THE BISHOP CONCLUSION

The Bishop leaned back in his chair and smiled with satisfaction. "Excellent!" he exclaimed and snapped his fimgers. From under the table the vamp next to him brought out a black bag with several pockets on each side. I had seen Jim, my landlord, use a similiar bag to carry clothes and such on his rare trips to a local workout center. The vamp placed it before me as i slid the laptop back toward Newton. "Open it," nodded Newton.
I unzipped the main compartment and looked in. I pulled out a silver dagger that lay within.
"For protection," explained Newton. "Silver is one of the few things that can kill a werewolf.
I picked up the blade, perhaps a little over a foot in total length, and hefted it. The dagger was certainly heavier than it appeared, but was well balanced and easy to use. I replaced the dagger in the bag and opened a smaller pocket that was bulging. From within I withdrew a zippered plastic bag containing a wad ofdried brownish keaves.
"Wolfsbane" I was told. "They hate the stuff. It's not an absolute defense, but it should slow down any you come across."
I returned the weeds to their pocket. I then opened another. From within I took out a digest sized paperback book."Werewolves: Fact Or Fiction?" read the title. Written by a Marcus Healy, the cover featured a painting of a fiercely snarling canine like figure in a shredded white shirt.
"Know your advesary," Marchell advised.
A fourth pocket yeilded yet a second book. "You're Friend, The Vampire." by one Reggie Tate. The cover featured a sultry blonde seductress in a tight black dress, er, vamping on the lap of a monkey boy with one really stupid looking grin on his face.
"And your allies," said the Bishop. He opened a tray on the laptop and removed a glinting silvery cd. He pulled a a pinkish vinyl sleeve from an inner jacket pocket and carefully secreted the cd inside. He slid it across the table.
I raised an eyebrow. " A dagger, some dried leaves and a couple of books? You want the secret to limitless energy in exchange for this?"
"There's more, " piped in Marchell. "Intelligence.As I said before, this looks like an old wolf. A rogue operating alone. The lack of physical damage where your friend was killed suggests that he changed after entering the house."
"Perhaps he was invited in," speculated Newton. "But the fact that he could control the change says old, powerful. Younger wolves are subject only to the power of the moon."
Marchell picked up from there. " In three nights there will be a conclave of the pack at Metroparks nature center. All the wolves in a 50 mile radius will be there. To date this rogue has acted alone. If he has a thing about aliens he will probably began seeking allies from amongst the pack at the conclave."
"So. Frazzi, you have that long to find him," finished the Bishop. 'Marchell will join you in the evenings to assist you in your search."
"Now", he continued, moving to his area of interest, "about the disc. When do you think it could be ready with the corrections?'
I appeared to ponder. In truth this would take my computer about 10 minutes to analyze and correct. Most of that would actually be set up time.
"Give me a couple days," I suggested. "I'm not a math guy myself and I'll need some time to work it out."
"Then all is settled," concluded Newton. "Marchell will be looking forward to receiving the disc in 2 nights. I will leave the details to you."
He motioned us away with a brush of his hand, signaling our dismissal. The other vamps rose, as did I. and bowed, as I did not. I did give him a little nod of my head, however.
As we exited the room Marchell bade him a fairwell.
"Good evening, Sir Isaac."

