Home for the Howlidays Read online

  Home For the Howlidays

  Edited by

  M.L.D. Curelas

  For my pack

  Introduction

  IT STARTED LAST winter. Our family had had a rough year, not entirely due to the pandemic, and our upcoming holiday celebrations were going to be small—just our household, plus one friend who lives alone. No large parties, no carolling, no in-person gift exchanges . . . the overall mood was subdued at our house. We needed something to cheer us up. I needed something to cheer me up.

  And then I saw the cover.

  Wolves howling at a glowing Christmas ornament moon, framed by snow-covered fir trees.

  Perfect.

  I bought it. I didn’t have a title or a concept, but I bought that cover because it made me nostalgic and happy and hopeful. Within a few days, I had both title and concept and quickly announced that an anthology call would be opening up in the new year. Because, ultimately, what I wanted was to read a lot of stories about friends and family coming together for the holidays. With wolves. (Or werewolves, because Tyche Books publishes speculative fiction, natch.) The call expanded quickly to include canids of all sorts, both supernatural and not, because lots of good doggos aren’t slavering beasts during the full moon.

  So here we are. Home for the Howlidays contains all sorts of dogs and wolves. Werewolves, obviously, but “normal” dogs too! Hellhounds. Ghostly dogs. Dogs with AI enhancements. Magical, mythical creatures.

  You’ll also find fellowship. Families forging or renewing bonds over large, festive meals. Communities coming together through adversity. Gifts of love, peace, and friendship.

  Working on this anthology has been a balm for me over the past year, and I hope it brings you joy as well.

  Happy howlidays,

  M.L.D. Curelas

  Calgary, AB

  August, 2021

  A Furtastic Gathering

  Angèle Gougeon

  “WE NEED MORE blood.”

  Lisa glared at the lone bottle of A-negative sitting on the skinny side-table, amongst the juice, wine, eggnog, and red plastic cups. Marie raced by, shrieking, setting the table wobbling and wearing her older cousin’s winter boot on her head. A pack of little feet stampeded after her, howling at the top of their lungs. Daniel was already half-naked, legs stripped bare and showing off his bright red and blue superhero underpants; Eddie had found the festive Christmas cookies hidden in the hallway pantry, crumbs on his face and icing on his white dress shirt. He stopped to give Lisa a sweet smile, hiding his half-eaten Santa Claus behind his back.

  “Love you, Grand-auntie Lisa!” he said.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” With that, Eddie lunged out the kitchen doorway, smearing more icing, and shoving the rest of the shortbread into his mouth.

  Will snorted, setting the second leaf of the kitchen table into place. His thick forearms corded attractively and Lisa took a moment to appreciate the sight. “Oh, gross,” said David as he carried a load of chairs into the room.

  “What?” Jack followed, five more stacked in his arms.

  “Mom’s ogling Dad again.”

  “Gross.”

  “And the world wonders why romance is dead,” Will huffed, leaning past their boys to peck his wife on the lips.

  “There’s no romance allowed once you reach a certain age,” David said. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “I’ll show you punishment.” Will snarled, flashing yellow eyes, and both boys squeaked and escaped from the room with a flurry of tripping feet and shoving shoulders. The wall quaked with a falling body, then footsteps joined the stampede headed down the basement stairs, several tiny voices squealing in delight.

  Lisa sighed and moved one of the old wooden chairs into place. “You’ve scared away our help, darling.”

  “That was rather the point.” Will grinned and leaned close, trapping her with his large hands on her waist. His thumbs curled into the dips of her hips, fingers nestling around the cord of her apron. “We’ll be fine. Stop worrying about the blood. What’s done is done, and besides, the stores are all closed by now.”

  “But what if it’s no good? It could taste horrible. Maybe he prefers a certain blood type. And can he even eat the turkey? Is it insulting to not have more vintages? I just want things to be perfect.”

  “Honey,” Will pulled his wife into his chest and rested his stubbled chin down on the crown of her greying head, “when have any of our Christmases gone perfectly?”

