Destiny of the Last Wolf

by Amy Cross

  "Oh God," I mutter.

  Arthur turns to me.

  "His ego," I say, "is going to be huge."

  Duncan stands up. "Well that's nice," he says, grinning. "I mean, I'm not sure anyone else is going to recognize that I'm the King, and I definitely won't be pressing the point, but it's nice to know that I should really be on the throne."

  Without saying anything further, Arthur turns and carries Excalibur to the shore, walking out into the water and slowly disappearing under the surface until, finally, he's gone.

  "Is that it?" I ask. "Is Excalibur finally safe?"

  "Yep," Duncan says. "No-one can get it now. Not you. Not me. Not Lumic. Not anyone. It's back where it belongs. Where it wants to be."

  "And we're safe, right?" I wait for him to reply. "Duncan. We're safe, aren't we?"

  "From Thomas Lumic? Probably not. I need to work out what to do about that." He looks out across the lake. "We should get back to the other side," he says. "It's nice and peaceful here, but we can't stay forever."

  "Can't we?" I ask, not entirely joking.

  He shakes his head. "Time to get moving," he says. "Time to come up with a plan. I always feel much better when we have a plan, even if it's rubbish. At least a rubbish plan gives you something to do."

  I take a deep breath and try to imagine Arthur still carrying the sword beneath the surface of the lake, taking it to their final resting place. I feel a little bit as if I've just stumbled into the end of something quite important, as if a chapter in British history has just closed. And to be honest, there's a part of me that would like to just stay on this island forever, never having to face the ghosts - both real and figurative - that exist in the rest of the world. But I guess things can't be that easy. Not with Duncan.

  Jess

  "I've got a question," I say, as Duncan and I walk away from the shore. "When we change into our wolf forms and then change back, how come our clothes stay intact?"

  "You'd rather be naked every time?" Duncan asks.

  "No, but I'd like to understand," I say.

  "It's complicated," Duncan continues. "Our clothes are kind of... suspended. They don't exist until we need them again. Does that make sense?"

  "Not really," I say, "but I guess the fact we can turn into wolves in the first place doesn't really make sense either."

  "Exactly," Duncan says. "Now you're starting to understand."

  Ahead, I see a figure emerging from the forest. I was relieved when we found that the ghosts had vanished once Excalibur was gone, but now I see that Karla is still here. I still can't get used to seeing her, even though I know she's not really Darla.

  "Where's the sword?" she asks.

  "Where it belongs," Duncan replies as we reach her. "Where your master will never be able to find it."

  "My master?" Karla asks, seemingly confused.

  "You don't realize it," Duncan continues, "but you were created by a very dangerous man. There's no way we can be sure that he doesn't still have some level of control over you. We -"

  "You can't trust me," she says, interrupting. "It's okay. I understand."

  "We have to run," Duncan says. "Jess and I have to get away from Lumic until we can work out what to do, and you would put us in so much more danger. He could use you to monitor us, to follow us, maybe even to attack us. We really need to not be around you."

  "Maybe when Lumic's dead," I say, trying to offer some kind of hope.

  "Relax," Karla says. "It's not like I was desperate to hang out with you two, anyway." She smiles. "I'll be fine. I should probably spend some time working out who I am."

  "There's something you should know," Duncan says. "You were created from my memories of Darla. You seem pretty solid, and you've been alive long enough now that your pattern signals might have solidified. When Lumic created you, he designed you to be fully independent physically. But there's still a chance that when you get far enough away from Jess and me, you might just cease to exist."

  "I might," Karla replies. "But I might not!"

  "You might not," Duncan agrees.

  "That's a risk I think I'm willing to take," she says. "I know that you two still see me as Darla. I totally understand why. She was your friend. But I don't think it'll do any of us any good for me to be hanging around, reminding you of the past. I need to get out of Darla's shadow, maybe get some of my own memories so I can be my own person. I'll come back and see you some time, but as Karla."

  "Good luck," Duncan says. "You'll need it. Lumic might still have some kind of hold over you, and..." He pauses. "If it comes down to it, and if Lumic uses you to attack us some day, we'll have to kill you."

