It seems like just yesterday that I guided my newly renovated Gremlin convertible (courtesy of the truck I drove under on Lake Shore Drive) across the interstate 90 floating bridge and into the tunnel over which the words "Seattle, Portal to the Pacific" stood out in stark cement. In fact, it WAS just yesterday. I've been here one day exactly in this strange and wondrous city where the ocean is on the wrong side and people obey the speed limit. After getting through the rush hour traffic and finding the highway empty on the other side, I made my way towards the forest of shiny skyscrapers that marked the center of downtown and eventually found the headquarters of the Seattle PD.
Even with a glowing letter of recommendation from Captain O'Leary (probably written to make sure I never return to Boston) Seattle Chief Picowsky practically had me dragged out of the place.
"There's no place in this department for a loose cannon werewolf," He had told me.
I wished that Ryan were there to lend me that air of credibility. His whole "country boy from New Hampshire" thing always puts people at ease. Alas, he's a few days behind me, touring the Black Hills with Petunia (she hates when I call her that). Anyhow, back to square one. A few hours later found me staying at the Mayflower Hotel, a friendly fourstar hotel in the heart of downtown. I thought the bellman was going to pee his pants when I dragged my furry werewolf bulk into the lobby, but once he realized I wasn't there to tear him to pieces, we got along just great.
I'm sitting in my room now, with a view of fourth avenue. It's afternoon and the crowds of shoppers and people hurrying back from late lunches surge down the sidewalks. I can hear much of their conversation even from here, even through the glass of the thick windows, and i can smell their humanity. Bronus, my enemy and my lycanthropic father, is out there somewhere, hatching his latest scheme to humiliate me, to hurt me and ultimately to bring me into the fold. That will NEVER happen....