by D. D. Miers
“Oh, shit,” I said, sitting up and putting aside my pizza.
“What? Did you find something?” Ethan asked, scooting closer to examine the book I held.
“Not about whoever took the candle,” I said. “But read this, I’m in here! I mean, my family is.”
I pointed out the section I read and Ethan leaned close to read, putting an arm around me in the process. I tried not to think about it too much, though his warm skin against mine was very distracting.
“Prince Aethon Tzarnavaras,” Ethan read. “Briefly heir-by-marriage of the Empire of Trebizond, a Byzantine Roman state that fell to the Ottomans in 1475.”
“My great-uncle had a portrait of him,” I told Ethan, excited. “I saw it earlier today. He was holding the candle in it.”
“Do you think maybe he’s the one who made it, or whatever?” Ethan asked.
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “It appears like he kind of came out of nowhere. No title, no history. They’re not even sure how he got close to the royal family. There are rumors the king met him at a brothel and they had some kind of relationship, but that may have just been slander made up later when they tossed him out. He married the king’s daughter and the king declared him his official heir. But when the king died, there was apparently some dispute, which ended in Aethon declared as a witch and exiled to an island where he presumably spent the rest of his life. The princess and his children were exiled, too, to a convent on another island. But I’m guessing they didn’t stay there, since I exist.”
“Sad story,” Ethan said sympathetically. “They couldn’t have at least banished his family to the same island?”
“Yeah, that does suck,” I agreed. I reached for my phone, figuring I’d text Aunt Persephona about our royal ancestors, when I noticed what time it was. “Shit. It’s almost eight.”
“Really?” Pink tinges Ethan’s cheeks. “Sorry. I better get you home.”
“It’s cool,” I said immediately, gathering the books back up. “I needed the help going through all this, and the pizza was good. This was nice.”
“It was nice,” Ethan agreed, smiling as he handed me back the book on European magic. “It’s probably pretty obvious that I don’t have people over often.”
“Well, if we’re going to keep working together anyway,” I said, unable to face him fully, “maybe we could do it again sometime soon.”
“I’d like that,” Ethan said, his voice strangely soft. “You, um, you really don’t mind the whole . . . werewolf thing?”
“No,” I said at once, turning around as I finished packing up the books. “Why would I?”
“Some people have a problem with it,” he confessed, rubbing his arm. “Like, they worry I’ll be violent or dangerous or something, or that I’ll turn them.”
“You don’t seem particularly violent since I hit you with that baseball bat,” I said. “Are you planning to turn me?”
“No,” Ethan said with a relieved smile. “No, I can’t. I’m not that kind of werewolf.”
“Yeah, you mentioned you were cursed, right?” I asked as I headed for the door. He followed me, and we descended the poorly lit staircase together.
“Yeah. I don’t really know how yet. I upset someone with cursing powers apparently, but they’ve never bothered to let me know who they were.”
"That sucks. Are there any big downsides?"
"Uh, a few," he said, scratching the back of his head as he held the apartment door open for me. "So, natural werewolves only have to shift on the full moon, right? And they keep their minds while they're in wolf shape. Viral werewolves can get hit with compulsive shifts randomly and basically become wolves for the duration. Cursed werewolves vary depending on the curse, but I have compulsory full moon shifts, and shifts can be triggered by extreme emotion and certain substances. If I shift voluntarily I stay conscious and in control, but when the shift is involuntary I . . . I black out, but I don't just become a wolf, either. It's like something else takes over. Something angry and destructive. Something that intentionally targets people I care about."
"That’s terrible," I said as we left the apartment building.
"Yeah," Ethan said with a rueful smile. "I've never hurt anybody, thankfully. And when I realized the wolf was going after my family, I hopped the next train out of town. It's easier this way. And the folks at the library have done a lot to help stabilize my shifts and make sure I stay contained during the full moon. It's the closest I've been to a normal life in years."
