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The world continues to turn on Sunday, which means there’s news to be had and if it doesn’t present itself immediately, you can hunt it down like on any other day. A journalist’s job is, therefore, non-stop. Fortunately, though, Eddie takes this day off to spend it on editing articles.
We met about three months ago, on a Thursday. I had seen him earlier that day, sitting in the corner of the café with a wistful expression on his face as he watched the people outside. Occasionally, he’d react to something or, rather, someone invisible. To the unseeing eye, it was as if he was holding a conversation with the air.
To me, it was nor has it ever been strange. In fact, it’s a pretty clear sign of lycanthropy. However, it were the suppressed yelps and unconscious purrs when serving him his coffee in the weeks to come which made me certain of my judgement.
I was closing up the café, at the beginning of the evening, when I heard a tap on the door. I hadn’t expected anyone, especially since it was raining cats and dogs. Yet, there he stood, his hair a darker shade of brown stuck to his forehead and his blue eyes sad and pleading. Of course, as one does, I rushed to open the door and let the poor soaked sod inside. When I asked him why he came, his voice cracked as he explained himself. “I want someone to talk to.”
I made him a cup of yuja chamomile tea to calm him down and prevent him from getting down with a cold. In hindsight, it was quite silly to be worried about. After all, humans come down with colds.
He doesn’t.
Although, that’s not entirely true since Wolves can get sick. It simply takes a whole lot more than a bit of rain for them to need to have a tissue box and coughing syrup at hand at all times.
Nipping his cup and barely keeping it together, he told me how he recently went through a pretty bad breakup. His ex is now, apparently, with one of my old colleagues, Dan. He was my supervisor back when I worked as an intern for the supernatural San Francisco branch of the WHO.
We sat there, listening to the rain and drinking tea. Again he occasionally reacted like he had a conversation with someone else other than me.
Despite knowing the answer, I put my hand on his forearm and asked who he was talking to.
“Just…” he struggled to find the right words, “this might sound crazy, but there’s this… voice. And it’s constantly talking to me, wanting things I don’t. It’s like poison, so I decided to call it Venom.”
‘‘What if I told you something very powerful has been awakened in you?’’
‘‘Look, I- I don’t know what you’re on about, but thank you for the tea.’’
‘‘You’re a werewolf.’’
‘‘No,’’ he shook his head, a look of cold distrust in his eyes. Then he stood up. ‘‘Thanks for listening.’’
‘‘She. Is. Wrong,’’ he said between gritted teeth after Venom spoke to him.
‘‘I’m not.’’ I, too, got up. It’s best to keep your distance from freshly turned Wolves, so I didn’t come closer. ‘‘And deep down you know I am.’’
‘‘I’m sick. A parasite, they say.’’
‘‘You don’t. It’s nothing of the sort.’’
‘‘I need help!’’ he roared. However, he lowered his voice after he saw me flinch. In an almost ashamed whisper, barely able to suppress the tremble in his body, he admitted what truly lay beneath the surface of the tantrum. ‘‘I’m scared.’’
‘‘Everyone would be in your shoes. Hell, nine out of ten newly turned wolves are scared shitless.’’
He tilted his head, brow furrowed as he tried to discover why I would say that. ‘‘How’d you know?’’
‘‘I worked with werewolves before. Used to be part of the reintegration program management, so I know how challenging it can be for a lycanthrope to re-adjust to the,’’ I pursed my lips, struggling to find the right word, ‘‘situation. I can’t tell you how to live your life, but, if you trust me enough, I can help you learn how to control it.’’
He let out a deep sigh and nodded. ‘‘What’s your name?’’
‘‘Y/N.’’
He extended his hand, already visibly less than before. ‘‘Eddie. Eddie Brock.’’
That handshake started our partnership.
Or, better said, friendship.
After that rainy Thursday, Eddie has started frequenting the café. During the week, he’ll stay a couple of hours at most. On Saturdays he doesn’t come, but on Sundays he’s pretty much here from opening until closing.
The bell by the front door tinkles, the chime loudly interfering with the lo-fi playlist playing softly over the speakers.
“Morning, Y/N,” Eddie greets me as soon as he walks in. Immediately, he, heads for his usual spot by the window.
“Morning, Eddie,” I say, trailing his movements. He has dark circles under his eyes and his face is pale. “Sleep well?”
He mutters something under his breath, his gravelly voice lowering to a pitch that makes it sound more like a growl.
Both of you had a wonderful night, didn’t you?
Out of the blue, he abruptly stops in his tracks. Grown still and the golden morning rays of the sun accentuating his bulky figure, he sniffs the air. Multiple question marks are floating around his head as he turns around to discover the source of whatever it is he has caught a whiff of. Then his eye falls on the source.
“Those are some pretty flowers. Who,” Eddie points at the vase on the counter and sheepishly scratches himself behind the ear, “Who gave you those?”
I can’t suppress a smile at the sight of the luscious bright red alstroemerias and stark white chrysanthemums. “Shaun did.”
“Who’s Shaun?”
I nod at the flower shop across the street. “The dog running the joint over there.”
He looks over his shoulder and then back at me, a frown marring his handsome features. “Hey, Y/N, that’s racist.”
“Eddie, he really is a dog,” I clarify, turning towards the big cabinet behind me with various beans. I select his usual, with a special twist, and put them in the grinder. “A foo dog.”
Again, he looks out the window.