  "I know," she says.

  "There'll be no -"

  "I know!" she says again, this time more firmly. "I get it. I'm some kind of monster. I shouldn't exist. But I do. So I'm going to go and do my thing, and I'll leave you two in peace." She turns to me. "Maybe we'll meet again some time. Just so you know, I have memories of hanging out with you. I know they're false memories, but they feel real. I might even miss you. So maybe it'd be good to catch up some time, when I'm my own person rather than some kind of ghost."

  "Sounds good," I say, and we hug for a moment. It feels so wrong and so strange to be even talking to Karla, but at the same time I figure I need to treat her as if she's her own person rather than just assuming that she's a rip-off of Darla. I can just think of her as Darla's twin sister.

  Without saying anything else, she turns and walks away, disappearing into the forest.

  "We'll see her again," I say, turning to Duncan.

  "Undoubtedly," he says, "and when we do, that's when the trouble's really going to begin. Someone created her for a reason, and I'm pretty sure they'll still be able to control her. She's dangerous."

  We turn and start walking away, but there's something about Karla that's bugging me. Finally I realize that I should have offered to help more, to give her somewhere to go. She's completely alone; the least I can do is give her some money so she can get about. "Wait," I say to Duncan, turning and running after Karla.

  "Now what?" Duncan calls out.

  "Karla!" I shout as I run through the forest, looking for her. "Karla!" I call out again as I come to a halt in a clearing. "Karla!"

  "Nothing?" Duncan asks, catching up to me.

  "Does that mean she just vanished?" I ask, turning to him. "You said she might cease to exist."

  "I also said she might not," he reminds me. "Maybe she just switched to her wolf form and ran off."

  "You think?" I ask.

  "It's possible," he says. "Anything's possible. I guess we won't know until she goes back to see us some time."

  "And if she doesn't?"

  He smiles. "I wouldn't read too much into that," he says. "We have bigger problems to deal with, like Thomas Lumic's return from the dead. We have to find a way to deal with him, before it's too late. He's obviously still gaining power, but -"

  "Come on," I say, grabbing his arm as we start walking again. "It'll be okay. We'll find a way. Lumic's just one man, and Darla and I defeated him before, without you. I'm pretty sure that there'll be a way to stop him."

  "He'll be stronger than he was before," Duncan points out.

  "So will we," I say. I'm not sure if I really believe that's true, but I certainly want to think that when we inevitably come face to face with Lumic, there'll be something we can do to stop him. The alternative is just too horrifying to consider.

  Part Two

  Ordinary Werewolves

  Jess

  Friday

  There's a full moon tonight, shining in the dark. Full moons always make things feel... different, somehow. I can't explain it, but every time I see a full moon I feel like I'm not really myself. It's nothing, though. Don't worry, I'm not a werewolf or anything like that. It's probably just my cycle.

  It's about 2am, maybe closer to 3am, as Hazel and I leave the club and head home. Another wasted night, standing around drinking in a dark, thumpingly
loud little shit-hole full of sleazy guys. I don't know why we go every week, spending money we don't really have, hoping against hope that somehow we'll have a good time. Let's face it, nice guys aren't going to be going to a place like Zonez Nightclub; the only guys who go there are the guys who want a quick one night stand. Not that I'm against one night stands, but still... It's just depressing. Every Friday night we do this, and every time we end up walking home drunk. I'm usually slightly more sober than Hazel, so my job is usually to guide her along the dark, deserted streets. It's a job I'm getting tired of, but I can't let Hazel go alone.

  "Jess!" Hazel calls, having fallen a little way behind me. "Wait!" She giggles. "Wait a fucking minute!"

  I stop, turning to see her tottering along the middle of the road. I'm drunk, but she's a lot more drunk, and even the short walk home from the center of town seems to be taking forever. I've already accepted that Hazel's probably going to just crash out in my room again, like most weeks. I know I should be glad that I've at least got one friend left in the world, but really... I'm in my twenties; is this my life? Is this all I'm ever going to do: hang out in crappy clubs until I'm too old to be seen out, and then just fester in pubs and hope I meet a nice guy who has low standards.

