The Werewolves Who Weren't

by T C Shelley

  Bladder squinted, the darkness overwhelmed even his eyes, and he leaned forward to see a tiny grey nugget. He plucked it from the massive hill. A small avalanche of beanies pelted the foot of the stone dais.

  Bladder stared at the never-formed gargoyle in his paw.

  ‘Without Thunderguts, the Hatching has stopped,’ a dark voice said from the throne.

  If Bladder had breath, he would have lost it.

  He recognised the voice, old and croaky as it was, but the stale scent of fairy dust floated with it. Bladder saw her. The crone. Maggie.

  Maggie? This was it, he was dead. He was broken rock, a tumbled boulder. He turned, stiff and wary. She sat alone on the throne. Bladder glanced around, but she didn’t have Sam with her. Well, that was a relief; at least she hadn’t got him yet.

  ‘You’re the first creature I’ve seen here not scampering around in terror. Your kind are braver than I realised,’ Maggie said. ‘You’re a gargoyle. Is that right?’

  Bladder was glad his … you know … wasn’t the kind that beat, or it would have been crashing and thumping against his innards like dance music.

  She’d recognised him for a gargoyle. Would she realise he’d been the one who’d thumped into her in Baba Yaga’s Cavern? Did he dare speak? He opened his mouth, words wouldn’t form.

  ‘Most monsters no longer come here,’ she said. ‘Except for the few I’ve ordered down. It’s a graveyard to them, they expect ghosts and ghoulies and all kinds of dead things. So many of the great ogres are dead, and more die each day, and with no Thunderguts to breathe on the eggies, there’ve been no further hatchlings. They’ll all just sit here and moulder. The air itself is dying, can you not smell it?’

  ‘Air?’ Bladder managed to croak out.

  Maggie turned on him, fixing a wild eye on the gargoyle. ‘Clever creature! That’s right, we need an heir, but Thunderguts died without naming his successor. If only he’d said who would follow him. He could have named me, and I’d be breathing new life into all of this.’ She waved her arm at the hills around her. ‘Walk with me.’

  Bladder eeped. Please, he thought at Wheedle and Spigot. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t try to save me.

  Maggie the crone must have seen his face. ‘Fear not, little gargoyle, I’ll not harm you. I need to lean on someone when I’m like this. My bones ache and my joints are full of sand.’

  Bladder didn’t want to throw away his nugget, but he couldn’t walk with it in his paw. He dropped it sadly, letting go of the unborn gargoyle.

  He sidled closer, hoping her vision was bad when she was a crone, maybe her memory too. Or was she leading him into a trap? She couldn’t move fast enough to chase him right now, but if he got close … WHACK! Hit him with a cane?

  He couldn’t run though. She’d punish him if he did that.

  Bladder gritted his lion teeth and trotted obediently closer, jumping up on to the dais and approaching the stone throne.

  Maggie reached a clawed and gnarled hand to him, grabbing his mane. ‘Pull me up … what is your name?’

  Bladder gulped. ‘Bladder.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the typical insipid name for a gargoyle. Such a shame, you seem a good specimen of your kind. You deserve better.’

  Bladder didn’t argue. She was being pleasant.

  He stepped back, allowing his weight to lever Maggie from the throne. She hoisted a sack up with her, pulling it over her shoulder with a stiff jerk.

  ‘Walk me down to that tunnel there.’ Maggie gestured to a cobbled exit across from the throne. ‘I need to address the troops in the next hour. There’s a lot of hunting needed to get to the next stage. We’ll get there, little gargoyle. Don’t you worry.’

  Bladder listened to the crone’s aches and moans as he helped her off the stage, and walked her slowly towards the same opening that led to the drain Bladder wanted to use. Not good.

  ‘In these days, even a brave gargoyle will have a place in my army. Can’t be too fussy now there’s so few of us left. You’ll know, I’ve lost most of the old ones. They remembered the old days too much, when it was easy to find a victim. Most of them have got themselves killed. The vermin have guns and lights and they fight back. We need to rebuild to be as powerful as we once were. We don’t have the numbers any more, so the young ones have become less bloodthirsty.’ She looked at Bladder now, really looked at him. The gargoyle shook; his skin shivered. Did she know him? ‘They might not come here, but they remember this.’ She waved a bent hand towards the egg pile. Bladder could see and hear how much it cost her. Her shoulder cracked as her arm moved.

