If you like urban fantasy, werewolves, and shows like The X-Files or Supernatural, I think you'll enjoy these characters. Make sure to read part 1 and part 2 here, and as always, thank you for reading!

Baylin took back his previous thought about the gas station looking like a murder den. Sure, there had been a Wolf inside who actually murdered people, but at the time, Baylin hadn’t had the benefit of comparison to the serial killer boarding house they were currently checking into. The motel’s log cabin façade looked cozy from a distance, but the closer they got to the lobby doors, the more finer details began to pop like some bizarre, horror-themed Monet painting. Cracked window panes caked with an unidentifiable rusty grime adorned the rooms, and some of the doors hung crooked on their frames, unable to fully shut. The lobby itself was so dimly lit that the atmosphere could have bordered on romantic if not for the odd, musty-yet-acidic odor that punched Baylin in the face as he walked through the door.

“You sure we shouldn’t just sleep in the van?” he whispered to Valerie as she approached the lobby counter. “This looks like the kind of place where you wake up with seven new diseases and your kidney missing.”

She glared at him as if that was the most idiotic thing she’d ever heard. “If you want to spend all night in a tin can with your stomach crawling out your mouth, be my guest.”

Point taken. Baylin had barely managed to keep his guts in check during the last couple of hours stuck in the van with that Wolf—sleeping a full night in close proximity was out of the question. But if they were spending the night in the motel, who would be keeping an eye on their captive? Baylin opened his mouth to ask, but Valerie held up a finger and gave him a warning look before shifting her attention to the man at the front desk.

“We need a room for the night,” she said. Her demands were delivered with no smiles and all business.

The man stared at them. He looked at Valerie first then turned his gaze to Baylin, his eyes traveling uncomfortably slow over Baylin’s body. He sucked his teeth. “Maybe we’re all booked up.”

All the muscles in Valerie’s body tensed, and Baylin watched as her mouth faded into a tight, thin line. Oh, no. This won’t end well.

“Let’s get something straight, you greasy—” she began, leaning over the counter to meet the man face to face.

“What my sister means is,” Baylin interrupted, giving Valerie a hip check to knock her out of her focused rage. “That is disappointing. You see, she loves myna birds, and we plotted our whole route just to stay here at the Myna Bird Inn. Hey, is that your bird, there?”

He could just make out a birdcage in the corner behind the man. That would explain the heavy odor of the place. If the state of the rest of the grounds was any indication, he doubted the birdcage got much attention in the way of regular cleanings.

The man nodded and puffed out his chest. Bingo. This was far from Baylin’s first discriminatory encounter, and he’d learned a thing or two when it came to navigating a sticky situation. Mainly that people like to talk about their passions, or themselves—in most cases, the two overlapped. The trick was to find that magical talking point and then exploit it, really kill ‘em with kindness. As opposed to Valerie’s method, which was to just kill them.

“Yup,” the man drawled, then called over his shoulder, “Darla, give our guests a hello!”

The air erupted into a flurry of feathers as a black bird emerged from the cage and alighted on the man’s shoulder. It tilted its yellow crested head and surveyed them with one scrutinizing eye before opening its beak.

“Hello, darlings,” it said in the perfect imitation of a woman’s voice. “I made you tea and cucumber sandwiches!”

Baylin suppressed a shiver and plastered the brightest smile he could muster across his face. “Wow, so impressive.” Talking birds were creepy as hell.

The bird giggled in a child’s voice, then said, “Naughty fellows get sent to the hollow. See my jars of teeth? The cat goes, meeeeeow!”

Well, if that didn’t top off the nightmare fuel tank, Baylin wasn’t sure what would.

“Ha!” the man laughed. “It’s nice to meet people who appreciate Darla. She’s a pretty bird.” He turned to the wall behind him and plucked an oversized red key fob from one of the many hooks and slammed it down on the counter. “You can use room five. Don’t expect tea and sandwiches; Darla is a liar.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” Baylin linked his arm through Valerie’s and gently led her back towards the door. She was still rigid, her entire body set like a hair trigger, ready to explode at the slightest infraction.

As they stepped out of the lobby, a wolf-whistle cut through the air behind them. “Nice ass, sweet tits,” said a gruff voice.

Valerie turned back slowly to meet the man, her eyes like flames. He shrugged and cocked his head to the side.

“That’s all Darla,” he said, and grinned. The bird, still perched on his shoulder, innocently stared into space.

Valerie seethed. “I swear I will wring that chicken’s neck—”

Baylin dealt a swift kick to his sister’s shin and pulled her back out into the flurry of snow. “Read the room, Val!” he hissed. “Don’t give them more of a reason to murder us in our sleep.”

~

The answer to how to handle the Wolf in their van overnight was rotating watch shifts. Valerie took the first shift and Baylin handled the midnight babysitting—Wolfsitting?