"How long ago were you cursed?" I asked, curious, then realized this was a pretty personal subject. "Sorry if this is uncomfortable. You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."
"No, it's all right," Ethan said with a small laugh. "You're taking a leap deciding to be friends with a werewolf. You should at least know the details. I was cursed seven or eight years ago. I'm older than I look." He winked.
As we drove, he continued to tell me about being a werewolf. The differences between natural and viral werewolves. The different varieties of werewolf curses. And spell wolves, which were actually the result of an enchanted object rather than a permanent magical condition. And the more personal details of how he dealt with his own condition.
"And there's no chance for a cure?" I asked, as we pulled up to my house.
"Not with no clue who cursed me," Ethan said with a shrug. "Curses usually have conditions built in for reversing the effects or for making them worse. But every curse is unique. I'd have to ask whoever cursed me for the details. But it's no big deal. I was real upset the first few years, but I've adjusted. I'm used to it now. I'm not sure what I'd do with myself if I did manage to break the curse."
"You could go back to your family?" I suggested.
"And tell them what?" he said with a snort. "Sorry, I went out for milk and got lost for eight years?"
He had a point. I slipped out of the car, grabbing the bag of books.
"I could drop by tomorrow afternoon if you like," he said. "Maybe take you by the library."
"That'd be great," I said. "I'm probably going to have to work tomorrow so, sometime after six?"
"I'll see you then." He gave me a crooked smile that had my heart beating a little too fast again.
I waved and headed up the walk to my apartment. I paused, a chill running up my spine, as I realized the door wasn't closed. I reached for the mind of the wolfhound and was answered by a wave of anger and fear. Something was desperately wrong. I glanced back at Ethan's Jeep, idling as he waited for me to make it inside. An instant later, the Jeep shut off and Ethan was beside me, hands already distinctly claw-like, warm brown eyes turning golden. He said nothing but gave me a confident nod. He had my back.
Cautiously, I pushed the door open, sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth as the catastrophe within was revealed.
My apartment had been destroyed. The fight between Ethan and the dog had already left things in slight disarray. This was different. Someone had systematically pulled out and dumped every drawer in the kitchen, emptied every cabinet, flipped the couch, and slashed the cushions. My home had been turned completely inside out.
I searched for the wolfhound, following the echo of my own energy, while Ethan paced after me, sniffing.
"It's him," he growled. "This place smells just like the room where you found the altar. He was here."
"Is he still here?" I asked, tense. He shook his head.
"I don't think so," he said. "I can't tell. Everything smells like death."
"There you are!" I said, as I spotted the wolfhound at last, behind the overturned couch. He was in several pieces, remaining animate but huddled in the corner and whining.
"Don't worry, boy," I said gently, trying to coax him out. "I'll patch you up. You'll be okay."
There was fresh blood on his muzzle. He must have taken a bite out of whoever did this.
"Vexa," Ethan said quietly, his voice growing deeper as his appearance grew more wolfish. "We're not alone."
I heard it now as well as I listened. A low, rolling feline growl. Out of the shadows of the downstairs bathroom an animal slunk, muscular shoulders and tawny fur lit by the moon, its eyes reflecting the light.
"Is that a fucking mountain lion?" I whispered to Ethan, my voice a thin, terrified hiss.
"It used to be," Ethan whispered back, and I recognized the glint of bone through the lion's thin pelt, and the flicker of green fire behind its eyes. "Can you put it down?"
"I've never put down something someone else raised," I said, tense with fear. "I can try."
"Do your best," Ethan said and pulled his shirt off over his head, shoving his pants down quickly. A breath later he'd finished his transformation and rose as the giant wolf. "I'll hold it off."
He stepped in front of me, dark brown fur spiked with anxiety, and the lion stopped its advance, its growl growing louder. Ethan growled back, standing his ground.