  “Oh, don't even start,” Lisa grouched, sliding her small hands over the worn cotton of his shirt. “This is the first time Karen’s brought a boyfriend home for the holidays. I don’t want her to be disappointed. Look at this madhouse.”

  Will chuckled a puff of air, nosing into the curls at her temple and big shoulders curling inward. “I’m just hoping no one phones the police this year.”

  “Oh God damn it, Will,” Lisa pulled back with a scowl. “Now you’ve jinxed us.”

  Bridget, Lisa’s sister-in-law, fair-haired and freckled, poked her head through the kitchen entrance. “Do you guys need any help? I heard the brats escaping. With all the noise they were making, you’d think a cat magically appeared.”

  Lisa straightened her reindeer-patterned apron and glanced at the timer over the stove. “Can you and my brother go corral the boys?”

  “The kids are all in the basement.”

  “Well, bring up the older ones. You know who I mean—the ones that are somehow all grown-up but have yet to act like it.” Will threw a poinsettia-patterned tablecloth over the not-quite-large-enough kitchen table. The platter of pickles and butter and the basket of buns sat ready on the old stained counter. A packet of candles stood nearby. Lisa was tempted to put them back in the cupboard—fire seemed like it was tempting fate. “As a matter of fact,” she called out, hearing Bridget pause in the living room, “the turkey’s just about done. Why don’t we get everyone up here? I think we all need one last . . . family discussion . . . before Karen and her date arrives.”

  Will’s shoulders shook as Bridget hurried towards the basement stairs, and Lisa glared at his wide back. “Don’t you dare laugh when they get in here, Will,” she told him. “You know you’ll just encourage them.”

  “Honey,” he smirked, “you’re fighting a losing battle.”

  “WHY DO I feel like I’m in trouble?” David muttered as the family spread out in neat lines across the centre of the living room, in front of the plastic evergreen tree with its lopsided lights, homemade ornaments, and shiny Christmas star. Jack’s daughter, Marie, now without her boot hat, muffled a giggle into the palms of her hands from the front row. Jack gave his twin a wide-eyed look of agreement and patted his pup on her head, messing up her riotous dark curls further. Rebecca, David’s wife, elbowed him in the side with just enough strength to stagger him sideways.

  Facing them, Will stood beside Lisa, silent and arms crossed over the red, white, and green Christmas sweater he’d slipped back over his head, one that had no right to be as ugly as it was—Lisa had hid it in the back of the basement closet and she honestly had no idea how he’d found the thing again, damn it all. Laurie, Alex, and Ellie kept arguing whether it was supposed to be an elf or a reindeer.

  “Where’s John?” Lisa asked.

  “He’s late.” Harry leaned forward to hold Eddie in place, stealing another Christmas cookie he’d pilfered, a snowman this time, and popping it into his own mouth.

  “Daaad!” he yelled.

  Lisa glowered at her nephew, then pinned Eddie in place with a firm glare. “No more cookies until after supper.”

  “Cookies?” Marie perked up.

  “No,” Lisa said, and her granddaughter scowled.

  In the corner, in his well-worn armchair, great-grandpa Wilson let out a snuffling snore. Someone had perched a rumpled Santa hat upon his sparse head. Tiny little hand-prints of icing crawling up his dress-shirt gave clues to the culprit.

  “I want to make this very clear,” Lisa said, making sure to catch every single eye. Her brother Mike threw her a grin with a wink, scratching at the uneven patch of skin on his jawline. “This year, there will be no fighting. There will be no baseball or soccer or hockey in the living room. No one will knock over the Christmas tree. No one will scream through Christmas dinner.” She pinned her eyes on nine-year-old Daniel. “If someone doesn’t like their food, they will spit it into their napkin. They will not chuck it across the room.” Daniel made a face at the ground between his toes. There were already holes in both of his red-striped socks. He was also still half-naked. “No one will put bad werewolf movies on the television—it is no longer Halloween. No one will sneak outside and jump off the roof.”

  “I was eleven,” Ellie muttered mutinously. “I’m a whole year older now. I know better.” She mirrored her granduncle, crossing arms and glaring at Lisa. Her little sister, Alex, patted her shoulder in commiseration, just glad Grandaunt’s attention wasn’t on her.

