Free Blood Work by L.J. Hayward Page B

liked Bubba.”
    Poor kid. “My
condolences. Please continue.”
    “So, this
night, Bub got out of the yard and the next thing we know, he’s in
this big barny with another dog. No one saw it, but we heard it. I
thought the other dog was killing him, but Bub came back all cut
and beat up.” Tony laid down a bit of significance silence, then
continued in a low, portentous tone. “It was on the full moon.
Since then, around the full moon, he’s been different. Jumpy,
upset, stressed. And yeah, he goes after other dogs.”
    My initial
thoughts confirmed, I said, “I don’t think your dog is a werewolf.
That’s not how weres of any sort work. There are a heap of
different mechanisms that can bring about the change; curses,
infection, genetics, psychosis. But it always shifts a human to
animal form. Never an animal to animal. ’Cause what’s the point in
that?”
    “But if it’s
an infection –”
    “Junior,
there’s very few infectious agents that can jump species.”
    “A curse.”
    “Bubba got any
mortal enemies? That sort of curse takes some effort. It’s not
usually employed as a practical joke.”
    Tony made some
noncommittal noises. I could almost see him blushing and scuffing
the toe of a shoe against the ground.
    “My best
advice is for you to take him to a vet. Get him checked out for
every behaviour-altering disease there is. Chances are, that’s all
that’s happened.”
    “But we did!
We took him ages ago and it all came back negative. He’s perfectly
healthy.”
    “Physically,
maybe. But perhaps the attack by the other dog has left some sort
of post-traumatic stress syndrome deal on your dog.”
    There was a
short length of sceptical silence. “Isn’t that a human
condition?”
    “So’s becoming
a werewolf,” I replied dryly.
    More silence,
more sad than anything else. “Okay, I guess you’re right. You’re
the professional, right?”
    “Damn
straight.” But I was already regretting the defeated tone in his
voice. “Look, I’ll do a bit of research, okay. Maybe I’ve missed
something.”
    The kid
muttered a relieved sound. “Thank you so much. I can’t pay you
much, but I have some money saved up for a car. It’s yours.”
    Ah crap. I
ground my teeth against the impulse, lost the battle in a
spectacular explosion of pity and compassion and said, “Don’t
worry. We’ll make it pro bono. How does that sound?”
    “Really?
That’s great.”
    “No problem.”
It wasn’t. I’d seen the cheque Barry had written out last night.
Roberts was a royal pain, no doubt, but he could bullshit with the
best of them. And because I wanted to cover my arse, I added, “But
keep a close eye on the flea factory. Keep him restrained, don’t
let him out of the yard and don’t give him any raw meat. If, and
I’m stressing the if, your mutt is infected with the were virus,
blood will instigate a full-on change.”
    “Full-on
change? But he’s been acting weird already.”
    “No, what
you’ve described so far is a dog acting peculiar around the full
moon, not real werewolf behaviour. You’d know if he went fully wolf
on you. So, no raw meat, and if he so much as twitches in the wrong
direction, you get your family out of there.”
    “You think he
might…?” There was an audible gulp.
    “Better to be
safe than sorry, kid.”
    “Okay, yeah.
Sure. Thanks again.”
    I checked the
phone to make sure I had a number. “I can get you on this
number?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ll call you
when I’ve Yoda’d this one out.”
    He laughed and
I cut him off.
    Poor kid. A
dog turning into a werewolf? De-lu-sion-al. Of course, I would be
going through the lore on were-creatures tonight. After all, I had
said I would.
    I flew up onto
the Gateway and pointed the nose of the Monaro for home and cursed
Roberts.

Chapter 8
    I think I was having some issues
about going home. Watch shopping, dropping by to see Jacob when a
call would have sufficed, roaring right past the turn off for the
’Cliffe and