IT TOOK Josh two hours to get all his pyrotechnics set right. He went through them twice for his own peace of mind, then again for the hotel manager. Everything was perfect, and his belly was tight with excitement. After a year of planning, this was going to be amazing. He was going to step on stage as a drunk wizard throwing mismatched spells everywhere. But then, when the master of ceremonies tried to throw him out, he would disappear in a burst of multicolored flames.
Thanks to the low balance in his bank account, planning this had been his entertainment for the past year. He’d spent nights dreaming about this glorious moment and days searching for the cheapest, best way to do it. Some might think it lame, but he’d rather spend his time figuring out how to safely blow up a stage than binge-watch the latest Netflix offering.
He was setting his wizard’s staff behind the curtain, stage right, when a deep voice interrupted him going through his mental checklist for the billionth time.
“Josh?”
A shiver went down his spine at the resonant sound of his name. It was the kind of voice used by grand wizards in video games or old trees dispensing wisdom. It silenced every random thought in his head so he could listen, and he quickly turned around to find the source. In so doing he nearly collided with a stripper warrior and Doctor Strange.
They were in costume, obviously, and he really hoped the mesmerizing voice was from the Benedict Cumberbatch wannabe. It would fit with the wizard costume. But even so, his gaze was caught and held by the warrior guy.
The man was huge, as in mountainous. He wore a simple leather vest, no doubt to show off those ripped abs, and surprisingly good quality tearaway pants, hence the “stripper” tag. His face wasn’t model-beautiful, but there was a craggy beauty to it. Hard jaw, slight scruff of a beard, and a sharp cut of a Roman nose. Truthfully, he would have fit better in a Trojan skirt with a sword, but Josh wasn’t quibbling. Honestly, he wanted to get a look at the guy’s legs.
Then there were those eyes. Technically they were brown, but the coolest brown he’d ever seen. There was red and yellow there, and rich, dark mink. Like a hawk’s eyes or a lion’s. Maybe a werewolf from some movie. He got momentarily lost in them, trying to see if they were real or contact lenses.
“Josh Collier?”
Okay, so Warrior Guy was the one with the voice. Sweet. “Next time go for the Roman centurion look. You’ve got the shoulders for a cape, and stripper pants cheapen the look.” Josh grinned. “Besides, skirts are better advertisements anyway.”
He might be new to his own sexual orientation, but he’d learned the lingo at his first con. No one judged preferences here, and the dirty jokes usually worked for any orientation.
But clearly the warrior wasn’t used to conventions, because he blinked in confusion. Eventually he stammered out a “Wh-what? No!” He looked down at his pants. “Not stripping.”
Josh shrugged. “I’m not judging. Well, I guess I am, but just of your costume choice. Hey, if you’ve got the build, I say flaunt it. You probably worked hard to get all that muscle definition.” Then he tried a flirtatious smile.
He was new to flirting with guys and his gaydar wasn’t even close to 100 percent, but anyone who wore stripper pants to a con had to be hoping for something. And Josh wasn’t opposed to testing out the guy-on-guy waters with a con neophyte. Especially one who looked like he could bench-press a bus. And who blushed like he was a vestal virgin.
Wasn’t that adorable?
Then Doctor Strange had to interrupt. His voice was dry, classy, and had the perfect ring of arrogance. “We are here to offer you a job.”
Josh nodded, surreptitiously looking around for whoever was filming this. He saw the regular con staff, but none of them were paying any attention.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of job at which con? And most important, who told you I was looking? You haven’t even seen my show yet.”
“It’s fulfilling work,” said Warrior Guy in that beautiful voice. “Life-changing stuff. Your science background is impressive, and we’d like you to start immediately.”
“My science background?” He’d published two papers, both in midlevel journals. Not exactly a NASA-level résumé. But he supposed to most people, even being in a PhD program was an accomplishment.
“We looked at your papers. The ones on carbon chains and um…. Look, I didn’t understand a word of it, but—”
“I did,” interrupted Doctor Strange. “And we need your help. We offer excellent benefits and—”
Josh laughed and held up his hand to stop them from talking. Whatever this was, it had already eased his nerves before the show, and he was grateful for that. But they were about to open the doors, and that meant he was in the last few minutes of preparation. He was beyond excited for his big con moment, and these guys were distracting him from living his glory to the fullest.
“Mr. Collier—” Doctor Strange said.
“Guys, I have no idea what you’re trying to do, but I don’t have the time to discuss it now. You can buy me a drink afterwards and—”
“It would be really better if we talked now,” Warrior Guy said. “This is going to happen, Josh. You’re going to love this job, but it has to happen now.” There was a clear note of desperation in his voice as he added, “Please, just come with us. Take the pill, step through the magic mirror, grab on to adventure with both hands.”
