The Mayfair Moon

by J. A. Redmerski

  Counting Alex, four werewolves stood in my house.

  Werewolves.

  Alex ran with a chilling ease at the other three. She and one other clashed in mid-air; Alex’s head-start propelling them both back out through the broken window. The others followed.

  I got to my feet and ran out the front door. It didn’t matter that I should’ve tried to hide, or run away from them. Hypnotized by the event, all I could force myself to do was watch.

  FOUR WEREWOLVES QUICKLY TURNED into five and then six. My heart quavered; fascination and fear working together to keep me conscious. I had lost sight of which one was Alex so fast, as they all looked the same to me.

  Amid the chaos, I thought of Beverlee and Uncle Carl, hoping they wouldn’t come home early. If I was going to die like this, I didn’t want to bring those I loved down with me.

  Not like this.

  The porch rumbled and shook beneath me; the dead plants hanging above swung back and forth. A pungent stench suddenly filled my nostrils and slowly I turned around to see the seventh beast coming toward me on the porch. I took off in the opposite direction, leaping over the porch railing and landing in the wide open where the others caught in the bloody brawl could clearly see me. I didn’t know where I was running, or why I thought running anywhere was going to help, but I ran. I ran and ran. I could feel the hot, rancid breath of the one chasing me, moistening the flesh on my back.

  Don’t run into the barn, I said to myself. But there was nowhere else to go.

  I ran right into the barn and fell to the ground, backing my way against the nearest pile of rusted junk.

  The enormous beast bore down on me, walking slow and methodically in my direction as though wanting me to look it in the eyes before it ripped me to pieces. And I did look it in the eyes. They stared back at me so cold and predatory. I thought to myself: Please God; just don’t let that one be my sister. I did not want to be killed by Alex. Anyone but Alex.

  It happened in a blink; but the beast soaring at me was not of its own accord. Another werewolf had entered the barn and dove at it, sending it crashing violently into the wall right past my head. I rolled out of the way seconds before debris crushed me.

  They fought so fiercely they almost brought the barn down. The weak roof in the corner fell, exposing the darkness to the moonlight and anything mounted along the rotting walls came falling down in every direction.

  The force of their feral blows was supernatural. No human could have survived even the weakest one. Blood glistened in their long, mangy fur and deep gashes as long as my arm were cut into their massive bodies.

  I started to run out of the barn, but fell over an old tire obscured beneath the hay.

  One last violent blow struck one beast down. I didn’t know which was which. Thinking that one of them had actually been there to save me was not in my thoughts. All I knew was that they were both werewolves and I was a human girl. I looked at them, wondering which one was going to win me as the prize...the meal.

  The one still standing glared across at me, but it did not advance.

  Those outside howled.

  It glowered at me, contemplating. Blood and thick saliva dripped from its massive teeth. Its dark gaze going back and forth between me, the barn exit and the werewolf lying wounded on the floor.

  One last seemingly dominant howl from outside and the werewolf took off for the exit and disappeared; the barn door ripped from its hinges and splintered into a million pieces.

  I was paralyzed. It felt like the breath keeping me alive had become something thicker, more toxic in my lungs. I choked several times before I could breathe steadily.

  It had become utterly silent outside. The howling and gnashing of teeth, the clash of their lycanthrope bodies; everything stopped.

  I was too afraid to move to see if they were still out there. Hot breath emitted from my barely-open lips in rapid puffs of freezing air. My breath was the only sound.

  One werewolf still lay wounded just feet from me—a small sense of relief short-lived.

  It stirred.

  I saw the rusty machete next to me on the barn floor, covered by even rustier saw blades. I grabbed it and stood up. I knew that no matter how wounded it was, this would still probably end badly for me, but by this time I wasn’t going down without putting up a fight.

  And if it was Alex, then I had to help her by ending this savage, murderous life.

