James’s Note: This short story is my take on an urban fantasy detective story. I always end up being annoyed by the characters in the ones I read, so I decided to make my own. I have some plans to eventually expand this into a full novel. If you’d like to read more of the Witcher Man’s adventures, let us know in the comments or on social media.
I was not on fire. Considering my day so far, that’s about all I had going for me. I propped my feet up on the desk, reflecting on the list of annoyances, problems and general pains in the ass the day had brought me. This caused epic levels of annoyance in the werewolf sitting across from me.
I considered that last bit a bonus, since the werewolf in question was the largest pain in the ass so far. It wasn’t just his personality, although it was my considered opinion that he didn’t have one. It was more that I had a long standing aversion to dealing with werewolves at all.
This owed less to the rather inconvenient maulings I had been involved in on two separate occasions and more to the fact that I considered the vast majority of them to be either insufferable bullies that needed to be taught some manners or mewling prats who liked being bullied. Neither of these are really what I consider “my sort of people”.
My interactions with them usually ended with somebody getting mauled, although only on one of the aforementioned two occasions had that somebody been me.
“Are you listening to me, Witcher Man?”, the werewolf growled. I noted that he actually did growl, which if you ask me was totally uncalled for.
“If I say no, is there even the slightest chance you’ll stop talking?” I asked wistfully. I thought he might go into an apoplexy any moment, or at least start foaming at the mouth. His name was Damien (which I would have bet the testicle of your choice was not the name he had been born with unless his parents had been incredibly active in 60s drug culture) and he was the Beta wolf for the local pack.
This meant he was technically the second in command but in reality he mostly served an enforcer and errand boy for the Pack’s Alpha. It also meant that he was totally unused to the kind a lip he was getting from my charming self.
Damien lunged to his feet, slamming both hands down on my desk and baring his teeth. This caused the tarantula in the terrarium on my desk to hide under it’s rock in fear.
“You listen to me, Witcher Man. My Alpha sent me here to hire you, so that’s what I’m going to do, but don’t think for one minute that I’m going to put up with this kind of crap from anyone, let alone a meat bag like you.”
My response to this was to yawn hugely while still reclining precariously in my office chair. I also extended my middle finger in the universal sign for live long and prosper. Or maybe it means, “Go bugger a goat”.
I always get those two mixed up.