Barry Longyear: L.A. in L.A.

Ben and his two smoking companions came in from the front. “Hey, what gives? Lyle or someone was supposed to come and get me to sit on Ralph, right? I just saw Lyle going ninety plus across Alameda. He’s lucky he wasn’t killed.”

The laughter died down as Ben’s comment sobered them a bit. Allyson cocked her head to one side and said, “It’s my fault. I got a little deep into the part and bit his hand.”

“You bit his hand?” demanded Dr. Raeder.

“Just a little nip. I didn’t draw blood or anything with these rubber teeth.” They all stood in silence for a moment, then one of them made a rude sound by letting the air out of his pneumatic muscles. They all broke down and laughed as they howled and began removing their makeup. It was the best psych department April fool’s prank ever.

Out of breath, Lyle leaned his back against the alley wall and gulped air. After only a few seconds, he looked around the corner and saw that the street was empty. “Oh, god,” he gasped. “Oh, god.”

There was a tightness in his chest and shoulders, and he pushed away from the wall to shake it out. As he crossed his arms in front of him, he could hear the seam on the back of his shirt split. He looked down and watched in horror as the hair on the backs of his arms lengthened.

“What? Oh, god! No! It couldn’t—” He shook his head as he thought at panic speed. That woman, Allyson, had bitten him, but she hadn’t broken the skin. How—

He looked down at the hand that Allyson had bitten, hair already covering the spot, skin a darkening purple in the dim alley light, the nails already beginning their metamorphosis to claws. She hadn’t broken the skin, but he had sucked on his hand immediately afterward.

“The saliva! Omigod! The saliva!” The sleeve seams split one after another and Lyle felt himself filled with savage power, physical strength beyond anything he could have ever imagined, cravings and lusts that seemed to blot out portions of his awareness. His chest expanded as his thighs and upper arms thickened. He lifted his clawed hands and felt the shape of a muzzle erupting from his face.

“Hey, who’s that? Look here, Pauly.”

A young man with a blue printed bandanna covering his curly black hair stood in the alley entrance, his face hidden by shadows cast by the street lights. Lyle saw him and felt an eerie heat fill his chest as his heart pumped energy to his growing musculature.

“What you got here?” said the one called Pauly. He carried a wicked looking stiletto in his hand.

As the pair advanced on him, Lyle could see his immediate future very clearly. It would involve a lot of late nights, demands, and sacrifices that would probably savage his grade point average, but there was the excitement, the high, the incredible thrill waiting for him. Now he knew why Ralph had been drooling as Allyson related her war stories at the meeting. It was, Lyle knew, the first step on a walk through hell. It was a journey, however, that would not be denied.

Deep within his soul there remained a tiny human spark that spoke to him with fear. Perhaps there would come a time when the pain of the night hunt would exceed the sick thrill and excitement. Possibly then, when enough was enough, he would want help from those people at Lycanthropics Anonymous. He nodded his shaggy head as he felt the drool fall on the backs of his bristly paws. As soon as he was finished with Pauly and his friend, he’d have to go to Dr. Raeder’s home and get his copy of the meeting list. He’d have to go to Dr. Raeder’s house in any event. He could already tell that the pair facing him in the alley would never be enough.