by Di Toft
As dawn came, there was no word from the lake. Nat slumped as his energy left him. The kids were safe at least; if only Woody …
He felt a movement behind him and turned around. A large, russet-colored wolf stood in the first light of the sun as it rose in the misty east.
Crescent! Did that mean the Howlers had tracked them? But there was something wrong with her, thought Nat uneasily. Something wrong with the way she moved. She looked awkward, almost cringing away before being propelled toward him, her ears tightly pressed to her skull as though she was moving against her will. And there was something else—her eyes weren’t her own! Crescent’s eyes were usually a vivid, orange color, filled with haughty excitement, full of life. The eyes that were narrowed and stared at Nat were a dull, malevolent orange; they were the eyes of a dead creature with no soul. The eyes of Lucas Scale!
Crescent’s body launched itself clumsily at Nat. Finding himself on the ground, Nat scrabbled away from the werewolf, desperate to summon up some Wolven strength. He could feel his muscles stretching and pulling under his skin, could feel his strength increasing as the adrenaline made him wolf out like he had in the crypt, hours before.
But hold on—what else was happening? It wasn’t stopping! Then Nat was aware of falling, his body lengthening out on the cold, cold ground. Something insane was happening. My hands are changing! Terrified, Nat saw his hands spread out in front of him. They were morphing into paws, great claws emerging from what were once his ordinary, human hands. Oh God, what’s my mum going to say? thought Nat irrationally. And then his wolf side took over.
Inside Crescent’s body, Scale felt the first frisson of fear. This was unexpected, to say the least! He stared at the silver-gray wolf who had until seconds ago been a teenage boy. The wolf who stared back at him, sizing him up, creeping toward him with dripping jaws, much bigger than the she-wolf that Scale now inhabited.
The two locked together in a deadly embrace, neither moving as they both clung on to each other with their claws, each trying to find purchase with their teeth.
Alex Fish and Saffi Besson stared at each other in dismay. What was going on? Fish had thought the noises were thunder at first, low rumbling sounds that shook the ground. But then, there was no mistaking it. Growling. The noise was somehow the worst sound Fish had ever heard. Leaving Saffi with the increasingly confused children, Fish sped back to the bridge to see a large silvery gray wolf grappling with a familiar russet she-wolf. Crescent! But who was the other one? And what was going on? thought Fish, confused. Then she saw Nat’s ragged clothes in a heap. Her eyes widened in shock. The beautiful silver-gray animal was Nat!
As Nat pinned down his enemy and bared his teeth for the final time, Fish ran out from the shadows, yelling his name.
“Nat! Noooo! It’s Crescent!”
Nat came to his senses and stopped. If he killed this body, he wasn’t killing Scale, but Crescent! Then another thought popped into his head, sent there by Lucas Scale. Yes, but isn’t she your enemy? Isn’t she always trying to break your friendship with Woody? Kill her!
Lucas Scale had lost this battle for now, he knew that. But if he could make the Carver brat finish off the she-wolf, well, that would almost make up for it! He would be an outcast!
Nat hesitated again, thinking about plunging his teeth into Crescent’s soft furry neck. It was all Fish needed. She knew that to part two fighting werewolves was madness—she could end up dead herself. But she felt herself grabbing Nat by the scruff of thick fur on his neck, and puuuuulling.
Nat fell on top of Fish, almost squishing her. When he had scrambled to his feet, he saw the truth. It was just Crescent, lying in an untidy heap on the ground staring up at him, her eyes filled with molten tears. Of Scale, there was no sign. He had left Crescent’s body and disappeared.
Alex Fish watched wide-eyed as the russet wolf shook herself and flexed her lithe body in the snow beneath her. She stared in fascination as Crescent’s face and body started to change. Her snout flattened out, her ears shrank, and her body shortened into a human shape again. In seconds the russet wolf had gone, replaced by a naked girl, her body bruised from her fight with the silver-gray wolf.
The wolf who had once been Nat Carver watched as Fish pulled off her top layer of clothes and offered them to the exhausted girl. Crescent flashed her a grateful smile.
“Thanks,” she said simply. Then Crescent turned to the gray wolf and smiled.
“Guess I didn’t have to bite you after all,” she said. “You could do it all along.”
“D’you think he can turn back again?” asked Fish worriedly. “What am I going to tell his mum and dad?”
“Never mind that,” said Crescent urgently. “Look!”
The first rays of the sun burned triumphantly through the mist, turning the sky and the snow radiant shades of orange. It lit up the lake as though it was turning the ice to fire. The gray wolf howled joyfully as he saw Woody among the victorious Wolven, soaking wet but in one piece, his clansmen nuzzling and dancing around him triumphantly.
