The Lycan Games

Chapter 1: Chance Encounter

Genevieve caught her reflection in the store window. A light backpack, strong features, black hair, and a look of absolute bewilderment. Genevieve's mother always harped on her that she needed to mask her feelings. Hide them a bit more. Be less obvious. It'll come across as more polite. Genevieve's relationship with her mother was contentious, to say the least, but Genevieve admits that her mother's observation was true. Whatever Genevieve had on her mind was always written on her face. She was the worst poker player and had an excellent radar for people's performative behavior. She has yet to figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But, right now, at this moment, her reaction to what she was seeing was just plain rude.

Across the street from Genevieve, a farmer had set up a stall. Fresh vegetables, mostly root, were strewn across a red-checkered table cloth. In a large bowl were freshly peeled cloves of garlic. A few boisterous locals have gathered around. The farmer took a fistful of cloves, pulverized them with a mortar and pestle, and handed it to a young man waiting in front of him. The young man happily accepted and took the fistful of cloves. He yelled something in Romanian and shoved every last piece of garlic that he held into his mouth. Genevieve grimaced. She imagined the taste was awful, burning. And it was. The young man's face contorted with discomfort. But the locals cheered him on. He chewed and chewed, sometimes gagging into between. Finally, he swallowed and proudly stuck out his tongue. Evidence that he actually did it. The crowd hollered even louder. The young man raised his arms in celebration. It was a spectacle that Genevieve had never witnessed before, she couldn't help but clap and give a little "whoo-hoo" for a job well done.  

As a Canadian travel specialist, Genevieve had the opportunity to visit many places around the world. Peru, Morocco, Fiji Islands, India. At this very moment, she was in Romania. She'd been sent by her boss to map out a tour for senior citizens. Something relaxing like strolls through gardens, monasteries, perhaps wine tasting. This was her dream job since she could remember. Genevieve yearned for grand adventures, different cultures, and experiencing the wonder of seeing new things. And this moment did just that. She wondered. What type of strange ritual was she witnessing? 

"Strigoi." An American accent made Genevieve turned. A handsome man stood behind her, smiling. He looked no more than thirty years old and clearly figured that Genevieve was trying to decode the mystery of the garlic-eating extravaganza.

"Great," Genevieve said. "How'd you know?" It was a rhetorical question. She knew her resting confused face gave her away. 

The handsome man smiled. "You have that classic tourist, what the fuck am I seeing, face."

Genevieve playfully defended. "Hey. You're not from around here either."

He raised his hands, guilty as charged. "You're right. Boston.  And I had that same face when I got here. Now I'm completely indoctrinated." He offered Genevieve a handshake and his name. "Rob."

Genevieve accepted the handshake. "Genevieve." She thought back to what he said before. "Strigoi, you say?"

Rob nodded, then motioned to the crowd. "Fantastic creatures that carry the troubled souls of the dead. Supposedly, they torment the relatives of the departed. At least that's what people in rural Romania believe. The best way to keep these devil creatures away is to eat garlic or decorate your house with it." Rob points up, to the string of garlic hung outside one of the storefronts.  

Genevieve clocks it. "Okay. So, basically vampires." 

Rob shrugs. "Romania's own breed I guess." Just then a smile crosses his face. "Did you want to try?" 

"What?" Genevieve asked. "The garlic?"

Rob lets out a loud whistle. The farmer looked up and clocked Rob. He waved and tossed him a single glove of garlic. Rob caught it with ease. He offered it to Genevieve. She quickly backed up. "No, thank you. I'm only eating garlic if it's in a mean fettuccine alfredo."

Rob perked up with an idea. "How about in Mici? You know Mici?"

"Yes. I know Mici. They're delicious. I'm not that big of a newb." Genevieve found herself liking Rob. He was fun, carefree, and easy-going, which her ex-boyfriend was definitely not.

Rob clapped his hands together. "Great. I know a great place down the lane. You can tell me where you're from, I can tell you more Romanian lore." 

Thoughts began to race through Genevieve's mind. She was a safe traveler. Knew not to trust anyone. But she's been traveling throughout Romania for weeks now without a day off to really unwind. Her hotel was only a block away and just as long as she didn't drink, she'd be fine. All she would have to do is telephone her hostel, tell them where she'll be and she's golden. Besides, Rob was fricken cute and a little flirtation was healthy for the ego. 

Genevieve smiled. "That sounds like fun. I'm game." 

"I'm glad." Her answer seemed to momentarily catch Rob off guard before he delivered her a warm smile.  "I'm glad you're game. " 

Somehow, Genevieve didn't notice.