Lupi 08 - Death Magic

man on his right got up. The two who’d sat across from him had already left. By the time the woman who wouldn’t share her name returned, they were alone at that end of the table.
    “Better get up. They don’t mind if’n we talk awhile, but they don’t want us camping out once we’re done eating.”
    He pushed back the folding chair and stood.
    She was shorter than he’d realized and wide in the hips, wide through the shoulders, with heavy breasts restrained by a dark green tee. The flannel shirt she wore over that was thick, frayed at the cuffs, with the buttons on the right—a man’s shirt. Her jeans might have been meant for a man as well. They were cuffed up several times at the ankles and none too clean. She had dainty feet tucked into tattered athletic shoes smaller than the ones Rule had recently bought his ten-year-old son.
    Was there any way he could get her new shoes and a dozen pairs of socks? The homeless had to take care of their feet, he knew. One of the hardest parts of living on the street was finding a way to wash clothes, but socks could be washed in the sink at a public restroom. Maybe some lotion for the hands she kept so scrupulously clean? A nail clipper—no, a small pair of scissors would be better, useful for more tasks. Or even a Swiss Army knife.
    She tipped her head back and fixed him with a belligerent look. “I’ll tell you. You won’t b’lieve me, but I’ll tell you what happened to Birdie. Them aliens took him.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Don’t believe me, do you? Think I’m a crazy old bat.”
    “I think you saw something. Did you see the aliens take Birdie?”
    “Hell, no. But I seen ’em take poor Meggie, and now Birdie’s missing, so I knows what happened to Birdie.”
    “Tell me what you saw.”
    “Meggie, she allus tries for a spot at the shelter, but she drinks too much to know what time it is, so she gets there late a lot. They was full up by the time she showed up that night, so she comes around whinin’ at me about how I could let her stay at my place just this once. She allus says that—‘just this once.’ I likes my privacy, see? I don’t share my place with no one. I don’t like anyone knowin’ where it is, but Meggie . . . well, I made a mistake with her one time when it was real cold an’ let her stay with me. But it weren’t cold that night, and she smelled pretty damn ripe, so I tells her to move on.” She scowled. “Wasn’t like I knew what would happen, was it?”
    “Of course not. And you’re entitled to your privacy.”
    “I am.” She said that forcefully. “So I tells her to move on, an’ after a while she does. Now, my place . . .” She slid him a suspicious look. “I ain’t telling you where it is, but it’s close to the street, so I heard it when she starts talking to someone. I wanted to know who that was, ’cause Meggie’s too scared to speak to a shadow if’n she don’t know ’em. ’Specially a male shadow. So I’m thinkin’ it’s someone I know, and I don’t want her telling anyone where my place is, so I went to see.”
    “You saw her taken?”
    “Big old black car. Not a flying saucer, nothin’ like that. They was in a big old black car, real nice. And Meggie . . . she just stood there.” For a moment the woman stared into space, her face slack, her eyes holding a touch of real horror. “She weren’t right. I saw her face, and she weren’t right. They used their mind powers on her, I guess. That one of ’em who’d got out of the car took her arm and told her to come along, and she did. She just did what he said.” She shuddered. “That’s how I knew they was aliens. Meggie wouldn’t never get in a car with someone that way. ’Specially not a man.”
    “They didn’t look like aliens, then?”
    “Only saw that one. The other was driving the car, or mebbe there was a bunch of ’em in the car. I couldn’t see. But that one, he looked just like anyone.”
    “He was disguised.”
    “That’s right!” His suggestion unlocked a fierce series of nods. “That’s absodamnlutely right! I figure they can be anyone, those aliens. But you’re a werewolf. They can’t turn themselves into werewolves.”
    “I don’t think so, no. This one you saw . . . was he fat or skinny or in between?”
    “Kinda skinny, I guess. Dressed nice, but not fancy. Not in a suit or anything.” She squinted, thinking. “Not jeans, though. Businessman pants.”
    “Dark skin? Pale?”
    “Oh, he was white.”
    Further