  From a deceptively safe distance, I gazed down upon the beast. It panted and moved its massive head around in a circular motion. My whole body tensed. I felt my courage quickly dripping out of my body along with my sweat. Before I lost it all, I took two steps closer and raised the machete above my head. I felt my legs weak and shaking, barely holding up my weight. I could scarcely hold the weight of the machete as if my arms were as frail as paper.

  I should’ve killed it right then; I had the opportunity, but the beast opened its eyes and looked right into mine. The eyes staring back at me seemed to bore into my soul, stripping from me everything that made me violent and vengeful and detached. A conflict tore my mind apart. I told myself that if I didn’t kill it that it would kill me, but my heart dictated those thoughts. Something was in its eyes, so true and sincere, so absolutely pleading.

  The beast’s form then began to shift as the body lay there on the blood-soaked hay. I watched, every one of my senses pulling me in every direction. I still had the machete. I still had one last chance to strike the blow and take off its head.

  I think only fate kept me from using it.

  The hair began to disappear into the flesh, the snout fading behind the skull, its skin slowly turning from grey-black to a more human-like complexion. The sound of bones cracking was horrific in my ears as they set themselves back into place. The gnarled hands and hind-like legs distorted and shrank to normal size.

  Not realizing I had ever moved, I saw that I was pressed into the wall behind me. I had backed away, but could go no further.

  Isaac lay naked and bloody in the floor of my barn.

  Tears began burning my eyes and throat again. I wasn’t sure about what I was seeing, who I was seeing. I wasn’t sure of anything, not the bitter taste of blood in my mouth, or the ground I stood upon, or the light wind rattling the hole in the roof. Nothing.

  I heard the machete hit the ground, pinging against something else old and rusted as it dropped from my hand. I went with it, falling to my knees.

  And I wept.

  I put my face in my hands and let it all out; my whole body shuddering in a tumultuous display.

  Finally, I could look up again and I did so slowly.

  Isaac carefully sat upright. I heard his neck crack as he rolled his head to both sides. He moaned through tightly gritted teeth until the pain of resetting his shoulder passed.

  He stood, facing sideways from me to shield his nakedness and he walked to the lawnmower, took a filthy, tattered blanket that had been used to cover it, and wrapped it around his lower body.

  Sebastian, my missing friend from school, ran shirtless into the barn and stopped at the entrance.

  I couldn’t handle this, seeing Sebastian alive, seeing Isaac who had just shifted from a werewolf into Isaac again. My eyes darted back and forth between them and then I was even more shocked when Nathan Mayfair stood next to Sebastian. He was completely naked.

  The pieces of this puzzle were all fitting together at once, overwhelming me.

  It took seeing Nathan naked and in partial darkness to realize where I had truly seen him before. He was who fell onto the path in Georgia and told Alex and me to run away. He was the one who turned into a werewolf and fought the ones after him.

  No words exchanged between the three of them, only nods of acknowledgment as Isaac assured them that they could leave.

  Isaac and I were alone again.

  He approached me and instinctively, I recoiled. “Have you been hurt?” he said as he carefully knelt down in front of me.

  Tears streamed down my
cheeks. My body shook all over.

  Carefully, I gazed up into his face and he reached out his hand and touched my lips softly, wiping away a trickle of blood. How amazing a touch so gentle could come from such a violent beast. When finally Isaac sensed my fear of him began to diminish, he took me into his arms and held me pressed against his naked chest. My posture only rejected him for seconds before the warmth of his embrace eased my trembling body.

  “Adria,” he said very carefully, “Where else are you bleeding?”

  I hurt all over, but none of my wounds stung as they do when the skin has been seared. I pulled away from Isaac slowly and looked upon myself. “I-I think I’m just sore,” I said and then I touched my lips where the blood had been, where his fingers had so gently grazed me.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer his question; everything was surreal to me. “I busted my lip—not sure how—I’m okay....”

  Isaac inspected both of my arms and then carefully turned my body at the waist and pulled up my shirt to see my back.

