Best New Werewolf Tales (Vol. 1) by James Roy John; Daley Jonathan; Everson James; Maberry Michael; Newman David Niall; Lamio Wilson Page B

tensed, and threw the gin bottle across the room. The glass shattered as it collided with the wall, knocking a picture of his family to the floor.
    He walked over to the picture––the glass in the frame cracked––stepping on fragments of broken gin bottle, unaware and feeling no pain. Picking up the picture, he stared at it, tears welling in his eyes. He brought a finger to his daughter’s face, caressing it, then his wife’s. “I shall avenge you both,” he whispered. He walked to his bedroom, hugging the picture to his chest, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind.
    Two days later, Brad found himself knocking at the door of 105 Cremlock Wood Lane.
     
    * * *
     
    Martin left his office shortly after six p.m., coming down from the high-rise on 23 rd Street and 5 th Avenue. His week had been filled with catch-up work, his own court case having taken up much of his valuable time.
    It was his daughter’s birthday and he hadn’t personally gotten her a thing. His secretary purchased the card, his wife bought the bicycle, but he felt he needed to get her something, something from him to her.
    As he turned left to walk up the sidewalk, he saw an elderly woman standing behind a small cart filled with plush animals. He’d never seen her or her cart before and thought himself in luck––his daughter, like all children, loved stuffed animals.
    As he approached the cart, the old woman’s features presented themselves with clarity. Her skin was weathered like rough leather, and she had large sunken bags under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept soundly in months, but it was the grotesquely hairy mole on the end of her nose that attracted the most attention. If Martin didn’t know better, he’d thought she was a witch. Shaking the crude thought from his mind, he stopped within a foot of the cart.
    “Hello,” the old woman said.
    “Hi,” Martin replied quickly, his eyes on the merchandise.
    “Shopping for your daughter?”
    Martin paused, looking at the old woman. “Yes, how’d you know?”
    The woman cackled. “Why else would a handsome young man such as yourself be looking at stuffed animals?”
    Martin smiled. “Got me there.” He saw tigers, dogs, cats, bears, zebras, lions, turtles, rabbits, and dolphins. “Quite an assortment you have here.” The old woman grinned.
    As Martin continued to search, his face scrunched in indecision, the old woman spoke.
    “Here,” she said, holding out what appeared to be a cute little dog. “Girls love stuffed animals, they should all have one.”
    Martin hadn’t a clue as to what kinds of stuffed animals his daughter liked or had, but a doggy seemed like a safe bet––and essential to a young girl’s collection. “I’ll take it,” he told the woman, reaching into his pocket and handing her a ten dollar bill, as the sign indicated the price.
    Later that night, Martin and his wife presented their daughter Mindy, with her gifts––the card, the bike, and the plush doggy. The young girl was excited, jumping up and down and telling her parents how much she loved them.
    “So you like the doggy?” Martin asked.
    “It’s not a doggy, Daddy. It’s a wolf.”
    “Oh,” he said, clearly having had no idea what type of animal he’d purchased. “Well, do you like your wolf?”
    She smiled up at him, her face bright with joy. “Yes, I love him very much.”
     
    * * *
     
    Brad sat on his sofa; his .45 resting next to him. He flipped through the channels looking for, and not finding, a certain news story. It had been two weeks since he’d paid––dearly––for the witch’s services. He wanted results. Angered and half in the bag, he dialed the old hag’s phone number.
    “Yes?” she asked, answering the phone.
    “When’s it going to happen?” Brad asked, his speech somewhat slurred.
    “Soon.”
    “I paid a lot,” he said, staring at his left wrist, where his hand used to be.
    “Patience my dear. All in good time.”
    “I’m not sure how much