Josh smiled. He had to hand it to Warrior Guy. He certainly delivered corny lines with true passion. “Okay, sure,” he said. And at the sudden brightening in the warrior’s eyes, he laughed. “Right after the show. I promise, you guys get to buy me the first drinks.”
“Wait—” the warrior began, but Doctor Strange shook his head.
“Save it,” he said. “We can’t give him enough details to convince him of anything. It has to happen the hard way.”
That sounded threatening, as did the way the warrior’s face shut down before he gave a clipped nod. Josh frowned and then gestured to the stage manager. Her name was Megan, and she couldn’t do anything to either guy, but she had a walkie-talkie and a direct line to hotel security. “Megan, you need to call hotel security. I don’t think these guys are registered attendees.”
Megan nodded from as far back as possible. She knew she was no match for these guys if they ended up belligerent, but she was quick with her walkie-talkie. Fortunately, there was no need. The warrior held up his hands in surrender.
“No security necessary,” he said in that still-beautiful voice. “We’ll find our seats.” His expression was so locked down that his glorious eyes seemed even brighter.
Not one to be a full pushover, Megan nodded. “That’s great, but I’ll need to see your con badges first.”
The warrior shot a dark gaze at his wizard companion. “I told you we needed to buy badges.”
“For thirty minutes?” the other one countered. “We have a flight to Seattle in three hours.”
The warrior grimaced. “Josh, please help us out. Look, my name is Nero, and this is Wiz. We came here just to meet you.”
“Me.” The word was heavily laced with skepticism. “Why?”
“To offer you a job. On the level.”
Josh didn’t believe a word of it. This was not how his life worked, but his game-loving soul wanted to believe it could happen. Wasn’t that how all good stories started? With a call to adventure? He still thought it was a joke, but he wasn’t immune to the flattery of it all. These guys had gone to a lot of trouble to do whatever-it-was to him. He could give them a break.
“Megan, let them watch the show.”
“They don’t have badges—”
“I’m allowed a couple guests.” And since his family wouldn’t be caught dead at a fantasy convention, he was here solo. “Put them in the front row, keep an eye on them, and I’ll make sure they leave right afterwards.”
She frowned at him. “Are you sure?”
No. He hadn’t a clue how he would get these guys out if they resisted. But that was a worry for after his show. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” she said. “This way, gentlemen.” She started escorting them away but then paused long enough to wink at him. “Break a leg, Josh.”
He grinned at her. “Thanks.” He watched as she led them to seats in the front row, far left. They got there just in time, because a moment later the doors opened and people filed in. People, fairies and elves, heroes and heroines from a wide variety of literature, and a whole bunch of Star Wars and Star Trek characters. Not everyone was in costume, though. Some people didn’t bother until tomorrow, but the cool ones did. And Savannah was front and center in her Wednesday Addams outfit. Thank God he’d reserved her seat, because otherwise she’d have been stuck in the far back.
He wanted to wave to her but couldn’t step out from behind the curtain, so he distracted himself from his nerves by checking out costumes and hot guys. No one compared to the warrior who ought to have gone with the centurion costume, assuming his name really was Nero. It just made sense. What didn’t track was the way the guy was sitting mountain-still in his seat, his expression so tight it could have been carved.
What was up with that? It was just an opening ceremony show.
And even more bizarre was the Wiz next to him. The guy had his nose in a cheap three-ring binder, moving his lips as he read. No kidding. Josh could see it from the stage. The guy’s mouth was moving as he read whatever was in his hands.
Then the show started. David Jenkins, the president of MoreCon, stepped onto the stage and spoke into the microphone. The guy was in his late forties, gay, and had the most amazing anime collection Josh had ever seen. Josh had been to his house a few times for viewing parties that came complete with great nachos. David and his partner, Glen, were the living example of a healthy gay couple. They weren’t weird or cartoonish. Glen was an accountant, David owned a couple of Taco Bell franchises, and they loved each other, which was more than Josh could say about his own parents. It was what Josh aspired to have some day: quiet, suburban anime parties with his sweet husband. Though he wouldn’t be opposed to some hot flings with a mountainous guy in stripper pants along the way.
David finished the greeting, listed important changes to the programs, and introduced the fandom guest of honor. He was a minor character in a long-running TV show, but it was the most the con could afford, and two minutes into the guy’s self-important chatter, Josh got his cue.
He stumbled onto the stage as if he was drunk. He had his staff in one hand and an empty goblet, which he turned upside down so everyone could see it was empty.