THE BISHOP PART 4

Oh, good. The undead wanted knowledge. That's a no-no where I come from. Too much too soon could ruin a civilization. Tweak a bit, maybe we would do, but that was generally it. Still, I wasn't dealing with humanity as whole here. I was dealing with...what?... a subset of humanity? A different species entirely? This undead stuff was messing up the rule book something fierce.
Okay, no harm in listening, I thought.
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Newton slipped a laptop from under the table. He spent a few seconds keying something in, then turned the screen to face me.
"This," he replied. "We have not yet been able to complete these equations."
The laptop's screen was filled with mathematical formula and symbolism. I scrolled down the page.
And down.
And down.
It was quite involved.
I returned to the top of the page and began to examine the figures more closely. They rang a bell in my head.
"You are familiar with this?" asked Marchell.
"Just a sec," I stalled.
Then it came to me what all the mumbo jumbo was. I had seen this, expressed slightly differently, in my later school years. In a physics class. Math was never my strong point, which is one reason I'm a xenpsociologist, but I remembered enough o recognize this.
"This is the math behind collapsing matter into an artificial black hole." I announced with some incredulity. "This is far beyond what Earth is capable of."
"The Bishop was delighted I was familiar with the mathematics. "Not entirely true. The daylighters couldn't do this, no. but we can. As I said, with centuries to work with we have moved far beyond them. But there are errors in the math. We'd solve them in time, be sure of that, but your assistance would save us time. And we could call it the first of many profitable trades."
"Is this all theoretical? You'd need the power of a fusion generator to effect this kind of result."
"We have several. Well hidden from the daylighters. They are just planning their first prototype, using technology partially from one of the companies we control. 'But once formed the power from a a controlled black hole would dwarf that of a fusion generator."
I pondered this for several moments, pretending to study the computer screen, while the vamps looked on. At least they were not close to tapping into the zero point energy field. This was 200 year old technology. Limitless power for a planet. The basis of power for an interstellar drive. One nasty, nasty, plamet destoying weapon.
In the hands of the vile and evil undead.
But what the vamp said was true. They would eventually conquor the math. And then the engineering.
I made what monkey boys call an executive decision.
I decided this was a tweak
"Okay, Bishop. Yuo're on.' I agreed. "I'll get this fixed up for you and you help me with the werewolf."

THE BISHOP PART 3

The Bishop turned to me once more.
"You need to understand us if we are to do business, Frazzi. What do you know of vampires?"
"You're unspeakably evil undead creatures," I shrugged. "You rise at night and drink the blood of the living and engage in horrific debaucheries." I added wiith a nod, "No offense."
Chuckling, the Bishop replied, " None taken. But, bad press aside, what you know is incomplete. True, we are undead and we do drink the blood of the living. Evil? That's a relative term, not an absolute, don't you think?"
"Look at all the fools who think bin Laden is some kinda Robin Hood," chimed in Marchell. " His type have killed more daylighters in the last 10 years than all the undead and night stalkers have in the last 2000."
"Just so," agreed Newton. "We do not kill to feed. 5 minutes every night or two is more than sufficent. Those we feed upon are those society needs least..."
"Like the criminal element," Marchell clarified. "The night I met you I first thought you were a burglar. You sure looked like lunch to me."
"... and the willing," finished Bishop Newton. "There are humans who admire us and hope to someday join us. Few rise to our standards, in the end, but they are more than willing to supply what we need. "
I wanted to ask what happened to the many who failed to reach those standards, but it seemed impolitic.
"Okay, you're almost social do gooders. What is your point?"
"Patience, young one," directed the Bishop. 'Our wisdom will be yours shortly. As I was saying, we rarely kill."
"We hardly need lowlife psychopaths joining our ranks," added Marchell.
"Further, Frazzi, there is the hunter-prey balance to consider. If we killed humans and each rose as a vampire and killed their humans and so on, within a month the planet would be depopulated. We'd starve. No. we have a vested interest in keeping the human population growing."
Marchell gave one of her giggles. " Think of us as ranchers. Yippee ti oh ti yay."
"I get it now. You're like big bloodsucking mosquitoes" I observed, " who feed on the bad guys and common sense impaired."
"That would be a very shallow view," Newton retorted. "Stop to consider. You are immortal You feed once every night. What becomes your biggest night in, night out problem?"
"Beats me."
"Time. Frazzi. Time. What do you do with all that time? Hours and hours compiling into weeks, months, years? Long term, there is only one thing to occupy all that time. Learning. All other pleasures one might seek grow stale quickly.
"Want to find a vampire?" added Marchell. "Try the librairy at night. Dark alleys are sre strictly for humans who prey on their own."
"Just so. We vampires are a learned lot. We are constantly seeking new knowledge and furthering our research. We select those we turn carefully. We selected only the brightest and those who have skill sets that enhance our little community."
"I was Madam Curie's research assistant," explained Marchell. "That was before anyone knew about radiation poisoning."
"And, of course, the one turned must be willing. Reluctant vampires could become a problem."
"And this has to do with me how? " I asked.
"We are, of course, far ahead of the humans scientificly," the Bishop contined, "And we do leak things to them as it serves our purposes."
"Who do you think gave Al Gore the idea for the internet?" Marchell asked rhetoricly.
"But we are not so advanced as you. We are willing to help you with your little werewolf problem." confirmed the Bishop. "but there is a price. Knowledge."