  “Are your jeans ripped anywhere?” he said eagerly as he helped me to straighten my legs out into the floor. He inspected them also, back and front and then put his hand on the end of the front of my shirt. He waited, looking to me first for permission. I let him pull my shirt up enough so he could see my stomach. He was respectful and went no further.

  Isaac leaned in and kissed me long and hard upon the forehead. I could feel the unbridled emotion in his touch, the undeniable need to protect me from everything. The warmth from his mouth spread all throughout my body.

  “If you had been Turned by one of them,” he said, “it would have been the death of me.”

  I think I had been in love with Isaac Mayfair all along, but now was the moment in time in which I knew it.

  He drew me toward him again and held me there, pressed against his warm body. I never wanted him to let me go. I know he felt the same way.

  “I admit,” Isaac said, “I expected more of an unconscious reaction.” He didn’t laugh, but I heard the faintest hint of humor in his voice.

  “This isn’t my first time,” I revealed.

  He pulled my head carefully away from his chest and stared at me. “Explain that.”

  “In Georgia,” I began right away, “Alex and I were, well not necessarily attacked, but caught in the middle of a fight between—” I stopped and pictured Nathan’s face. “Your brother was there. I know that now.” My voice became distant.

  Isaac’s embrace tightened.

  “He told us there was only one girl,” he said, more to himself though it seemed.

  “The worst part about all of this,” I said, also more to myself than to Isaac, “is that somehow, hidden in the deepest part of me, I knew Alex was one of them....”

  Isaac remained quiet, giving me my moment of realization.

  When I had had enough time to go over that understanding in my mind, I turned my attention to him again, dismissing Alex altogether.

  “But you are hurt,” I said, rising up to examine his wounds. “There’s blood everywhere.” It was true, about the blood, but as I examined him more closely, I saw that his wounds were not as grave as they should’ve been. The gash on his chest I knew had been deeper just seconds ago. I looked at him interrogatively.

  “I heal fast,” he said. “It won’t completely disappear, but most of it will.”

  “That explains your scars, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  I reached up and grazed the skin around the fresh wound. To see any part of him mangled like that, it broke my heart.

  “You don’t have to tell me what the Vargas family is,” I said, “but which one of them was that? The one I saw in here.”

  He couldn’t look at me then. “That was Sibyl.”

  His mother. She attacked her own son? I felt so awful for him and so much hatred for her.

  “You saved my life.”

  “I didn’t save anything,” he said. I could hear the shame in his voice. “She would’ve killed you if Viktor had not of called her off.”

  He added, “I’m really sorry, Adria, for what Sibyl did.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” I said. “I just hate that your mother would be so cruel. I don’t understand it....”

  “Nothing much to understand,” he said while still looking at my arms for wounds. “Sibyl betrayed my father with Viktor when I was eight.”

  I said nothing more about that.

  “How did you know then?” I said after a quiet pause. “About Alex being home. I don’t buy that you all just happened to be in the neighborhood at the right time.”

  “I could sense it in your voice on the phone earlier,” he said.

  So, I sucked as a liar, after all.

  “But you still saved my life.”

  Sibyl was his mother and bound to be somewhat stronger than him. And as far as I saw, they both seemed neck and neck up until that last second. And I think it was my fault. I remembered just before the last blow which took Isaac down, that I had started to run for the exit.

  “You were distracted by me, weren’t you?”

  He tilted his head slightly to one side. “No, I was too preoccupied to be distracted.”

  “And here I thought you were an excellent liar,” I said, “You saw me try to run out of the barn, didn’t you?”

  Reluctantly, he gave up just to appease me. “I did see you, but Sibyl is much more powerful than me; not to mention older, and probably would’ve won still.”

  “How much older?” I said. “And really, what does age have to do with it?” The way he said ‘older’ piqued my curiosity.