  “No one will put hockey on this year. And no one will be making bets! You know it always ends in a fight.”

  Andy, Jack’s husband, made a disappointed sound, but drooped when his mother-in-law’s gaze turned to him.

  “When Karen gets here,” she continued, “no one will interrogate her or her boyfriend. Especially before they even get inside the doorway. No one will even mention the words bloodsucker, leech, or ghoul, or I will have you doing dishes the rest of the evening while everyone else gets to open their presents and eat dessert.”


  “Worth it,” David whispered, like everyone couldn’t hear him.

  “Mom should’ve been a dragon instead of a wolf,” Jack whispered back to his twin, and Lisa took a moment to breathe. She shared a look with her nephew Harry’s wife, Sera, farthest down the row of adults, at the back of the room. At least the grandkids and grand-nephews and -nieces had the sense to squirm in the face of her outrage.

  “No one,” Lisa said again, “will ruin Christmas.”

  “Grandma looks mad,” Marie whispered.

  “It’s fine,” Rebecca patted her head. “She’s mostly talking to your dad.”

  “Hey,” Jack complained, while Andy looked as though he didn’t know whether he should be insulted as well.

  “Dumbasses,” Sera muttered under her breath, making Alex gasp, scandalized.

  “Mommy, you said a bad word.”

  “What’s a dumb-ass?” Eddie asked.

  Beside Lisa, Will began to laugh. Again.

  That was when the doorbell rang.

  Shit, thought Lisa. This is going to be a disaster. “Remember, no interrogating him!”

  “But how will I know if he’s good enough for our little sister if I don’t threaten him a little?” David asked, heading for the door before Lisa could cut him off. She silently debated whether it was worth tackling him. No. There were too many little impressionable eyes around.

  “I heard vampires can bench press a bus,” said Harry as he escaped to the kitchen to move the platter of sliced ham to the table. Mike followed to help finish setting up the chairs at the other tiny table shoved against the wall for the kids.

  “David can’t even bench press a broom,” Jack laughed, bringing up the rear with the bowl of gravy. He almost tripped on Daniel, who had followed them. The boy stuck out his ankle and growled.

  “My daddy’s a superhero,” he yelled. “Bet he’s stronger than you!”

  Karen and her vampire boyfriend stepped into the madness, and Lisa pretended she wasn’t rearranging the drink table so that she could stare openly. He was shorter than she had expected, dark-haired and dressed in dark jeans and a nice cobalt button-up. But he was just as pale as she thought he’d be. And when he smiled at her idiot son, two tiny fangs peeked out from the corners of his pallid lips.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she heard David ask, gesturing like an imbecile. “A Bloody Mary, perhaps?”

  God damn it. She should have taken puns off the table, too.

  Rebecca raced by with Daniel’s pants, eyes a little wild and hair a little frazzled, and a tiny hand tugged on Lisa’s floury Christmas apron.

  “Grandma,” Marie whispered, blue eyes big in her round face.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “I have to poop.”

  LISA SET THE hot bowl of mashed potatoes down on an empty corkboard coaster and subtly looked around the packed kitchen table. An uncomfortable silence had settled once the roasted carrots, turkey, and meat pie had finished the rounds. A knife scraped too loud against a ceramic plate, and Andy coughed into the tension. A large glass of A-negative sat before Karen’s date, Adrian. To Lisa’s relief, he’d piled food high onto his plate as the platters swept by. He sat, buttering a warm roll, pretending not to notice how David leaned into his space to study his fangs.

  The six kids sat at the small folding table in the corner, whispering and squashed against one another, elbows already starting to poke and prod for more space. The family had gotten larger over the years, but the kitchen had unfortunately stayed the same—more chairs stuffed around already full tables. Half the salads hadn’t made it off the kitchen counters, and her family of meat-eaters were doing their very unsubtle best to ignore them.