  ‘At least it’s quiet down here. I go up there and I can hear them muttering “How long?” and “What next?” and “When?”’ She stopped talking and shuffled more quickly.

  What was she planning to do? Bladder thought. Did it have something to do with Sam? Was that why she was looking for him?

  ‘So, what is next?’ Bladder said aloud. He couldn’t believe the words had come out of his own mouth.

  The crone slowed, and chuckled at Bladder. ‘You are a brave one. Not a one has had the nerve to ask me directly. Most of the others barely squeak to me. I must admit I do have a short temper. Maybe I should make you my attendant, gargoyle. You are the most courageous and intelligent creature I’ve seen for months. Things that could smash you in a second are hanging back shaking like milk.’

  Bladder struggled to fight the good feeling her admiration gave him.

  He peered sideways and up. Wheedle and Spigot stared at him, with open mouths like dark caverns. He looked away, hoping they understood he wasn’t asking for help, he didn’t need saving.

  Maggie the crone continued. ‘I believe our only way forward is stolen magic. There’s no life magic left in monsterkind now without Thunderguts. Who knows where it went, but it must be handed down. To awaken the hatchlings, we’ll steal other magic, and I am determined to save every scrap of fairy dust to this end.’ She pushed her arm around so Bladder could see the bag hanging from her shoulder and patted it. The powdered fragrance of fairy dust escaped the sides. She’d managed to collect a lot more than a small tinful, and the burden of carrying it hurt her. ‘Fairy dust is the most potent magic in the world and in the right hands, there’ll be more ogres, more trolls. Maybe I’ll gift you with a little gargoyle or two.’ The crone winked at Bladder. He thought of young Wheedle and Spigot, and sewer water dampened his snout. Maggie continued. ‘The only time I use it is to ready myself to steal more. I can’t afford to waste it. Fairy magic is life magic in the hands of a fairy, and I have a plan to get so much more. That’s what we must do first.’

  Bladder didn’t want to point out that monster plans hadn’t always gone too well for them. Thunderguts had wanted the soul sword destroyed to stop the hiding, and this dead place was the result. Hold on, what did she say at the end? ‘In the hands of a fairy?’ Bladder asked. ‘But why would a fairy help you? You’re stealing their dust.’

  Maggie the crone chuckled at him. Motherly. ‘We have our own half-fairy, didn’t you know? Half-fairy, half-monster.’

  Bladder shook. He knew exactly who she meant.

  ‘My Samuel,’ she said. ‘It’s because of him we’re free. He released us.’

  Bladder looked around the Great Cavern. She was bonkers. Sam destroyed the sword and turned The Hole to a tomb. Still, if she was after him, she might know how to find him. ‘So, where is he?’ Bladder asked.

  ‘I haven’t located him. Not yet. I searched for him, hill and dale, and I wasn’t able to feel him for such a long time. Sometimes I can sense him, you know? Maybe it’s because I held his soul inside of me so long that we have such a strong connection. For a time, it was almost as if he fell asleep. I knew he wasn’t dead, but I couldn’t find him, and now it seems as if something has woken him. He’s a naughty imp and likes to play, so maybe it’s that he wants to come back to us finally, and I must help him find his way home again. As soon as I talk to my troops, I’m going to search for him.’
r />   Bladder trembled at the sudden affection in the banshee’s voice. Sam had left the Kavanagh house, which had been covered in Daniel’s protective sigils, and now he was vulnerable again. The monsters could track him, if they wanted, and Maggie would kill Sam as soon as hug him.

  Bladder had to be careful getting to Sam himself. He couldn’t afford the crone or her cronies on his tail.

  Hold on! If she hadn’t seen Sam, who was the woman in The Lanes?

  The softness returned to Maggie’s voice. ‘Actually, I think I could use you for something else. I hear gargoyles are the best sniffer dogs. Isn’t that right? And my Sam’s fond of gargoyles.’ She turned a hard eye on Bladder, squinting as if she remembered Bladder had been Sam’s gargoyle and had attacked her.

  Bladder gagged back a little bit of sick.