I closed my eyes, reaching for the creature with my powers, feeling for the void. It brimmed with power, but it was an energy completely foreign to me. It was sharp, its edges almost jagged, and hostile. It stung like salt in a wound, burned in my nose and throat like acrid smoke. I tried to wash it away like Aunt Persephona showed me, but there was too much, and it actively resisted me. Like pouring water on a grease fire, my efforts only appeared to make things worse.
The cougar took a swipe at Ethan, yowling a threat, trying to scare him off. But Ethan only snarled back and snapped at it, making it clear he wouldn't back down.
And that's the thing about animals, even apex predators, even necromantically resurrected mountain lions. No animal wants to fight if it doesn't have to. Especially not a fight it might lose or might win but get severely injured in the process. When given the option, an animal will almost always choose to de-escalate or run. Necromancy can override that instinct with a direct order, but there was no one here now to tell the lion it had to fight. As I struggled to unravel the energy keeping the cat animate, it evaluated the situation and decided escape was the better option.
It turned, facing the open sliding glass doors before it sprinted out into the wet grass of the backyard.
"Stop it!" I shouted to Ethan, thinking about it crashing into my neighbor's yard. He was already running after it, sinking his teeth into its leg to drag it back. It screamed loud enough to wake the dead. That was definitely going to wake the neighbors.
I grabbed at the energy filling the mountain lion, actually stretching out my hands as I tried to drag it back, panic filling me at the thought of being seen like this, of being exposed. This wasn't like a hundred years ago or even a few decades back. You couldn't just move to another country when your neighbors saw you controlling an undead mountain lion and have everything go back to normal. If I was seen, worse if I was filmed, the entire world would know before the week was out. Aunt Persephona and I would end up in some government bunker doing gods knew what.
My power swelled with my panic. The flame of the candle flared within me. It rushed out, an all-consuming flame, and engulfed the mountain lion, not just washing the energy away but burning it clean like a purifying flame. The lion screamed one last time and then collapsed, nothing but an empty shell. But my power kept running, like a burst pipe, like an open artery, gushing energy that burned the lion's fur away, blackened and charred its bones, taking it apart with a force that was half the ravages of time and half a blue funeral pyre. Soon there was nothing left at all, but my energy kept running, flailing for something to pour itself into. The wolfhound howled as I dumped more energy into its battered body. I couldn't control it or stop it, but I knew soon there would be no more energy left to spill out.
"Vexa!"
Impossibly large, strong arms wrapped around me. Ethan, in his wolf form, was holding me tightly, trying to shake me out of my trance. My power lashed out at him mindlessly and I saw him wince, but he only tightened his grip on me, hugging me close against his broad chest, pressing my face into his soft fur.
"Hang on," he whispered into my mind. "I'm here. I've got you. Just hang on."
Slowly, gradually, the torrent of energy faded, because I had nothing left. I lay limp in Ethan's arms, barely keeping my eyes open, breathing shallowly.
"You still in there?" he asked gently, brushing my hair out of my face.
I mustered the energy to nod. I couldn't do much more.
He carried me carefully up the stairs to my room, laying me down on my bed. He fumbled with my shoes for a moment but couldn't do much with his claws and finally gave up, leaving the room. He returned a little later, back in human shape and dressed, and carrying a glass of juice and some toast.
"I thought this might help," he said, pushing the glass into my hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I just ran a marathon," I croaked. "This is worse than the car accident."
He pulled my shoes off, then sat next to me, taking my pulse and temperature.
"What happened?" he asked. "Was that normal? You burned that lion to ash."
"Not normal," I confirmed. "It's the candle, I think. I couldn't stop. There was just so much . . ."
He put a hand on my shoulder and I stopped before I could work myself up.
"Remember how I said before that you needed rest?" he said. "You really, really need to rest."
"Got it," I said, closing my eyes.
"Good." The bed shifted as he stood up and, in a rush of sudden fear, I found the energy to grab for his hand. He stopped, staring back at me.
"They know where I live," I said weakly. "I . . . really don't want to be here alone."
He smiled gently and squeezed my hand.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "Just relax."