THE BISHOP PART 2

"We'll have the peppered strawberry lattes all around, " the elder vamp ordered.
Vlad's Lads both grinned and Marchell smiled. Apparently this was a favorite amongst the undead.
'You got it, Mr Newton," Candy winked as she spun and exited our booth.
So the Bishop had a name. And apparently was a regular here. I filed that away for future reference.
"So," began Newton, turning back to me. "I ask you, what brings you to our little planet?"
"I'm a xenosociologist. I'm here to study humans, their society, at least this one, and evaluate man's potential."
The truth so far as it went. I didn't see any benefit in mentioning the coming cosmic destruction.
"Ah," exclaimed the Bishop, "a purely scientific mission. And your friend that was killed was a scientist too?" I nodded. " We have many societies here on Earth. In fact one could go so far as to say they are differing civilizations,all vying for the same time and space, How many of you are there here?"
"Well, that I don't know for sure, but we are being thorough."
"And of all the times, why now."
I really hadn't been expecting a cross exanination and I felt sure the vamps weren't really buying into all that I was saying. Perhaps they feared an invasion? I'd have to tread carefully.
"Well, we're really not that close as far as the galactic neighborhood is concerned," I explained. " My world, Flavnia, is part of a Galactic Confederation. A number of worlds have banded together for the pursuit of interests in common, such as research. Electomagnetic signals from your system reached our nearest outpost about 5 of your years ago, after decades of traveling through space.We sent a survey team that mapped your system and began gathering data. Now we're doing a more complete study, first hand."
' I see,"Newton nodded. "And now you know that more than just humans abide here. What do your superiors think of that, I wonder?"
"Actually I haven't mentioned it yet. Explaining the actual existance of mythical creatures of the night would be a little...awkward."
The Baron smiled. "The impossibility of our existance is our greatest defense," he said in almost a whisper.
Ooops. The thought just struck me that, of all the trillions of sentients in the galaxy, only I knew the truth of the undead. Eliminate me and they remain a secret. But they would know of us and our mission here, could cause no end of trouble....
Candy burst through the curtain with a tray carrying our drinks. "Here you go, folks," she smiled, radiating cheer as she passed them out."
"Thank you," Newton smiled as the other vamps nodded acknowledgement of her service. "You are too kind."
"I'll check back in a bit," came her spritely promise before she left.
After her departure the vamp turned back to me. "Always treat the staff well, " he advised. "It's cheaper than tipping."
The vamps all laughed in chorus.
I was staring into the heart of evil....

THE BISHOP PART 1

Marchell rose. Vlad's Lads did likewise.
When in Rome.......
The traffic had picked up since I first entered, but somehow the sea of monkey boys and shes seemed to part before her graceful stride. I followed with the Lads bringing up the rear. We rounded the service island and went back to the curtained, private booths. Marchell parted the curtain of the center booth and entered. I dittoed as did, of course, the Lads.
Seated in the middle of a semicircular booth was an older male. Greying hair, a wrinkle to the skin, a bit of paunch. Seated, I could not guess his height, but his eyes were like cold, black lumps of coal.
The Bishop, no doubt.
Marchell gave him a quarter bow. as did her two lap dogs.
He gestured with a wave. "Please be seated," he invited, his voice calm, steady, with a sense of authority... control ... welling underneath the mere words.
Already I was impressed , and perhaps a little afraid of, this vampire.
I slid into the both, Marchell took the next spot, then one of the Lads. The other siddled in the far side, next to The Bishop.
"Frazzi, this is The Bishop, " introduced Marchell. "He's the....." she paused and thought a moment.... "regional director of our community."
"Good evening," I greeted, with what I hoped was proper respect.
"Ah, " he said with a smile, "What a delightful accent." He looked toward Marchell. "You didn't mention the British accent." Back to me. "Are all you spacemen British?"
I noted a faint hint of the Brit in his own voice. He was no more native to this land than I, though his vocal mannerism had moderated across time.Quite a long time. I suspected.
"Limited training material. Look, Marchell said she would check into the werewolf that ripped up my compatriot. Can you help?"
The Bishop seemed a little annoyed at my abrupt directness.
"You mortal creaturea are always in such a rush," The Bishop observed with a mild shake of his head. "The day has barely given birth to the night and who knows when next I'll have a chance to speak with one of your kind."
Marchell gave me a quick kick under the table.
"My apologies," I deferred. "This has been all rather distressing, is all."
The elder vamp nodded with a condescending understanding.
A red headed waitress burst through the curtain, menus in hand.
"Hi!" she bubbled. "I'm Candy. I'll be your apple for the evening."