  ‘No, Sam would have smashed any gargoyle who hurt me. Surely he would. He …’ She tapped at the place where a human would have a heart, although Bladder knew her chest was dry and empty. ‘He is fond of his gargoyles, and he feels something for me. We’re tied.’ Maggie patted the lion on the back. ‘See if you can find any news of him for me. As soon as I’ve seen my troops, I’ll be back here. Do you need a couple of pixies with you? They can deliver any information.’

  ‘No, no, I’ve got a pack. It’s fine.’

  ‘More gargoyles? We’ll have to treasure you more in future. Who knew the value of you? You find my Sam. He’s off playing somewhere, and he’s being a naughty boy, but you talk him into coming home. You’re bright, and it’s pleasant to have help that’ll actually raise its voice.’ Maggie clicked her swollen fingers. ‘Nasty Nan!’ she called, and a shivering she-goblin appeared from a shadow. The goblin didn’t even spare a threatening glance at Bladder, she bowed and her long nose trailed in the dirt. ‘Are the troops gathered?’

  ‘Been waiting on Your Maj’sty for a little bit.’

  ‘Come on. I know you’re all wanting back to the outside world,’ Maggie said, and a blight of pixies scurried like cockroaches out of the dark and fled joyously ahead of her, rushing to escape The Hole, and giggling harder the further they ran from the Great Cavern. ‘Bring me some news of the boy, gargoyle, and you can pick a bauble and the first hatchling will be yours,’ Maggie said, then she leaned on the she-goblin and limped away.

  Bladder looked back at the mounds of beans. If she was right and Sam was the key to her hatching them all, then Maggie wouldn’t stop searching for him until he was back in The Hole by her side.

  Bladder peered up to where Wheedle and Spigot stared at him, mouths open in silent shrieks.

  He listened as Maggie and Nasty Nan hobbled away. He sniffed the tunnels, just a sliver of a scent of Sam. Half-fairy, half-monster, mixed too heavily to mistake him. The boy had such a distinct scent. Maggie was closer to Sam than she realised.

  Bladder waited until Wheedle and Spigot joined him. ‘We’ve got to get to Sam before some other monster finds him. The fact she thinks I’m that monster may have bought us some time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Wheedle asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

  CHAPTER 14

  While the gargoyles lingered in the darkness of The Hole, Sam lay in his bed listening as Woermann pressed four buttons somewhere near the front door – beep, beep, beep, beep – then wandered upstairs to stand outside Sam’s door. Sam pretended to sleep, making soft sounds and breathing gently. The big man padded away and a door – Woermann’s bedroom door, Sam guessed – opened and closed on the same floor but on the opposite side of the building.

  Sam lay there, quiet and patient, listening to the alarm system bipping every three seconds. Woermann probably set it as much for keeping in Sam as keeping out anyone else. Sam listened. And waited. Then waited some more.

  Finally, he heard Woermann purring in happy sleep.

  Sam got out of bed fully dressed and stole barefoot to the window he had worked on all day, pulling at its hinge until it had opened to a boy-sized gap.

  Everything shone under the gibbous moon, three-quarter-sized and full of spite. Moonlight revealed the side of the house. On the ground floor and even the second floor, little red eyes, part of the alarm system, blinked at Sam, telling him ‘We’re watching this window, find another’.

  Sam climbed sideways towards the corner room and peered in. Yes. It was the guest bedroom with the hingeless window. The window was closed, but it took him no time to get his fingers into the frame. It opened with a sigh, and Sam crawled inside the room, stopping as he did to reassure himself Woermann was still snoring.

  The plush olive carpet swallowed the sound of Sam’s footsteps. He ran down the upper corridor and took two flights of stairs, sure only a gargoyle could have heard him, and only if it had been actively listening.

  The kitchen door opened on smooth-oiled hinges and he stepped into the room. The alarm system on the window blinked at him again, but he wasn’t trying to open an outside door, so it didn’t pay much attention. The dark ominous shapes transformed into a table and chairs, while the bulky figures across the room turned out to be no more than a fridge and a stove.

  He approached the white door at the back of the kitchen. It looked like a pantry from the outside, but Sam’s nose picked up the stink of miserable animals and of fairy dust. There weren’t only dogs, but cats, rabbits and other creatures’ smells he didn’t recognise. If he could get them out of that little room, they could all worry about the alarm system afterwards.

  He stopped again, listening for the only noise he wanted Woermann making: snores.