  "I want to go back!" Hazel shouts. "I want to talk to that guy!"

  "Shut the fuck up!" shouts a voice from nearby. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I turn to see a man leaning out of an upstairs window. "People are trying to fucking sleep!"

  "Sorry!" Hazel shouts.

  "Just shut the fuck up!" he shouts, slamming his window shut.

  "Sorry!" Hazel whisper-shouts, before turning to me and laughing. "Fuck," she says, "I feel really bad. I bet he's got work way early in the morning." She laughs again. "You go on ahead, Jess. I want to go back and find the guy from the club."

  I sigh. "Come on," I say, grabbing her arm, "we have to get home." I know exactly which guy she's referring to, and there's no way I'm going to let her go back and talk to him. He was a short, sweaty, forty-something man with one huge bushy eyebrow that ran across the bridge of his nose, plus rotten teeth, gold chains, knuckle-dusters, and tight leather trousers. I've already managed to get Hazel out of his clutches once tonight, and I don't need the hassle of doing it again. I need to sleep!

  "I think he liked me!" she moans.

  "Of course he did," I say as she reaches me. I put an arm around her shoulder and carefully guide her away from the middle of the road. "You're easy."

  "I'm not!" she replies, seeming genuinely offended.

  "Yes, you are," I say as we walk, "but it's okay. I am too."

  "Fuck it," she replies, almost falling over but managing to steady herself against me, "you're right."

  I laugh. Hazel would sleep with anyone, any time. She's very much willing to spread herself around, which is why she's got something of a reputation around town. Seriously, the only guys who'd consider her a 'catch' would be the guys who've come in from out of town. As Hazel's friend, it's my job to try to make sure she doesn't go home with anyone who's too creepy. I tend to be much more reserved. I'll go home with a guy if I like him, but Hazel's happy to go home with any guy, any time, no matter how horrible he seems to be.

  "Shop," I say, suddenly guiding Hazel over to a little convenience store that's open all night. "I need some stuff," I say.

  "What the fuck?" she asks, looking up at the bright yellow neon sign that buzzes in the darkness. "Since when's there a twenty-four hour shop around here?"

  "I guess it's new," I say. "You complaining?"

  She sniffs. "I guess not." She pauses, looking trouble. "I think I'm gonna be sick," she says after a moment.

  "Then you'd better wait outside," I reply. "Promise me you'll be here when I get out?"

  She nods, wandering down the side of the stop, getting down on her hands and knees and starting to vomit.

  "You want anything from inside?" I ask.

  She starts to say something, but she just ends up vomiting again.

  "Lovely, Hazel," I say, turning and going into the shop. "Lovely."

  Once I'm inside, I have to squint a little under the extremely bright electric light. This place is lit up like the inside of a giant fridge, all washed out and white. All the coolers and fridge are humming like crazy, giving the overall impression that I've just stepped into some kind of spaceship. Still, the shelves all have the usual crap, so it's reassuringly familiar. I try not to look drunk as I make my way to the back and grab a few instant soups and some crisps. I know I need food inside me, otherwise the hangover later on is going to be horrific. This shop never used to be open all night, and I used to walk past it on the way home from Zonez and wish they'd be a more convenient convenience store; now that they've finally got their act together, I'm determined not to pass up the opportunity.

  "Fuck," I say as I'm halfway to the counter. I turn back, put the soup and crisps down for a moment. I pull some coins from my back pocket and count them, which - thanks to my general level of drunkenness - is harder than it should be. Finally I realize I've got less than £1, so I put the crisps back and accept that I can only afford one of the instant soups. It's not much fun being so god-damned poor, but I guess I can't complain seeing as I just spent £10 in a rubbish club.

  When I get to the front of the shop, there's no-one at the counter. I'll be honest: it occurs to me to just do a runner and head straight out the door, but then my moral side kicks in and reminds me that this would be wrong; plus, there's a security camera staring straight at me. Instead of running, I put the instant soup down on the counter and ring the little buzzer next to the chewing gum, and moments later a guy comes through from the back room. He's covered in wires, from what seems to be some kind of attempt to fix a machine, and he looks distracted. He's also extremely hot, with a kind of James Dean face that looks young but with hints of some kind of old-fashioned personality.