THE WITCH'S BREW

I reached downtown Cleveland, more specificly the 9th street theatre district. The plaza was filled with older buildings, revamped and brightened. A half dozen or so marquees were brightly lit with their fronts seperated by a variety of upscale shops and eateries. It was a pleasant blending of old and new, a melding in a way of a world that was and a world that is. Traffic was moderate on the streets and the only available parking I saw was in a multistory garage. I pulled in. took a ticket and found a space 2 stories up. Upon securing my vehicle I found I had the option of stairs or elevartor for my descent. I opted for the stairs.
I exited the parking garage and stepped into the brightly lit realm of Euclid 'Avenue. Half a block down was the meeting spot Marchell had mentioned, The Witcj's Brew. I entered the light midweek flow of people, all adult apes of various ages. though there was a lack of children. Here, now, was, apparently a place for the congregation and enjoyment of adults.
Past the large plate glass windows and through the etched glass double doors, I entered The Brew. It was a large room, seating maybe 120. To the rear and on the right were several private booths curtained off. In the center was the service island where servings were prepared. The room was perhaps 50% occupied and a half dozen wait staff were scurring through the maze of tables delivering and taking orders. The low murmur of conversation provided a low base undercurrant to the music that was playing through the sound system. Adult Contemporary, I believe they call it. A heady, almost overpowering aroma of coffee assaulted my olefactories.
The sun behind me was just now setting. I was early, giving me a chance to scope iut the place. Seemed pleasant enough, not the dank amd dreary spot I had imagined a vampire rendevous would require.
The seating to my left had more open tables. I crossed the room and took a table toward the rear. I sat facing the door and prepared to wait. A she ape from the staff, crossed over, baring her fangs in greeting from under a shag of blond fur.
'Hi, she greeted, handing me a menu. "Can I get you anything or do you need a few minutes?"
"I'm waiting for a friendm" I explained. "We'll order when she gets here."
"Sure thing, " she acknowledged. "I'm Josie. I'll be your pussycat for tonight." She gigled and turned away. I sensed I had missed a joke of some sort.
I slid the menu aside and turned my eye to the door. Tick Tock. Time passed. Maybe 15 minutes. Then the tall and sleek form of the vampire Marchell, dressed in the almost prerequisite black pantsuit, crossed the threshold, descending into the Witch's Brew with a walk that was almost a glide. Behind her came two males. Tall, head shaven, muscular, in sleeveless tees, black. Emblazoned in silver scross the front of the shirts was the legend "Vlad's Lads." Somehow, I didn;t think that was referring to a punk rock group.
I took a deep breath. This was feeling bad, like a trap. I reached into my pocket and took hold of my destabilizer. but if they wanted trouble I doubted I could handle three. As Marchell and her entourage approached I prayed that this was far too public a place for a vampire to seek an altercatiion.
She took the seat across from me. Her eyes were bright, intense, and went right to mine. " Hi, spaceman," she said in a chipper, almost playful voice. Male number one sat next to her. Male number two slid into the seat nest to me. Both afixed their gaze on me. Marchell continued. " The Bishop would like to meet you."

RAISE TAXES?