“Get to the important stuff!” he cried. “Where can a humble wizard get a drink?”
Grinning, David went back to the mic. “Well, the bar is right through those doors—”
“Never mind. I’m a wizard, right? I can conjure my own drink!”
“Um… I don’t think you should be doing magic, sir. You’re clearly not fit—”
“Fit, Schmidt!” Josh pointed and winked at one of the con regulars, Tom Schmidt, who waved from the fourth row. “I’m as fit to cast magic as a Schmidt!” He really put some gusto into Tom’s last name, making sure to spit a bit as he slurred the name.
Everyone thought it was funny, Tom included, and so Josh got ready to detonate the least of his pyrotechnics: a small explosion from a lined pocket on the outside of his cape.
“Spirit of the grape,” he intoned as he held his goblet high, “the grain, and the hop.” He did a little hop at that. “Refill and renew my goblet, and not with pop!”
He pressed the detonation button, and sure enough, his pocket exploded with a shower of sparkles.
“Oops!” he said to everyone’s amusement. “That’s not what I meant at all.” He peered owlishly into his empty goblet, but as he did so, a strange heat began deep in his belly. It was a weird sensation, like inferno-sized acid reflux, only lower and with accompanying cramps. Was he getting sick? Had some of his more dangerous chemicals spilled out of an inside pocket?
It was alarming to be sure, but he was in the middle of his big moment. Although he felt like he was about to vomit, he locked it down and tried to go on with the show.
Just like they’d planned, David scrunched up his face in mock alarm. “I really don’t think you should be doing that—”
“Riddikiiiieeeee!”
He’d meant to say, “Riddikulus!” but the word burned like fire in his throat and became a scream of agony. That killer heartburn exploded through his body, setting his nerves on fire. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and his gaze shot to Savannah’s. Her mouth was open and she looked worried, but everyone else around her was grinning. He was about to vomit his lunch all over the stage, and they thought it was part of the show.
At least David knew this wasn’t planned. He stepped forward, a look of concern on his face. “Josh—”
Lightning struck him. It wasn’t real lightning, but that’s what it felt like. Electricity shot through his body, making every muscle tighten unbearably. His head flew back, and he screamed as his bones snapped from the strain. Spine, hips, legs. Crackle, crackle, pop.
He collapsed to the floor, the pain making his vision burst with stars. His cape fluttered down across his back, but it didn’t fit right and slid to the side of his body. His mind was white with agony, and he tried to cry out, but no sound emerged.
He felt his jaw unhinge, his mouth and face burst apart. He could hear the audience gasping, but he couldn’t see. Damn it, he couldn’t see! And then he completely dissolved. As if he melted into air while his body shifted horribly, and everything felt wrong, wrong, wrong. It wasn’t pain so much, but his hands, legs, face all stretched or compressed or just plain broke. At least that’s what his mind was telling him, while everything also felt completely incorporeal. Like he was energy soup and not form at all, except suddenly, he coalesced. He had a body and it was hunched on all fours. Well, that was good, right? He tried to straighten up, but he couldn’t stand.
Then the audience burst into thunderous applause.
What. The. Fuck? He was dying, and they applauded?
He turned his head, and now that his vision was clearing, he could see everything. People clapping, elves laughing, movement everywhere, but where the hell was Savannah? He found her eventually, though all the standing and clapping was blinding him. She was there, right where she’d been, with her mouth ajar and her eyes huge.
Savannah!
He screamed out her name. She needed to call 911. He needed a doctor. But what happened shocked him to his bones.
He heard a howl instead of her name. And he felt the noise come from his own throat.
He skittered backward, startled and confused. And as he moved, he saw paws. Big, thick dog paws where his hands should be. And his footing was fouled in clothing and shoes that fell off him. The audience was starting to whistle their approval. Fucking idiots!
He glared at them, trying to speak. He had to make them understand!
He heard a growl and felt his lips pull back. The clapping faltered, and no wonder. The sound was rabid.
He felt his body tense and his ears flatten. He stepped free of the fabric around his feet and howled again. He was already salivating from the hunger that churned through his stomach.
Then something tightened around his neck and jerked him back. The feeling was abrupt, it choked him, and he wheeled around at the thing that held his neck.
It was a leash… held by Doctor Strange. And in front of him, smiling at the crowd, was the warrior.
“That was impressive, wasn’t it?” Nero said to the crowd. “But now we have to get the wolf back to the zoo. Can’t believe he escaped like that. Ha. Ha.” He waved and started backing away.
