Free Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood

Eastwood. He didn’t pick up, so she left a stream-of-scared-consciousness message on his voicemail.
    “This is Ree I was just attacked by some guy in a rubber wolfman suit but as the fight went on he looked more like a real wolfman and I lost my only good businessy shoes and this is all bullshit and on top of that but before it so underneath that but on top of it the Moorelys were so depressing I want to take a shower for a week and you seriously need to tell me more about how this all works because I am seriously freaking out—okay?”
    Ree took a breath, then said, “I’m going home now for that shower. Call me.” She hung up and just focused on her breathing, trying to calm down.
    Then she walked out of McDonald’s as if having claw gashes in your shirt and no shoes were the most fashionable thing one could possibly do.
    Taking stock at the next intersection, Ree saw that she was only a few blocks from home. She walked the rest of the way, frequently checking over her shoulder and doing her best to ignore the strange looks people gave her for her barefootedness. It was way late in the day for a walk of shame, and she didn’t even have the shoes to carry in-hand to pull off that look. At least if the cops came, she could probably wave them off with the psychic paper. She checked her coat and sighed; it, at least, was still there.
    As she approached the U-District, the streets got more crowded, the city more lively. People dashed here and there to their fabulous Friday nights, and Ree felt strangely apart from them, the reality of the Strange like a one-way glass that kept her separated from the normal world while allowing her to see in.
    Crap, too much emo.
    When she reached her building, it was all she could do to drag herself up the stairs and stumble inside, praying that Sandra would miraculously be out and she wouldn’t have to explain things. Thankfully, she was greeted by an empty apartment and no keys on the table. Ree closed the door behind her, and after securing each of the five locks, she allowed herself a moment of stillness.
    It could still come after me, she thought, time to get ready .
    Ree went to the kitchen and pulled out the biggest knife she could find. Then she went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, taking them both to the shower. She set the knife in the far back lip of the tub and listened. No way in hell am I going down like Marion Crane. I have the knife this time.
    •   •   •
    Naturally, the hot-water heater gave out before she was done calming down, so Ree finished her shower and headed for her room, peeking out from the bathroom to check the apartment first.
    She took Eastwood’s advice and popped in an episode of Buffy as she changed into a fresh set of clothes. She would have gone with “Once More, with Feeling,” like she usually did to cheer up, but since she didn’t want her life to become a musical right then, she settled on “Band Candy.”
    Ree quoted lines to get in the groove as she watched, settling into a comfortable (and defensible!) position on her bed, the knife beside her. She felt an energy buzzing in her head, like she’d downed a Red Bull made out of quippiness.
    A few minutes after the episode ended, Eastwood called.
    Ree picked up and launched right in, the nervousness back in force with the ringing. “Thanks for calling me back. Have you seen that thing? What do I do to fight it? Will it track me?”
    “First, calm down. Keeping your head is the best way to stay safe.”
    Ree nodded to herself. “Got it. Easier said than done, of course.”
    “Tell me what happened, all of it.”
    Ree replayed the episode, the details scary-clear in her brain. The scratches itched as she talked. “Are they contagious?”
    Eastwood huffed. “Never that I’ve seen. And you didn’t get bitten, did you?”
    “No . . .” Ree said, uncertain.
    “Oh, that’s good. Did you watch something invincible-y?” he asked.
    “I watched some Buffy .”
    Eastwood