  "Did you hear something?" he mutters, not looking up as he tries to untangle himself from the wires.

  "What?" I ask.

  "Did you hear something?" he says, glancing up at me. "Like a bell or something?"

  "That was me," I say. I reach out and press the buzzer again. "See?"

  He frowns. "That's a good idea," he says. "I didn't know that was there."

  "Obviously not," I say.

  There's silence for a moment as he continues to fiddle with the wires. "Sorry," he says, "I was..." He pauses, pulling some of the wires from around his neck. "I was fixing something." He turns to me and smiles. "Ah," he says, as if he recognizes me. "Hello." He has a warm, friendly smile, and eyes that are simultaneously both dark and bright.

  I stare back at him for a moment. "Soup," I say eventually.

  "Hello, Soup," he replies.

  I laugh. It's a drunk, stupid laugh that makes me sound like a moron.

  "What's so funny?" he asks.

  "I want to buy some soup," I say.

  He looks down at the instant soup. "Right," he says. "That was my first guess, but are you sure that's soup?" He picks it up and shakes it. "It doesn't sound like liquid. It sounds more like powder."

  "It's instant soup," I explain. "Just add water."

  "Oh," he says. "That's interesting. Whatever will they think of next? Okay." He passes it to me. "I hope it's nicer than it looks." He pauses. "You should really just make your own, though. It doesn't take long. Did you want anything else?"

  "No," I say, trying really hard not to seem too drunk. This is the first attractive guy I've seen around town for ages, and I'd kind of like to make a good impression. I mean, there's almost no chance at all that he'd ever be interested in me, but a girl can dream, can't she? I smile, finding him to be pretty strange and not at all like the kind of guy you usually meet in a shop. "Don't you want me to pay for it?"

  "For what?" he asks.

  "The soup."

  "Oh, yes!" he says, as if he'd forgotten. He picks up the soup and looks at it again. "I can't see a price tag. Maybe it's f
ree."

  "You have to scan it," I say, grabbing the soup, leaning over the counter and scanning the barcode. The computer beeps, and the price comes up. "See?" I say, smiling up at him.

  "Absolutely," he says.

  I look down and see that my breasts are almost tumbling out of my top. I rearrange myself and stand up straight. "No mention it," I say. "I mean, don't mention it." I hand him my little collection of coins. "There's an extra five pence there," I say, hoping to retain some degree of dignity. "You can keep the change."

  "Okay," he says.

  There's an awkward silence as I smile at him and he smiles back. In any normal customer-worker interaction, I would by now have taken my items and left the store. But there's something inside me that makes me want to stay and talk to this guy a little longer. Maybe I'm just desperate, but I want to see if there's any chance I can strike up a conversation with him, maybe even get his number.

  "I'm Jess," I say, reaching out a hand for him to shake. To my surprise, he takes my hand in his, leans down and kisses it briefly, like some kind of old-fashioned nobleman.

  "Duncan," he says. "I just moved here."

  "Duncan, eh?" I say. "Are you Scottish?"

  "I am," he says, smiling, "but don't hold it against me." He pauses. "You know, this might sound strange, but it's true. I've got the strangest feeling that we've met somewhere before."

  "Me too," I say, clutching my instant soup and wondering whether I should just get out of here before I say something really stupid. "Like... somewhere else?"

  "Exactly," he says. He pauses. "A really, really strong feeling. Like I've forgotten something." He stares at me for a moment, and then he smiles. "Sorry, I guess you think I'm being weird."

  "No!" I blurt out. "I mean, not particularly."

  "You just seem so familiar," he says, before laughing. "Forget it," he continues, "it's probably just me being weird. I always get like this on full moons."

  "Well..." I start to say, but my train of thought is interrupted by the sound of Hazel vomiting outside. "That's my friend," I say, feeling a little embarrassed.