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On the Fifth Day of Fiction
My pusher gave to me
Werewolves in a happy ending
Siul a ruhn the last of the gay Christmas Werewolf saga is available now.
~~~
I wasn't surprised when the phone rang and a Massachusetts number showed up on the caller ID.
Things had been pretty quiet since we stopped the world from ending on the solstice up in
Arkham last winter. Dan and our friends Corin and Cian did most of the work. Me? I stayed out
of the way and ripped the throat out of anything that tried to hurt my beta and our friends.
Afterward, we'd had Christmas and our birthday. Corin, Dan, and I, like all werewolves, shared a birthday: December the twenty-fifth. It had been good to see and celebrate with our friends.
All the same, I was glad to get home after the trip and busy myself with my quiet, ordinary life. I
had a big project, a new office building to draft. Dan was busy finishing and then editing his
book on Thoreau and outlining the one on Whitman.
We stayed in touch with Corin Faw, Irish werewolf of the genus “grumpy,” and his half-Sidhe
mate, Cian O'Brian. They hadn't moved from Arkham yet. I worried about them, living up there
in legend-haunted, witch-cursed Arkham, running Miska-Tonics, an herb and teashop. They
weren't young by any measure and they sounded older every time we talked to them.
“Hello, pups, did you see the news?” Today, Cian sounded almost as perky as he had the day we
met in Memphis. I'd been rude to the half-Sidhe then, snarling around his shop and growling like
we were on my territory instead of Dan's. Cian had been unfailingly gracious and turned out to
be one of the best friends we had.
“Yeah,” said Dan from the bedroom. I imagined him sprawled on the waterbed, his shirt off and
his bare feet in the air. He was supposed to be editing the galley proofs he'd had for a week.
“And it's very good news. You two still up for that visit in September?” We'd planned to marry
last Christmas, which was also our birthday, after that exhausting bout of saving the world.
However, cultists of the Elder Gods had nothing on old discrimination laws. Massachusetts did
not marry couples whose marriage would not be legal in their home state.
“Hope you're ready to stand up with us,” I added from the kitchen extension. Massachusetts had
finally overturned the old statute and it was time to take their friends up on the offer. Time for
them all to move on as well, past loss of grandfathers and packs, past the nightmares of cities
filled with non-Euclidean angles and slimy horrors, even past the risks of everyday life being out
in Racine, Wisconsin.
“Only if you will do us the same favor,” growled Corin. I knew he was on the apartment
extension on the Massachusetts end. The old werewolf seldom ventured down into his mate's
shop these days, Dan said. His knees complained when he did and his wounds from the battle
ached a lot and made him seem even older. Werewolves are long-lived, but mortal, while the
Sidhe are as deathless as they are soulless. I had no idea of Corin's true age, but I suspected it
was over a hundred.
“You aren't married yet?” I teased. “And you two were so gung-ho for a Christmas wedding.”
“Never got to it,” Cian mumbled. I could almost hear his blush.
Werewolves in a happy ending
Siul a ruhn the last of the gay Christmas Werewolf saga is available now.
~~~
I wasn't surprised when the phone rang and a Massachusetts number showed up on the caller ID.
Things had been pretty quiet since we stopped the world from ending on the solstice up in
Arkham last winter. Dan and our friends Corin and Cian did most of the work. Me? I stayed out
of the way and ripped the throat out of anything that tried to hurt my beta and our friends.
Afterward, we'd had Christmas and our birthday. Corin, Dan, and I, like all werewolves, shared a birthday: December the twenty-fifth. It had been good to see and celebrate with our friends.
All the same, I was glad to get home after the trip and busy myself with my quiet, ordinary life. I
had a big project, a new office building to draft. Dan was busy finishing and then editing his
book on Thoreau and outlining the one on Whitman.
We stayed in touch with Corin Faw, Irish werewolf of the genus “grumpy,” and his half-Sidhe
mate, Cian O'Brian. They hadn't moved from Arkham yet. I worried about them, living up there
in legend-haunted, witch-cursed Arkham, running Miska-Tonics, an herb and teashop. They
weren't young by any measure and they sounded older every time we talked to them.
“Hello, pups, did you see the news?” Today, Cian sounded almost as perky as he had the day we
met in Memphis. I'd been rude to the half-Sidhe then, snarling around his shop and growling like
we were on my territory instead of Dan's. Cian had been unfailingly gracious and turned out to
be one of the best friends we had.
“Yeah,” said Dan from the bedroom. I imagined him sprawled on the waterbed, his shirt off and
his bare feet in the air. He was supposed to be editing the galley proofs he'd had for a week.
“And it's very good news. You two still up for that visit in September?” We'd planned to marry
last Christmas, which was also our birthday, after that exhausting bout of saving the world.
However, cultists of the Elder Gods had nothing on old discrimination laws. Massachusetts did
not marry couples whose marriage would not be legal in their home state.
“Hope you're ready to stand up with us,” I added from the kitchen extension. Massachusetts had
finally overturned the old statute and it was time to take their friends up on the offer. Time for
them all to move on as well, past loss of grandfathers and packs, past the nightmares of cities
filled with non-Euclidean angles and slimy horrors, even past the risks of everyday life being out
in Racine, Wisconsin.
“Only if you will do us the same favor,” growled Corin. I knew he was on the apartment
extension on the Massachusetts end. The old werewolf seldom ventured down into his mate's
shop these days, Dan said. His knees complained when he did and his wounds from the battle
ached a lot and made him seem even older. Werewolves are long-lived, but mortal, while the
Sidhe are as deathless as they are soulless. I had no idea of Corin's true age, but I suspected it
was over a hundred.
“You aren't married yet?” I teased. “And you two were so gung-ho for a Christmas wedding.”
“Never got to it,” Cian mumbled. I could almost hear his blush.