I has intended to research vampires and werewokves during the day, but analyzing the data on Glore's cimputer had taken up most of the afternoon. I finished my mac "n" cheese, tossed the bowl in the sink and prepared to leave. Not knowing what to expect I grabbed a few items of the "just in case" variety. My molecular destabilizer, for one, a pocket med kit, and a miniatuure tool assortment complete with case. The lack of a real weapon was bothersome, but it was the best i could do for now. I picked up my handheld and exited my quarters.
It was 45 minutes until sunset, too lght to relax and let the autopilot on my car do all the work, Besides, I still had some issues and handling the machine myself had a certain appeal.
As I pulled out I turned on the radio. More liberals. More conservatives. The discussiion today was on taxes. The liberals wanted to raise them. The conservatives want to keep them the same, perhaps lower them.
It seemed a silly discussion with a simple solution.
If the democrats wanted taxes raised, then why not just raise taxes on democrats. If they felt they should pay more in taxes, why not simply obliege them?
In fact, if the democrats thought the government needed more money there was no force on the planet, far as I could tell, that was preventing them from simply writing a check. "Here. Government. I have too much money! You need this more than I do."
Either method would be quite moral and fair, I think, yet seemed to occur to none. In reflecting further I wondered why the democrats didn't do the latter. They say they make too much money, they say the government needs it, yet they won't give it.
They won't do the right thing unless there is a -- what?-- something akin to a mutually agreed to suicide pact?
I note no one asks the people what they want, either way.
And once again it seems about one group reigning power over another.
Enough.
Then a light clicked on in my head,
The conservatives were saying. "If we lower taxes we get more money to play with."
The liberals were saying, "If we raise taxes we'll get more money to play with."
In the end no moral decision would be made, because, it was after all, about plain, old greed.
I switched over to a country music channel. Less sad songs.
By the way, have I mentioned yet the delight they call Butterfingers?
A hard, crunchy peanut butter interior, coated in a rich, chocolatey cream.
I had some stashed in the Buick. I grabbed one and broke open the bright orange wrapper. I took a bite.
Yummy.
No matter the politics, these monkey boys sure have come up with some fine confections.

INTERLUDE

I pulled into my drive and took my parking spot. Edwin and his mom were outside playing basketnall, a game which I had discovered need only be watched during the last 2 minutes. Edwin missed a basket, then ran over to me as I got out of my car.
"Hi, Mr Frazzi, " he greeted with a glow and a smile..
Hi, shortstuff."
He grinned even wider, baring his little fangs, , with a look of self amusement,
"Do you know how chickens get up in the morning?"
A sense of impeding victimhood washed over me.
"No, I don't," I confessed.
"They use an alarm cluck!" he laughed and bounded back to his game.
I shook my head, grinned, waved to the she ape, who waved back, and entered the house. It was time to get to work. I has a werewolf to track and a date with a vampiress to keep. I unloaded and set up Glore's computer. Glore had a personal password, of course, but our systems also had a common password, known by all our researchers, in case of emergencies.
I logged on and began to review Glore's notes. Must say he was very unimpressed wothnthe planet. The ritualized combats called sports struck him as the barbic expression of am umderlying psychosis. The political jockeyings for power struck him as a preoccupation for conquest. The bloodthirdty attacks of religous fanatics denoted an inability to self analyse and reprogram. And on And on. A negative set of views I could sympathize with, but I felt we were missing something.
And none of this brought me any closer to my more immediate goal. The werewolf.
It was possible that the were had come across Glore some where along the line by sheer happenstance. If that were the case finging the beast would be difficult. A more favorable scenario arose if thry had come across each other during the course of Glore's societal explorations. Therefore I reviewed the Blurbo's activity logs. He had done much like me, visiting various stores and merchants, sampling goods and services, and following the local and national events. Much of his time was spend gathering opinions for the locals, looking for common threads of reasoning that woulkd provide insight into the ape boys and a hook by which to judge our future actions.
Unlike me, he hadn't developed any regul;ar hasngouts.
As the afternoon drew on I compiled a list of places he had visited the last 2 days of his life. My sense was that shifters were creatures of impulse. I doubted much time has lapsed between his first encounter with the were, certainly in human form, and his last.
I would retrace his footsteps and see what would turn up, starting tomorrow. It was moving toward dinner time and I still had my own creature of the night to meet.
I got out a pot and a package of macaroni and cheese, a quick meal deal thatIi also had found surprisingly tasty. While the macaromi cooked I tapped into the human's information web and looked up the location of The Witch's Brew. It was an hour 'til sundown and an hour and half 'til my date with the vampiress Marchell.

