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locked with hers in the mirror as he bent her over and entered her from behind.
    Red sighed and let his hand slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. It’d be a while before he got that particular fantasy out of his system.
     

“Where is he? Is he gone again, you get him out here right now!”
    “He’s tired, Glory, he needs some rest, just let him rest for God’s sake.”
    He rolled over and looked at the clock, three in the morning and his mother was waking up the place screaming for him. He eased out of bed and tugged on a pair of old ratty jogging pants that he wore perpetually around the Club.
    “Hey Ma,” he rubbed his eyes, trying to make the light seem less intrusive.
    She brushed Moose out of the way, “You said you were coming over. I waited up all night, told your dad you were coming and you never showed up. Your poor father is probably worried sick.”
    His father couldn’t remember how to get to the bathroom, he doubted that his absence was too great of a distress. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep but I guess I was more wore out than I thought.”
    “Well,” she put her arms around him, all sins forgiven, “I just needed to see you. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” She hated the Club and hated that he was in it. His father had been in it and his grandfather before that. There wasn’t much of an option, unless he wanted to go Loner, which he didn’t.
    “I’m fine, let’s go get some coffee.”
    “Yeah, and I’ll make you a egg sandwich. If there are any eggs in this shithole.”
    He rolled his eyes and followed her to the kitchen. “How’s Dad doing? Any improvement with the new meds?”
    “None that I can tell. Most of the time he thinks it’s 1975 and we’re about to go on a charity ride to Charleston. Keeps asking me if I’ve packed the guns,” she shook her head.
    “Yeah?” The dementia must be advancing, making him remember things wrong, his dad had never carried a gun before. Who needs guns when you can shift into a killing machine that heals almost instantly?
    She shrugged it off, “Eh, it could be worse. A few weeks ago he thought we were newlyweds again and kept trying to poke me. I’m half as dry as Arizona and twice as dusty, I tried to let him but it was like trying to shove a lumpy wad of dough into a sandpaper tube.”
    Red winced at the mental image, “That’s nice Ma.”
    “You asked. So I was told you were rescued by some girl? A veterinarian?”
    “Yeah, she took me in and fixed me up.”
    “Lucky for you she was there.”
    “Yeah, real lucky, cause I wasn’t healing up for shit.”
    “You figured out why that is?”
    “Not a clue.”
    She looked at him over her shoulder and pulled a piece of paper out of the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “Well that’s odd ain’t it?” She slid the folded paper across the table to him and went back to the oven.
    It was a print out from Wikipedia on an herb called sanguinaria, or bloodroot. Of course there was no mention of its effects on werewolves.
    “You know this one year me and your dad went to Burning Man, and someone gave him what he thought was peyote, but turns out it was this weird herbal mixture that made him sluggish. He also couldn’t shift for a week.” She put the plated sandwich in front of him. “You been taking any of them herbal speed pills you can get at the 7 Eleven? You gotta watch them things, sometimes they react weird with us.”
    That was a lie, his dad smoked like a freight train but would never have done any drugs and he also hated anyone who might be considered a hippie. Going to Burning Man and taking peyote would have been as out of character as a preacher’s wife giving him a blowjob while praising Gaia. It could happen, but it was highly unlikely.
    He nodded to let her know he understood, his mom was one annoying bitch but she was smarter than Satan, “You going to make you one of these?”
    “Nah, it’s too late to eat, I’m watching my