garments, at least some of which must be his, in a heap by the window. Burning with the special embarrassment that only happens when you’re dressing on suffrance before getting thrown out, he fumbled for the other sock, decided he could probably do without it, and dragged his pants on. Probably, he told himself, this wasn’t how the scenario played out for Pieter. Still, he’d had the manual, even if it was only inside his head.
The phone rang.
She scowled at him. “You’d better answer it,” she said.
He grabbed it from her outstretched hand. “Hello?”
“Pieter?”
Max’s voice. For God’s sake.
He straightened up fast. “Max?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
She was still glaring, so he turned away, facing the window. He looked up and saw the sky. It was dark blue, with a round fat full moon. “Max, it’s me.”
“What?”
“It’s me, dammit. It’s—”
And then his voice jammed in his throat and he couldn’t breathe or move. Something horrible was happening to him. He could feel his face stretching, as though his nose and mouth were plastic and they’d melted, and someone was drawing them out like strings of fondue. His ears were changing too, the skin around them was being squeezed like a toothpaste tube into a strange, inappropriate shape. He wanted to yell, but his tongue was swelling in his mouth and, for some unfathomable reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off the moon.
“Pieter?” There was terror in her voice. “What the hell are you doing?”
Then he did yell, because something was bending his knees the wrong way, but inexplicably the bones didn’t snap under the intolerable pressure, and now, instead of hinging forwards, they hinged back –
“Pieter!”
His eyes still fixed on the moon, he raised his hand (his visible right hand) until he could see it, on the edge of his field of vision. It was covered in thick grey hair, which doubled in length as he watched. Suddenly the blockage in his throat cleared; he breathed in, and the shock of a million new smells, all overwhelmingly rich and detailed and crammed with information, made his head swim. He gasped and, as he closed his automatically opened mouth, he felt long, sharp teeth digging into what had been his lower lip.
He heard her scream, but she needn’t have bothered; the smell of her fear was so much more informative, and it made his mouth water. He watched her back away; she was clear when she moved, but when she stood still she was just a blur. He felt a strange twisting movement just above his bottom, and realised with a deep pang of embarrassment and shame that it was his tail, wagging.
A werewolf, for crying out loud. Pieter –
Meanwhile, though, the poor woman was clearly terrified out of her wits, and he couldn’t allow that to continue. He decided against a reassuring smile, because when a man opens his mouth and displays all his teeth, that’s fine, but when a wolf does it, the message thereby sent isn’t quite the same. Never mind; a few reassuring words would have to do instead.
He said: Don’t worry, it’s perfectly all right, I won’t bite you. What came out from between his teeth, however, was a clear, high-pitched howl that scared the life out of him until he realised it was him doing it. She, meanwhile, was scrabbling at the door handle, too paralysed with fear to make it turn. All in all, he couldn’t help thinking, not an improvement.
(And all the while, a nagging little sub-routine in the back of his mind was asking; why a werewolf, Pieter, where the hell’s the fun in that? A vampire, maybe; it’s just possible to understand the kick to be got from the dapper clothes, the swirly cloak, the subdued lighting, the necks of swooning girls. But you’d have to be profoundly weird to want to spend your leisure time moonlighting, so to speak, as a part-time dog.)
“Hello? Hello? What the hell’s going on there?”
The phone was now lying on the floor, with Max’s voice bleating tinnily out of it. He grabbed for it, but he had nothing to grab with; his fingers had gone, and all he had was stupid little stubs with claws sticking out of them; sensational for ripping and tearing flesh, not so great for holding stuff with. Max, he shouted into the mouthpiece, don’t hang up, it’s me. But that wasn’t what came out. His howl blended with the woman’s scream in an unintentional form of counterpoint; then she managed to get