MAMA EXPLAINS

"Look. the whole world is screwy," I observed. "Politicians serve themselves and an ideology, not the people. The gods of the media try and shape the world. Religious zealots want to conquer the world. Judges let sex offenders out to do it again. And on and on and on. I can't see any rhyme or reason to this looney bin we're stuck in. None!"
Happiness," smiled Mama with an understanding look in her eyes. "It's about happiness."
I scrunched my face. "I don't get it."
"Neither do they, " she laughed lightly. " That's the problem. You see, what do we all want deep down? To be happy. Most people don't know what makes them happy. So they pursue this and that. Power. Fame. Money. Control. Sex. Winning. They think, or have been sold, the idea that this will make them happy. So they go after whatever they have bought into. When they get it, they feel good for a little bit. But soon they realize they are not happy. So they chase even harder. It's a lot like watching a dog chase it's tail. "
"So how does one achieve happiness?" I wondered.
"It's here," Mama Renee answered, pointing to her head. "And here," her hand now covering here heart. "For me, I have my children and my grandchildren. I have my restaurant. And I have good customers like you, Mr. Frazzi. I can't speak for others, but I am happy."
A little ding came from a bell on the door. A little old man and lady entered the restaurant and took a table.
"Excuse me, Mr. Frazzi", apologised Mama as she rose. "Enjoy the latkas," she encouraged with a wink. 'They make you happy." With that she crossed to her new customers.
I began eating my latkas, but was not happy. Mama has a simple view of things, to be sure. It was real for her, and there was certainly more than a little wisdom in her perspective, but there were just too many variables for a homespun philosophy of happiness to account for.
I needed to pursue answers.
I needed answers.
I needed...
I needed...
I needed to enjoy my latkas.
I took a big slug of lemonade. My latkas were here, now. I smiled and cut myself a big bite.

PONDERING

It was late in the morning when I awoke. The events of the prior night flooded back to me. And the questions. I shoved all down, deciding to get something to eat.I didn't much feel like preparing anything, so headed over to Mama Renee's.
I entered the little restautant-it had six tables and a counter- and took a window seat. Timewise, it was that void between breakfast and lunch and the place was empty.
Mama herself, a smallish and rotund woman with short, curly brown hair, came over.She was beaming a smile from underneath her glasses, and exuded her normal good cheer.
"Mr. Frazzi, it's so good of you to stop by," she greeted. "What can I get you today?"
"Latkas," I replied. "Make it a double order, And some lemonade."
She thanked me and headed off toward the kitchen. I turned my attention to the endless stream of monkey boys, each off on his or her most important mission, passing by. I sighed.They were, indeed, the most populous intelligent species on the planet.But were they the ones we should be studying? The vamps were human once, longer lived, and just as bright. Same could be said of the shifters. Both of the later were physically stronger then the humans. And neither should exist in nature. Leastways, nothing like them was to be found in either my education or experience.
The planet seemed a madhouse to me. The governing systems made little sense. The media seemed bent on bending the world to it's vision. Accumulation of the physical and the pleasing of the senses seemed an overwhelming drive. Religious fanatics seemed determined to beat the world into submission. Others seemed to think all should be allowed to runamuck with few, if any, boundries.
Did anyone really run this asylum? Was there someone or something behind all this chaos?
"Here you go," came the pleasantly cheery voice of Mama Renee as she brought my latkas and lemonade. I turned toward her and muttered my thanks. Her cheerful look turned to one of mild concern. "You look so down today! Anything Mama can do?"
"Nah, " I replied. "Just trying to figurre some things out."
Mama pulled out a chair and sat herself down. "It's not busy. You tell Mama all about it."

Yeah, right.