Shaun is busy with creating a display for this week’s shipment and a few new arrangements he made. From his apron he pulls a piece of chalk and writes something on the board next to the entrance. As if he’s heard us, he turns around and waves, beaming bright enough for his pearly white teeth to show.
I wave back, earning myself a quick glance from Eddie. His expression holds the middle between utter confusion and a kicked puppy. Nonetheless, when I meet his gaze, he gives me a look of utter disbelief while pointing outside. “You’re telling me that that dude over there who looks like a martial arts champ is a what?”
“A foo dog,” I say as I tamper the ground beans and prepare the shot. ‘‘By the way, it’s impolite to point at people.’’
“What’s that?”
I lean on the counter. “Look and you’ll see.”
Shaun has gone back inside, busily arranging flowers behind the till. He seems to catch something from the corner of his eye, which makes him go rigid. There’s a poof of smoke and where Shaun was now stands a stone foo dog on a pedestal.
A small heavily tattooed girl walks towards the shop. A smile appears on her lips when she looks into the window, shaking her head as she sees the statue.
“Her name’s Saoirse, runs a tattoo studio specialised in the supernatural nearby called Saga Ink. Shaun has been thinking about getting a tattoo from her, but, as you can see, he’s a bit of a nervous puppy.” I chuckle. “Poor man. At this rate, maybe I should make the appointment for him.”
“It sounds like you know him well.” Full lips pulled into a pout, Eddie fumbles with his fingers.
“I have to keep this place looking pretty somehow.”
“Do you get them that often?”
“Hey, if I could, I’d give them eternal life.” I shrug. “Unfortunately, this witch only knows her herbs, flowers, and plants well enough for magick that requires them to die.”
“You’re a witch?” His reluctance to break eye contact almost makes him trip over a few chairs on the way to his favourite seat. Fortunately, he reaches it without harming himself.
“Every woman has her secrets, but yeah. Maternal line, tracing all the way back to 1597, at least, possibly further. I hail from simple folks, those who weren’t documented. Way I heard it, my ancestor left Scotland as soon as the witch hunt began there. Came here and made magick the family secret.” I pour the freshly prepared coffee in a mug, step away from the counter, and place it on the table in front of him. There is still a bit of time left before the morning madness will set in, so I sit down on the chair across from Eddie and cross my legs. “And look around you now, neo-paganism and wannabe witches all around.”
“Wow,” I hear Eddie mumble under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His cheeks are tinged pink, crooked teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.
Fuck’s sake, man. So much for the stories of you being a thorough man.
I rub my face with my hands. Until I remember I have makeup on.
Startled by my own stupidity, I quickly check my palms.
No smudges.
I let out a relieved sigh and lean back, arms crossed. “Why am I telling a journalist, notorious for his research skills, who’s living in his neighbourhood.”
“I’m new here,” he sulks, sipping his coffee. I chuckle at the response. “This is really good. But a bit too bitter.”
“The beans are roasted with and stored among wolfsbane. It helps lessen the influence of the Wolf.”
Eddie averts his gaze. To any other, it might seem like he’s arguing with the air again, but to those initiated to the goings-on beneath the veil and know the man, it’s obvious he’s having an argument with the beast within.
He lowers his head and looks at me through his lashes. “He doesn’t like it.”
I lean in, fingers entwined and head tilted to come across as sympathetic as possible to the Wolf. “Venom, I know it was the full moon yesterday and you’re still strong, but Eddie’s had a rough night.”
I extend my hand to cup his cheek, his stubble coarse and warm against my palm. “He deserves a break, don’t you think? I’d like for him to stick around a little longer. Both of you.”
“He-’’ Eddie gulps as I swipe my thumb over his cheek. “He agrees.”
“Thank you.”
“But there’s one condition.”
“Which is?”
He nuzzles my wrist, voice distorted. It isn’t Eddie who’s talking now. “Scent you.”
A warmth spreads throughout my chest while time seems to slow, longing to capture and remain in this moment. “I didn’t know you also liked me in that way, Venom.”
Eddie’s eyes widen and he tries to turn his head, his expression one of utter shock. Venom, however, refuses to relent his control and keeps his host in place. “We didn’t mean to tell you so soon,” he mumbles softly.
“It wasn’t particularly hard to guess.” After all, there were the flowers, the helping out with chores, walking me home, the gems and geodes that were left behind as little presents. We went through the whole classic courting ritual.
I release the breath I’d been holding and relax my body. “Go on.”
He perks up, though it’s hard to tell whether it’s purely Eddie who’s ecstatic or him and Venom both. That’s the tricky thing about Wolves. There are times when it’s impossible to tell who’s talking. “We can scent you?”
I nod.
An oddly pleasant shiver runs down my spine when his tongue laps at the skin, coarse and wet, while his plush lips are soft and tender. After a few seconds of watching him, both of us in a strange sort of daze, he grazes his teeth against my pulse.
And forces himself to back down. “We only have permission to scent her.” A pause. “No,” he says firmly, eyes dreamy and still glossed over as our eyes lock, “not until we know each other better.”
“Baby steps, one day at a time.” I scratch his jaw, unable to suppress a giggle when his eyes flutter shut. “That’s how humans do it. Slow and steady.”
Eddie chuckles. “He doesn’t get it. You have no idea how many questions he’s asking me.”
“How about you take me out for coffee sometime and I’ll try to answer some of them?”
“We’d like that.”