  Will handed a glass of red wine to great-grandpa Wilson, then sat down next to Lisa, who was still fretting that John was late, eyeing their daughter as she became quietly more and more furious with David from Adrian’s other side. “So,” Will cleared his throat, tugging his ugly sweater flat, for once trying to avert disaster, “we haven’t heard much about you, Adrian. What is it that you do?”

  “How did you guys meet?” David added, and Rebecca tugged him back into his chair.

  “Adrian works at the bank.” Karen ignored her brother and started slicing her turkey into tiny little pieces with a grip on her knife that indicated she was about to stab someone.

  “Ah,” said Jack, and Lisa desperately grabbed her wine with a sinking feeling. Don’t, she thought, trying to send the message with her eyes. “Of course,” Jack said. “At the blood bank.”

  An amused curl lifted Adrian’s lips. A dark eyebrow rose in an elegant arch. “No,” he said, “just the regular kind.” He picked up his glass of A-negative, and Daniel turned with laser focus from the kids table to watch, open-mouthed.

  “I didn’t know vampires could eat,” Mike interjected, before David could open his mouth again, and Lisa turned incredulous eyes to her brother. What was he doing? That wasn’t on the list of approved questions. The adults were supposed to be together on this. Together.

  “We can’t. Not really.” Adrian’s grin grew, lips already flushed pink from his long sip. His fangs were actually quite large. “Not to be crass, but . . . I will be expelling it later. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a wonderful home-cooked meal in the meantime. It’s very tasty, Mrs. Walker. Quite a treat from my usual fare.”

  “Just call me Lisa,” she said, faintly to her own ears.

  “What’s expel mean?” Eddie whispered. But he was six, so it was more like shouting and everyone heard.

  “He’s going to chuck it up,” Karen said plainly from the main table, smirking as multiple adults groaned. Andy made a face at his mashed potatoes and gravy and ate some ham instead.

  “Oh, gross!” Laurie and Ellie shrieked, jostling Alex’s arm, who still didn’t seem to understand. Jack laughed, snorting into his white wine, then squealed when it went up his nose.

  Karen laughed back at him obnoxiously, “Nice going, Jackyboo.”

  “Bite me, Kare-bear,” he said, but his snarl wasn’t very effective with his napkin held over his face.

  “Only Adrian gets to do that,” she replied.

  David leaned around Karen’s date to scowl at her. “None of us want to know that, Sis.” Harry snorted something from the other end of the table, and suddenly he and David, Jack and Karen were all bickering. Andy got up to keep Marie from spilling gravy all the way down the front of her red and gold Christmas dress. Daniel loudly asked if he could see Adrian’s fangs—and if the vampire had ever killed anyone with them. Will rolled his eyes fondly when great-grandpa Wilson began to nod off over his plate and reached down to squeeze Lisa’s hand. For a moment, she thought that maybe, just maybe, for once everything might end up okay.

  EVERYTHING WAS NOT okay.

  Marie stood in the middle of the living room, shrieking. Adrian looked impressed at her pitch.

  She’d been telling them all about the letter she’d gotten last Tuesday from Santa Claus when Daniel huffed, starting to say, “Santa Claus isn’t re—” and Alex growled, leapt across the room, and bowled him over.

  “Don’t ruin the magic,” she screamed, fur starting to sprout.

  Lisa hurried toward them, then heard Harry saying, “We should go carolling,” and took a hard left.

  “We can’t go carolling,” Sera told her husband.

  “Why not? We could—”

  Lisa gripped his elbow, pressing tight. “No carolling,” she hissed.

  “What? But Aunty—”

  Good. Will had gotten to the children. Daniel and Alex were both in the corner, being scolded. Marie hiccupped into her dad’s shirt that no one was listening to her. She’d been talking. It was her turn to talk, Daddy.

  Sera leaned closer to them and lowered her voice. “Last year those asshole cat-shifters on Gallier Lane called the cops on us, remember? We can’t go carolling again. They said they’d arrest us if they found us out there again this year.”

  “What? How are they going to know it’s us? Like no other werewolves ever Christmas-carol. Just because those furballs can’t appreciate some good music doesn't mean we shouldn’t—”