He was grateful for the few hours of rest, regardless of the inevitability of a bed bug infestation; surely his clothes would need to be incinerated after this trip. But even with the reprieve of sleep, Baylin’s body was revolting against him the closer he got to the van.

Valerie shoved open the driver’s door, the hinges complaining against the cold. “Don’t talk to it,” she said as she stepped down into the snow.

Baylin was too tired to defend himself against her unspoken accusation, so he rolled his eyes instead. She pressed a handgun into his palm as she passed him and trudged through the snow toward their room. “See you in three hours,” she called over her shoulder.

The next three hours would undoubtedly be hell.

The cabin of the vehicle was surprisingly cold, and Baylin’s breath fogged up before him as he settled into the driver’s seat and closed the door. His stomach flipped as he glanced into the back of the van.

Donny was huddled at the back of the cargo hold, his legs pulled up against his belly and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. The thin fabric of his t-shirt was obviously not up to the task of conserving body heat, and Baylin could see goosebumps prickling the man’s exposed arms.

“She didn’t turn on the heat?” Baylin asked.

“N-n-n-o,” Donny stuttered through chattering teeth.

It seemed a little unnecessary for Valerie to freeze the guy in addition to incapacitating him with her Wolf control. Baylin started the van and set the heaters to high. “Well, I’m cold, so…”

It was only two minutes before the “no talking” rule got old. Technically, Baylin reasoned, he’d already broken it, and because of that, all bets were off. Besides, three hours with nothing to focus on besides the welling unease in his stomach did not sound appealing.

“If you were so cold,” Baylin began, watching Donny as he moved closer to the path of hot air blasting from the heater vents. “Why didn’t you just, you know, wolf-out? You’d probably be warmer.”

Donny flexed his fingers as if coaxing the blood to flow through them. “I don’t like to do that,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on his hands.

Baylin chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered this. A Wolf that didn’t like being a wolf contradicted everything he’d been taught. Wolves were bloodthirsty creatures hell-bent on one thing—killing and eating people. The scar on his leg was proof enough that that was true. Baylin shuddered and pushed the half-memories of the night he nearly died deep into his subconscious.

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

The question surprised Baylin and he stared at Donny as if he’d sprouted an extra set of eyes. Hadn’t he figured it out? Donny was the Christmas entertainment. All the tributes the family members gathered would be hunted, with one “lucky” tribute selected as the trophy. That was the prize everyone wanted—the Wolf that would be stuffed and mounted to be displayed in the great hall of the main lodge, complete with commemoration to the person who bagged it. It was one of the greatest honors of the Rose family traditions.

Donny continued, a level of brightness returning to his voice. “I got my niece a DVD box set of all John Hughes’ movies. I have a whole Christmas day movie marathon planned. Do you think she’ll like that?”

“I—I don’t know.” What was he supposed to say to that? This guy had a family, and plans, and here they were kidnapping him for a bit of holiday sport. That didn’t seem right. “Donny,” Baylin said softly. “You know you’re probably not coming back from this.”

The truth felt wrong as he said it, but Baylin didn’t know what else to do. It seemed worse to placate him and act like that movie marathon was still a thing that could happen.

“Oh, I know.” Donny sighed, but still managed to conjure up a lopsided smile. “But I just like to be a positive person. Think about the good things!”

That punched Baylin in the gut and now his stomach lurched for a whole other host of reasons. Was he a terrible person for doing this?

A knock at the window exploded into his ear and Baylin startled from his thoughts. He turned to see the myna bird man glowering at him through the glass. Baylin’s heart quickened into a steady cadence of panic. If this guy saw Donny locked up in the back, he’d surely call the police. That was a situation Baylin couldn’t talk his way out of; you can’t kill a cop with kindness.

His mind flailed for a reasonable explanation as to why there was a strange man without winter gear shoved into the back of his sister’s van. Baylin slowly rolled down the window.

“Good eve—er, morning.” Baylin forced a smile onto his face. “Can I help you?”

The myna bird man sniffed. “What’re doing out here with your engine running?”

“Right, that. I was, um, keeping my—” Baylin cast about for the right lie when he heard a soft rustling and caught the movement of fur out of the corner of his eye. Instinctually, he flinched and felt his voice slip an octave higher as he rolled with the presented opportunity. “I was keeping my dog company. You know, no pets in the rooms.”

The man sneered and craned his neck to look behind Baylin and into the cargo hold of the van. Golden eyes and a small mountain of bright, ruddy fur looked back at him.

“Hmmm.” The man nodded and stepped back, apparently satisfied with the explanation. “You mind your gas consumption; there ain’t another gas station around here for a while.”

“I appreciate the advice.” Baylin gave a little wave to the guy as he ambled off to who knows what late-night activity weird bird enthusiasts do. “Thanks for that,” Baylin said to Donny and turned off the ignition.

The red wolf slowly wagged his tail, then turned in three circles before lying down and curling into a tight mound of fur.