Doctor Strange hauled on the collar and dragged him backward as if he was a dog. A fucking dog!
Josh leaped, teeth bared. He was going to bite off the damned hand holding—
Electrical shock jolted through him. Real electricity exploding out from his neck and frying his neurons. And while he was twitching from the torture device, Nero squatted down. Josh saw the hypodermic a split second before Nero shoved it into his side.
He growled when it went in, but what he heard was more of a whine.
Fogginess came quickly after that, a numbing weakness that softened his mind and made his whole body go limp. But he was still awake enough to feel Nero lift him up and carry him off stage.
Help me! Savannah!
He listened from a distant place as Nero’s heavy tread made it through the hotel lobby. He smelled the man’s scent and felt the muscles strain under Josh’s weight. But most of all he heard the bastard’s words as he walked.
“You’re going to be okay, Josh. There’s no easy way to say this, but you’re a werewolf. It’s a grand thing, really, and now you work for Wulf, Inc. See? I told you we were here to give you a job offer. Congratulations. You’re going to love it.”
With the last of his fading strength, Josh opened his mouth and bit straight through the bastard’s throat. Then the world went dark.
NERO REARED backward as far as he could go without dropping the unconscious wolf, who weighed a metric ton.
“Did he try to rip out my throat?” he gasped.
Wiz chuckled. “Serves you right for cradling him like a baby. I’d bite you too.”
“And get a mouthful of lycanthropy.” Not that it would matter, but still…. “Am I bleeding?”
“Nothing to worry about. Burn your shirt when you get back.”
He was going to do that anyway. God, he’d never live down wearing a kitschy fake leather vest, but it was the cheapest costume they could find on short notice. He knew Wiz had taken pictures. Fortunately the guy tended to short out modern electronics, and so it was even odds that the digital image would survive his wizardly aura.
“I can’t believe that spell worked,” he said as he looked at Wiz. “Can you activate anyone with the werewolf gene?”
Wiz shrugged as he opened the back of their van. Gelpack was in the driver’s seat looking like he was staring straight ahead, but Nero knew the alien saw and heard everything they did, no matter where his head was facing.
“According to Mr. See-Thru”—Wiz gestured at Gelpack—“I can turn anyone with the right energy signature.” That was vague, but pretty much what Nero had expected. He waited while Wiz opened the reinforced cage inside the van. As gingerly as he could, he set Josh down, mentally apologizing to the guy the whole time. It was bad enough to be surprise-converted into a wolf in front of all your friends, but to be caged afterward was rubbing salt into the wound. Sadly, it was the only way, and he had more wolves to collect this weekend.
From the front seat, Gelpack twisted his head—just his head—around to face them. Nero didn’t like having a gelatinous being as their driver, but he had too much to do to take the wheel as well. Especially since he was going to O’Hare airport and Gelpack was taking Josh to their facility in Michigan. “How long will he be unconscious?”
“About twenty hours,” said Wiz as he locked the cage and slammed the back door shut. “He’s going to wake up spitting mad and hungry. We’ll try to be back by then, but no promises.”
“I will talk to him when he wakes,” said Gelpack.
And wouldn’t that put the cap on poor Josh’s weekend? To wake in a cage and be “talked to” by a see-through guy. The brass claimed that this would be less traumatic than the usual wolf manifestation. They said it was better to change around people who knew how to keep you safe—and caged—than to unexpectedly transform and kill your nearest and dearest. They had a point, but it still sucked.
“Why are you looking so down in the mouth?” Wiz poked him as they settled into the back seat. “This went off without a hitch.”
“I doubt Josh will see it that way.”
“Josh will adjust. We all did.”
Yeah, but everyone else wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Josh. Nero had gone to the conference, expecting to meet a stammering guy with thick glasses and bad acne. Instead he’d met a funny guy with a flirtatious smile who wasn’t in the least bit fazed by two big costumed baddies trying to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Josh had laughed and let them sit in the front row. Nero had half hoped the guy would make good on his threat to kick them out. That would have delayed them, and Josh could have at least finished his act, but they had a timetable to keep and couldn’t wait.
“Cheer up,” Wiz said as he peered behind him. “He’s not dead yet. No signs of rejection or fever. With any luck he’ll wake up healthy and hale just in time for Gelpack to scare the shit out of him.” He turned to the alien with a grin. “Can you eat something especially bloody and forget to wear a shirt? That always makes an impression.”
Gelpack answered in an honest deadpan. “My digestive system is not up to meats yet. But I will try some red Jell-O.”
“Perfect,” Wiz said with a grin.
Great. If the werewolf curse didn’t kill Josh, his new teammates surely would.