  The pantry door had no key lock. Sam wondered if it needed some special device to open it, but he pulled down the handle and the door simply released. What appeared to be a pantry door opened on to dark stairs.

  So far, so good.

  Growling and whining started immediately.

  ‘Shhh,’ he hissed down at the noisemakers. ‘Be quiet. Don’t wake Woermann.’

  ‘Who is that?’ a rough, doggy voice called up. ‘I’ve still got all my teeth, you know.’

  ‘I’m Sam.’

  The animal sounds stopped and clear voices began arguing. ‘Not the cat man’, ‘Smells worse’, ‘It’s a monster’.

  ‘No, it’s Sam. Shut up, everyone. He told you to shut up,’ Amira’s determined voice called over them all.

  Sam inhaled. His ears had to drown out their arguments to listen. Flights away, Woermann muttered.

  Sam stepped into the doorway. ‘Be quiet or I shut this door again.’

  The animal sounds softened into complaints. ‘Well, you don’t have to be so nasty,’ someone said.

  Woermann shuffled overhead. The snoring resumed.

  ‘You sure about him?’ the doggy voice asked.

  ‘I sure am, Dad. That’s my friend Sam. And he understands everything we’re saying.’

  Sam smiled at the sound of Wilfred’s voice.

  ‘Come on,’ Sam said. ‘This door is heavy.’

  ‘All right then, everyone out,’ said the doggy voice, Mr Kintamani, Sam guessed.

  Overhead, Woermann murmured happily in his sleep.

  Cries of relief and ‘Soft, now’ came closer and the padding of paws and the clicking of claws sounded on the wooden steps.

  Sam stepped back, holding open the door and letting the first wave of animals crawl out of the darkness. A trio of rabbit kittens bounced into the kitchen, followed by two brown rabbits who blinked in the moonlight spilling through the window. The larger of the two stood on its hind legs and sniffed him.

  ‘Oh, yes, I smell it now. Clover. Lovely,’ it whispered.

  A half dozen shelties piled out behind them and a few more dogs appeared, carrying strange spiky animals in their mouths.

  The dogs put the spiky creatures down and grinned in the doggy way, open-mouthed, tongues out.

  ‘Hedgehogs,’ a beige dog said to his raised eyebrows. ‘So, you’re Sam?’

  ‘He sure is,’ said the puppy behind them. Hazel. ‘Hurrah,
Sam!’

  ‘Shhhh,’ Sam said. ‘Woermann’s upstairs.’

  ‘Hurrah, Sam,’ Hazel whispered, and jumped up to lean on his knees. He rubbed her ears.

  ‘We can say very honestly, we’re very pleased to meet you,’ said a lovely beige dog. She licked Hazel’s ear.

  ‘Mrs … Dr Kokoni?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well done, young man,’ said her mate. ‘I think after rescuing us, you can call us Andreas and Chryssi.’

  Wilfred lolloped around them and slurped all over Sam’s hand. ‘You’re OK, which is brilliant, and you just let us out, which is doubly so.’ He turned to the saluki pup behind him. ‘Now aren’t you glad we made friends?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Amira said. ‘You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?’

  ‘Nope,’ Wilfred said.

  Amira’s mum stood behind her daughter. ‘Every time I see you, young man, you’re letting me out of something. Maybe next time, we’ll just have you over for dinner, hey?’

  While Hazel, Amira and Wilfred gave his knees grateful puppy kisses, another dozen shifters appeared in the kitchen. Some were dogs, but the rest were cats, rabbits and a couple more hedgehogs, who obviously needed to be carried up steps too big for them to jump. They were followed by the shy, friendly faces of a pair of badgers, and the last two faces belonged to two black and fluffy dogs.

  ‘Is that everyone accounted for?’ the larger one asked. He sniffed down the steps to check.

  ‘That’s my dad.’ Wilfred’s fur fluffed up proudly. ‘He’s a detective inspector.’

  Wilfred’s parents, two Kintamani dogs, sniffed Sam’s face. A cat walked back and forth next to Sam’s leg, rubbing itself against him as it did so. She introduced herself: ‘Cecile Siamese,’ she said.

  The badgers stared at the kitchen doors. ‘Well, next stage of the escape. We have to get through those. Top of the range alarm system.’

  ‘Just smash ’em and run, I say,’ a rabbit suggested.