Full MoonCity by Holly Black, Gene Wolfe, Mike Resnick, Ian Watson, Peter S. Beagle, Ron Goulart, Tanith Lee, Lisa Tuttle, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Esther M. Friesner, Carrie Vaughn, P. D. Cacek, Gregory Frost, Darrell Schweitzer, Martin Harry Greenberg, Holly Phillips Page B
Authors: Holly Black, Gene Wolfe, Mike Resnick, Ian Watson, Peter S. Beagle, Ron Goulart, Tanith Lee, Lisa Tuttle, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Esther M. Friesner, Carrie Vaughn, P. D. Cacek, Gregory Frost, Darrell Schweitzer, Martin Harry Greenberg, Holly Phillips
Tags: thriller
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over the ropes, scanning for the source of that lycanthropic odor. Then he saw me sitting next to Jenna Larson, and his eyes narrowed. He must have known why I was here. He must have guessed.
My first instinct, wolf’s instinct, was to cringe. He was bigger than I, meaner; he could destroy me, so I must show deference. But we weren’t wolves here. The human side, the side that needed to get to the bottom of this story and negotiate with Larson, met Macy’s gaze. I had my own strengths that made me his equal, and I wanted him to know that.
As soon as Macy entered the ring, Larson leaned over to me. “Well?” She didn’t take her gaze off the boxer.
Macy kept glancing at us and his mouth turned in a scowl. He must have known who-and what-I was, and surely he knew about Larson. He noted the conspiracy between us and must have known what it meant. Must have realized the implications.
“Yeah, he is,” I said.
Larson pressed her lips together in an expression of subdued triumph.
“What are you going to do?” I said. “Jump in and announce it to the world?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll wait until the fight’s over for that.” She was already typing on her laptop, making notes for her big exposé. Almost, I wanted no part of this. It was like she held this man’s life in her hands.
But more, I wanted to talk to Macy, to learn how he did this. I knew from experience-vivid, hard-fought experience-that aggression and danger brought the wolf side to the fore. If a lycanthrope felt threatened, the animal, monstrous side of him would rise to the surface to defend him, to use more powerful teeth and claws in the battle.
So how did Macy train, fight, and win as a boxer without losing control of his wolf? I never could have done it.
The bout had started. In the ring, the two fighters circled each other-like wolves, almost-separated only by the referee, who seemed small and weak next to them. Then they fell together. Gloves smacked against skin. I winced at the pounding each delivered, jackhammer blows slamming over and over again.
Around me, the journalists in the press box regarded the scene with cool detachment, unemotional, watching the fight clinically, an attitude so at odds with the chaos of the crowd around us.
I flinched at the vehemence of the crowd, the shouts, fierce screams, the wall of emotion like a physical force pressing from all corners of the arena to the central ring. Wolf, the creature inside me, recognized the bloodlust. She-I-wanted to growl, feeling cornered. I hunched my back against the emotion and focused on being human.
The line between civilized and wild was so very thin, after all. No one watching this display could argue otherwise.
They pounded the crap out of each other and kept coming back for more. That was the only way to describe it. An enthusiast could probably talk about the skill of various punches and blocks, maybe even the graceful way they danced back and forth across the ring, giving and pressing in turn in some kind of strategy I couldn’t discern. The strategy may have involved simply tiring each other out. I just waited for it to be over. I couldn’t decide who I was rooting for.
Catching bits of conversation between rounds, I gathered that the previous fight between Macy and Jacobson had been considered inconclusive. The blow that had struck Macy down had been a fluke. That he had stood up without being knocked out-or killed-had been a fluke. No one could agree on which of the two had gotten lucky. The rematch had seemed inevitable.
This time, Macy clearly had the upper hand. His punches continued to be calculated and carefully placed, even in the later rounds. To my eyes, Macy looked like he was holding back. A werewolf should have been able to knock an enemy across the room. As a werewolf,
I
could have faced down Jacobson. But Macy couldn’t do that. He had to make it look like a fair fight.
Jacobson started to sway. He shook his head, as if trying to wake
My first instinct, wolf’s instinct, was to cringe. He was bigger than I, meaner; he could destroy me, so I must show deference. But we weren’t wolves here. The human side, the side that needed to get to the bottom of this story and negotiate with Larson, met Macy’s gaze. I had my own strengths that made me his equal, and I wanted him to know that.
As soon as Macy entered the ring, Larson leaned over to me. “Well?” She didn’t take her gaze off the boxer.
Macy kept glancing at us and his mouth turned in a scowl. He must have known who-and what-I was, and surely he knew about Larson. He noted the conspiracy between us and must have known what it meant. Must have realized the implications.
“Yeah, he is,” I said.
Larson pressed her lips together in an expression of subdued triumph.
“What are you going to do?” I said. “Jump in and announce it to the world?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll wait until the fight’s over for that.” She was already typing on her laptop, making notes for her big exposé. Almost, I wanted no part of this. It was like she held this man’s life in her hands.
But more, I wanted to talk to Macy, to learn how he did this. I knew from experience-vivid, hard-fought experience-that aggression and danger brought the wolf side to the fore. If a lycanthrope felt threatened, the animal, monstrous side of him would rise to the surface to defend him, to use more powerful teeth and claws in the battle.
So how did Macy train, fight, and win as a boxer without losing control of his wolf? I never could have done it.
The bout had started. In the ring, the two fighters circled each other-like wolves, almost-separated only by the referee, who seemed small and weak next to them. Then they fell together. Gloves smacked against skin. I winced at the pounding each delivered, jackhammer blows slamming over and over again.
Around me, the journalists in the press box regarded the scene with cool detachment, unemotional, watching the fight clinically, an attitude so at odds with the chaos of the crowd around us.
I flinched at the vehemence of the crowd, the shouts, fierce screams, the wall of emotion like a physical force pressing from all corners of the arena to the central ring. Wolf, the creature inside me, recognized the bloodlust. She-I-wanted to growl, feeling cornered. I hunched my back against the emotion and focused on being human.
The line between civilized and wild was so very thin, after all. No one watching this display could argue otherwise.
They pounded the crap out of each other and kept coming back for more. That was the only way to describe it. An enthusiast could probably talk about the skill of various punches and blocks, maybe even the graceful way they danced back and forth across the ring, giving and pressing in turn in some kind of strategy I couldn’t discern. The strategy may have involved simply tiring each other out. I just waited for it to be over. I couldn’t decide who I was rooting for.
Catching bits of conversation between rounds, I gathered that the previous fight between Macy and Jacobson had been considered inconclusive. The blow that had struck Macy down had been a fluke. That he had stood up without being knocked out-or killed-had been a fluke. No one could agree on which of the two had gotten lucky. The rematch had seemed inevitable.
This time, Macy clearly had the upper hand. His punches continued to be calculated and carefully placed, even in the later rounds. To my eyes, Macy looked like he was holding back. A werewolf should have been able to knock an enemy across the room. As a werewolf,
I
could have faced down Jacobson. But Macy couldn’t do that. He had to make it look like a fair fight.
Jacobson started to sway. He shook his head, as if trying to wake
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