Hard and fast.
Like I said, I got sent to the principal a lot, and he didn't always lock the door. Grown-ups could be stupid, too. Which was why skipping class and zero tolerance for violence were a little less zero for me. Principal Johnson was good with the excuses for the school board, and Ms. Finkelstein, the secretary, handed candy out to me like she was trying to make me diabetic.
I was hungry and getting hungrier - one lunch was never enough for me. My family . . . we liked to eat. I pulled one of Ms. Finkelstein's Tootsie Rolls out of my pocket and chewed on it while I nudged Jed with my sneaker. He was still breathing. That was good. He mumbled and started to twitch, his arms moving and hands digging at the dirt. I smacked him again with the bat at the base of the skull. A tap this time . . . just enough to do the job. Then I untied the dog. It had tags that said it lived and was loved only about five blocks from the woods. It knew its way home. First it dropped and bared a submissive stomach. I rubbed it lightly, washed off the paint thinner with snow, then let it jump up. I smiled as it bounded off homeward. I did like dogs . . . yapping, jumping, leg humping. It didn't matter. All dogs were good dogs.
I duct taped Jed's ankles, wrists, and mouth before waiting until long after dark to carry him through the woods. I didn't want to leave drag marks, and I scuffed my feet and doubled back enough times that no one could've made heads or tails of our trail. Jed was easy enough to haul even though he weighed more than me. Really easy. Shit floats. I guess ass**les did, too. He woke up again. I was almost home, so I let him stay awake. He moaned, snarled, and tried to yell under the tape. That was Jed for you. A complainer. Bitch, bitch, bitch.
And dumb as a box of rocks. I'd given him every chance and he'd never taken one of them.
Our house was only a mile or two from the woods at the end of our long gravel lane. The nearest neighbor was half a mile away. It was nice. Quiet. Private.
Really private.
"They'll find your bike in the creek," I said to the struggling Jed. "They'll think you drowned. Think your body got wedged under somewhere. Who knows? Maybe it took you all the way to the river. Everyone will pretend to be sad." I looked back at him and smiled. "But no one will be."
Christmas Eve. I pulled Jed through the door into the blinking lights of the Christmas tree, the stockings on the mantel, the milk and cookies sat oh so carefully on the table. Tessa had left out milk and cookies for three years now. Third time's the charm.
Mom and Dad sat waiting on the couch for me. It was almost eleven - close to Christmas. Close enough. Tess would've long gone to bed. "That's where you've been." Mom shook her head affectionately. Boys will be boys.
"Anyone see you?" Dad demanded bluntly. "Any trouble?"
"Come on, Dad, you taught me better than that." I dumped Jed at the bottom of the fireplace before going to my room. I opened my closet door and rummaged through softball mitts, balls, games I'd outgrown but never thrown away until I found it buried in a corner: the polished skull. It had been pretty stinky for quite a while, but it wasn't the kind of stink my kind minded. I pulled the dusty red cap with the pom-pom off of it and shook it out, trying not to sneeze. These were the only things left. The reindeer venison was long gone. Around the base of the skull were handfuls of white hair, once curly and soft, now wiry and sparse. It didn't matter. It'd work. I also picked up a tattered white trimmed red jacket. At the last I grabbed the glue from my desk and went back to the living room.
"You're a good brother." Mom smiled, pleased.
"Yeah, yeah." I ducked my head in embarrassment as I jammed the Santa hat on Jed's head, draped the red jacket over the top of him, and glued the hair to his chin and jaws. He wasn't too helpful there, whipping his head back and forth. But I got the job done. I even pinned Mary Francesca's Santa pin to the jacket. It was the perfect touch.
Hungry, hungry, hungry, but he wasn't for me.
I picked up three cookies, ripped the tape off his mouth, and jammed them in there before he could get a word or a scream out. He turned slightly blue as he choked and coughed. I thought it'd keep his mouth shut long enough.
"Tess," I yelled. "Come on. Hurry up. He's here!"
After a second there was the sound of feet in footie pajamas hitting the floor and she came flying out, eyes as wide as they possibly could be when she spotted Jed. "Santa! Santa! I asked you to come and you're here! You're here!"
Six years ago I saw Santa. Seven years ago I'd made my first kill. It soured me on Christmas when I realized there wouldn't be any more Santas. No more surprises from the chimney. I'd finished that job. Kids, you don't realize how permanent things are. I was sorry afterward. Sorry I hadn't waited for my little sister to be old enough to join in on the fun. Sorry she could never have the thrill I'd had.
I watched as my little sister grinned big as her pajamas tore away and her skin twitched until fur rippled over her twisting, changing body from muzzle to tail. Her pumpkin orange eyes bright with Christmas spirit as her teeth were suddenly bright with something else as she tore into her present.
Mary Francesca's pin went flying. Wolves were Orthodox. We did only date our own kind. It was too bad. She was cute.
On the couch a buff-colored wolf tucked her head under the jaw of a larger black one. Their eyes were brilliant with pride and affection and the spirit of the holiday. Their baby's first kill. It was always special. I rested my muzzle on my paws and watched as Christmas came back to me.
Mom said Christmas wasn't in presents and trees, glitter and bows. She said it was in your heart and so was Santa if you want him to be. If I really wanted him, I could find him again.
Mom was right. Christmas was in your heart. And Santa was everywhere. If you only knew where to look.
Chapter Fourteen
Keeping Watch Over His Flock
Toni L. P. Kelner
Toni L. P. Kelner is the author of nine mystery novels and numerous short stories, including the Agatha Award-winning "Sleeping with the Plush." Though she's written about carnivals, fan conventions, high school pranksters, circuses, family reunions, vampires, and lingerie shops, this is her first werewolf story. Her personal pack includes her husband, fellow author Stephen P. Kelner; two daughters; and two guinea pigs. Unfortunately, none of them recognizes her status as top dog.
Maybe half the members of the pack were in wolf form, with the others still human, and Jake wasn't sure which he would rather look at - the bared teeth or the stern frowns. So instead he aimed his answers at the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights. There was something unreal about having his whole life decided in front of a Christmas tree, but that's what happened when you broke virtually all of a werewolf pack's rules on Christmas Eve.