Reassured, I relaxed again, the darkness of exhaustion reaching up to swallow me before his hand had even left mine.
I stirred briefly a little later, hearing him close the bedroom door. Squinting at my clock, I saw a few hours had passed. He carried something, which he laid carefully down in the corner of my room. A moment later, I recognized my own energy in it. Ethan had gathered up the pieces of the wolfhound and attempted to put them back together. It growled at him weakly.
"Yeah, yeah," he whispered. "I know, you don't like me yet."
"He's just hurting," I said, surprising Ethan. "He knows you mean well."
Ethan turned back to me with a smile.
"Sorry for waking you," he said. "This guy kept trying to drag himself up the stairs. It was too sad to watch."
"Thanks," I said. "He's a good dog. I'll reattach his parts as soon as I can move."
"Go back to sleep," he said. "I've got things mostly straightened out downstairs. I'm about to go crash on the couch."
"Oh," I said, confused by my own worried disappointment.
"Unless you wanted me to stay in here?" he asked, grinning.
"I don't know how I feel about strange men sleeping in my room," I said.
"What about strange dogs?" he asked with a laugh, and I heard him shed his clothing and shift. A moment later, my bed bounced as the huge wolf jumped up onto my mattress and curled up near the foot. He was so big that even curled up, his legs and tail hung over the edge.
I considered telling him dogs weren't allowed on the bed, but I felt safer having him there, as well as the undead wolfhound, who I would have to name. I didn't have time to contemplate name options for long. I was soon asleep again, my weary bones and various injuries glad for the brief, peaceful reprieve.
Chapter 10
I woke stiff and sore to the sound of birdsong and the distant rush of the shower running. My bedroom window was open, letting in the sunlight and the late morning air. I rolled over slowly, groaning. I’d clearly been hit by a truck. No inch of me didn't feel absolutely terrible. The wolfhound remained in the corner, tail wagging as he saw I was awake.
"Morning," I muttered. "Where did that wolf get to?"
The dog couldn't answer, so I dragged myself out of bed and tried to get dressed. Moving hurt. Breathin
g hurt. I needed another week in bed.
"I need to come up with a name for you," I said, eyeing the wolfhound as I got dressed, "since it seems like you're going to be around a while. What do you think of Cerberus? Thanatos?"
The dog cocked its head skeptically.
"I'll keep working on it," I said with a shrug, pulling on my shirt. "In the meantime, let's get you patched up."
I pulled out my sewing kit and got to work. It was a quick, messy job wiring his bones back together and stitching his fur back into place. The mountain lion had done a number on him. I ended up patching some of his fur with an old pillowcase.
"I'll get some craft fur later," I said. "Try to make that a little more natural in appearance. But at least you should be able to walk a little easier now, Faustus."
The dog didn't seem to care for the name but climbed to his feet, testing out his reattached limbs. His tail wagged happily.
Job done, I stood and stretched, walking to the door with the dog beside me.
As I reached for the door it opened and I yelped in surprise. Ethan, freshly showered, stood in the doorway, holding a very small towel closed around his hips. My eyes traced a bead of water running down his stomach until it vanished behind the towel.
"I didn't expect you to be awake yet," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"Uh, I'm all right," I said, focused intently on the moisture glistening on his tanned skin. "I'm fine."
He chuckled, waving a hand in front of my eyes to direct my attention back to his face.
"You sure about that?"
I crossed my arms over my chest, flustered and embarrassed.
“I’m just a little out of it,” I said. “But I’m doing a lot better than last night. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said.
“That’s twice you’ve saved me now,” I said, risking a smile in his direction, though it made my heart race. “A girl might start to think you have a crush.”
He grinned, lopsided and hopelessly endearing.
“Well,” he said. “I didn’t do much except carry you to bed last night. I wouldn’t exactly say I saved you. And frankly that lion would have torn me apart if you hadn’t burned it with your crazy necro fire. I’d say we’re square.”