THE DRIVE HOME

I circled the house through the darkness as quickly as a respect for stealth would allow. I certainly didn't want to attract Glore's assailant if it was around. My nerves, I must admit, were more than a little frayed. A co-worker was dead, killed by a supernatural horror. I had encountered the undead. And I had to figure out what I was going to out into my report that wouldn't get me booted out to the galactic rim.
My car was still sitting in the driveway and seeing it helped restore my sense of normalcy. It's material solidity was like an anchor, returning me to the core of myself. I opened the door and tossed Glore's stuff into the back, then got into the driver's seat. Shutting the door behind me, I felt like I had returned to the real world after an ill fated expedition into a monkey boy fantasy film.
I was safe.
I had every confidence that nothing could get to me here. The car's dymetal exterior, virtually indestructible, and advanced weaponry systems were, I was sure, capable of repelling any physical assault, whether by werebeast, vampire, or other nocturnal horror. I took a deep breath and relaxed.
Oh, yeah, almost forgot. I locked the door.
I engaged the autodrive and sank back in the seat. I had a million things to ponder, but no will do to so now. I decided to turn on the radio.
When I need a little music, what do I get? The news. I was about to change channels, but the story nibbled at me before I reached the dial. Seems the Congress was at it again. With millions of illegal aliens (if they only knew--heh! heh!) had already entrenched themselves in the United States. Thousands more seemed to be coming daily. The Senate and House had each passed radically different pieces of legislatures to inadequately (my assumption) address the issue. As a result nothing was getting done.
I shook my head in pity for these people. It's common knowledge, even amidst monkey boys. that nothing much ever gets accomplished by a committee. And what does materialize is usually the result of hard fought compromises, doing little more that insuring that everyone is unhappy with the final product.
So what do the apes do in the most advanced nation on the planet? They set up a government where laws require passage not by one, but by two giant committes. This can only guarantee that too many cooks will eventually cook everyone's goose, I think.
My thoughts had returned me to my usual analytical mindset and I was feeling like my old self as the car pulled into my drive. I grabbed Glore's stuff, exited my vehicle and returned to my suite. I plopped into the cushy chair in front of the tv and began to ponder the implications of everything that had transpired tonight.
And inside two minutes I was fast asleep

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRESS 1.2

"A werewolf?" I asked with some incredulity. I knew the term from our cultural orientation reviews. Monkey boys seem to have an endless fascination with evil dangers that couldn't possibly exist. Like the vampiress before me. And werewolves, witches, gremlins, ghosts, ghouls and more. And when the occult runs low on new things that go "boo!" they invent more. Manmade horrors, like Frankenstein's monster.
"Yes, " replied Marchell, turning back toward me. "I'd guess an old and powerful one. They can control their shifts."
So was this some random act of violence, or was there a motivation in the murder of Glore? I suspected the latter. I gathered from Marchell's ealier remarks that our scents were easily distinguished from a human's. A beast with supernaturally enhanced senses, like a werewolf, had to know this wasn't a monkey boy he was shredding. Further, this attack took place indoors, targeted, to be sure, and who/what ever it was had turned off the lights and shut the door behimd itself.
Except tha I thought werewolves were pretty much mindless beasts, more like a snarling force of nature, than a creature capable of rational planning.
"I thought werewolves were supposed to be creatures of instinct and low cunning, " I ventured.
"This seems methodical. Savage, but planned."
Marchell shook her head.
"You've been watching too many old movies on satellite. She giggled like that was funny."To be sure weres run on instinct and emotion, but they don't lose their minds when they shift. They know what they are about. They can choose their actions and do retain their human memories.. It's been decades, maybe centuries, since a shifter attacked a human. There are easier prey, after all, and humans have this nasty habit of hunting down and killing things that threaten them. That's why they get pretty much dismissed as legend these days. They've learned to keep their presence secret. "
" So why kill Glore? " The thought was obvious. The wolf knew what he was. And killed him for it. But why? And of more personal concern, did he know about me? About the rest of us studying this world? Was I next on Fang's hit parade? "I need to check in."
I took out my handheld and linked to my computer at home. I forwarded a message that Glore was dead, apparently killed by a local beast. the truth after a fashion, and that a clean up crew was needed. I refrained from mentioning anything about vampires or werewolves. No point in casting any doubts on my credibility by mentioning my first hand contact with creatures of fantasy.
"I'm going to have to find this werewolf," I continued. I directed my destabilizer at Gore's computer and adjusted the settings. A second later it was reduced to portable size. I stuffed it into my pants pocket. " Any ideas?"
Marchell shool here head. " We don't have much contact.But meet me at The Witch's Brewery tomoorow night Eightish. I'll see what I can find out." She took a pen and paper from the desk and wrote down an address. I took the paper and put it in my shirt pocket.
"Well. it's been fun, " she said, "but I really must run. I'm starved and the night isn't getting any younger." She turned toward the sliding door.
"Wait, " I requested. The thought of her leaving and me being alone in this house with the possibility of the werewolf being in the area was not very appealing. "Er. could I drop you anywhere?"
I headed toward the door as well and we left the house together. I turned off the light and closed the door behind me. The drawn curtain would keep the body of Glore concealed until a clean up team arrived and swept the house.
"No. thanks, " she replied. "I think I'll fly. With that her body morphed, shrank, took the form of a bat and was aflight into the dark sky.
I was alone in the night.