  “By at least one hundred twenty years,” he said. “So it has a lot to do with it.”

  My buzzing mind came to a sudden stop. Not that I knew a thing about real werewolves to begin with, but I least expected them to be immortal. I thought that they could be killed by silver bullets and fire. I thought that they could be killed by rusty machetes....

  “I couldn’t have killed you if I tried,” I said, realizing.

  Isaac laughed and stood me up with him, his free hand holding the blanket tight around his waist.

  “No, that would’ve killed me maybe if it weren’t so dull and as long as you weren’t a bad aim.”

  “So, you’re not immortal?”

  “Not technically,” he said. “We can be killed by anything that can kill you except sickness and disease—we’re immune to everything. And it’s not quite as easy to kill one of us—better have something bigger than a shotgun.”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “So you didn’t really have pneumonia? None of you were sick? Then where—”

  Isaac curved his big fingers gently around my wrist. “We can talk about this later,” he said. “I think your Aunt and Uncle are home.”

  “Oh no...” I looked toward the broken barn window. Headlights shone brightly up the driveway, bouncing in the darkness as the car went around the pothole.

  “Just tell them you went for a walk and someone broke in while you were gone.”

  That was one excuse down, but I knew it wasn’t going to cover everything. Alex was gone and my shirt was covered in blood. I was going to have to hone my story-telling skills in less than two minutes.

  “But what about you?” I didn’t want Isaac to leave. I had so many questions, but more than anything, I never wanted to be apart from him. “Where will you go? What about your clothes? What if they come after you?” I was a bit frantic.

  Isaac took me possessively into a kiss.

  He enveloped me in his arms, his lips pressed against mine so devotedly that it made me mad for him. The warmth of his arms, the smell of his skin, the taste of him; combined, it sent me over the edge. I pressed myself even further against his chest, my lips becoming heavier upon his own the longer he held me there. It was like a dream and I never wanted to wake up from it.

  He pulled away reluctantly, staring into my eyes. “Adria,” he said, “I won’t let anything hap
pen to you, ever.”

  If he wanted me to walk away from him and do what I needed to do, he was not making it easy for me. But I knew I had to go. Uncle Carl and Beverlee were getting out of the car, ripping that eternal moment with Isaac Mayfair right out of the air.

  We looked at each other, words unspoken that said so many things we both had wanted to say, passed between us. And I left him in the barn, feeling the rest of the night that the next day just wasn’t coming fast enough.

  ~~~

  How I came up with such a perfect story to tell Uncle Carl and Beverlee and in such a short time, was fueled by betrayal. I knew without a doubt that Alex would never be coming home. She nearly killed me. Alexandra Dawson was no longer my sister. She and the Vargas family were, just as Zia and Isaac had tried to warn me, a danger to me and my family. Doing whatever I possibly could to keep her away from them was priority.

  The story I gave them was that I suspected Alex was on drugs and I confronted her. Alex, angry and defensive, went into a rage and attacked me. We fought inside the house and she pushed me through the den window. Because of everything she had done, it was easy for them to accept drugs as the cause. The raw meat on the bar? Drugs could be blamed on many things.

  I convinced them after an hour that I was physically okay and that a trip to the hospital was completely unnecessary.

  But Uncle Carl was about to call the police after I told them my story so convincingly. I begged him otherwise. The police, no one, could get involved in this. I explained how it would only make things worse and that I couldn’t handle it emotionally. They worried about me. I was the only one of my sister and me they felt they didn’t fail. They agreed to leave it alone. But Alex was not allowed back. She was eighteen and responsible for herself now.

  It hurt me to have to do this to Alex, to lie about her and get her banned from coming home. It was not in my character to smear someone’s reputation the way I did hers. I knew that Beverlee would innocently talk to her customers at Finch’s Grocery. Rumors would begin to spread. Alex wouldn’t be able to go into any public place in Hallowell without suspicious and hateful glares from the town’s residents.