And something incredible was happening! A rainbow of lights shone above the melting ice as the revenants were set free from their purgatory beneath. Which could only mean one thing. They were free from the curse of the vampire! The Wolven could feel the rush of warmth as the revenants’ souls prepared to ascend high up into the heavens. They watched as the freed souls suddenly gathered force and sped upward like a million fairy lights, up, up, until the only light in the sky was from the sun.
CHAPTER 34
AMNESTY
With all British airports snowbound, fogbound, and generally at a complete standstill as they had been for weeks, a chartered Sikorsky helicopter containing Quentin Crone, head of NightShift, arrived in Marais just in time for lunch.
Agent Alexandra Fish had been up until the early hours writing up her report on the Black Widow Vampire, as she had proudly and inventively named the file. She couldn’t wait to see the boss’s face when he read it. Crone was met at the helicopter by John Carver and Teebo Bon (who had returned to normal and was now back with his wife, although he wasn’t sure which was worse—the bloodsucking vampire or his wife) and it all became rather grown-up and official. A debriefing meeting was held in John Carver’s cabin.
“I got here as soon as I could,” said Crone, shaking each person firmly by the hand. “JC has told me what a remarkable job you have done. Congratulations.”
“Wasn’t just us, boss,” said Fish. “Woody’s clan turned up just as everything was really kicking off. They were phenomenal!”
It had, thought Fish, turned out nicely. The revenants under the ice had their revenge at last; the evil comtesse had been dragged to the bottom of the lake and drowned. Her remains were burned by Teebo’s men, and the ashes walled up inside the mausoleum for eternity. Nat Carver had eventually changed back into human form, but it had been hard for Jude to cope with. And Woody was missing again.
“What about Woody?” asked Crone, as if he had read her thoughts.
“He’s gone,” said Nat quietly. “Went with the clan.”
“One minute they were there, watching the revenants, then they just vanished,” said Fish, “like smoke.”
“Any news of his whereabouts?” asked Crone.
Nat shook his head glumly.
“He’ll be back,” said Jude. “You’ll see.”
“It’s OK, Mum,” said Nat gruffly, frankly wishing that his mum would shut up. He knew she was almost as upset as he was about Woody, but he felt like he might cry, and if he boohooed in front of Fish and Crescent he would feel like a major dork.
“Woody always wanted to find his clan,” he said, “and I … well, I guess I understand how he felt. I just wish that the last time I spoke to him, I hadn’t behaved like an idiot.”
“Ah, your man Woody never struck me as being one who’d let a small thing like that bug him,” said Del, who had fully recovered from his vampire bite and was making the hot chocolate and hunting for the
last packet of oat cakes.
“How’re things in London?” asked Fish, changing the subject.
“Slightly hectic,” replied Crone, “and missing your expertise. Now that you’ve got the hang of this vampire lark, there’s a few more waiting for you to extinguish.”
“Bring it on!” said Fish, rubbing her hands together in glee. “Can’t wait!”
“That’s the spirit,” said Crone crisply. “You’re going to need plenty of that when you get back.”
But Nat felt truly down in the dumps. He hated goodbyes. Even Fish would be going back to England, and it would be hard having no one to share the experiences of the last weeks, especially the new development, which hadn’t really sunk in yet. He could shift! Did that mean he wasn’t a mongrel anymore? With no Woody to talk all this over with, he felt lost.
“What about you, Nat?” Crone asked Nat softly. “I’ve kept my promise, although I asked for nothing in return. You and Woody are no longer the World’s Most Wanted. But NightShift and your country would still benefit from your gifts, not to mention your vampire-slaying skills.”
Alex Fish was getting fidgety. With all this soppy sentimental chat going on, no one had asked the BIG QUESTION. Like, what was the lowdown on Lucas Scale now that he had failed to finish off Nat and Woody again?
It was as if the boss had read her mind. “MI5 have supplied me with valuable information about a werewolf they have in custody,” he said. “He’s known to us at NightShift, and to you, Nat.”
Nat felt his blood turn to ice water. “N … N … not … Lucas Scale?” The name fell from his lips and seemed to hang in the air for about a thousand years before Crone answered him.
“I wish,” he said grimly. “I’m referring to someone far less toxic, I’m afraid. Teddy Davis.”
For all his Wolven gifts, Nat had to admit he didn’t see that coming. “Oh” was all he could manage, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Teddy Davis was found naked and crying outside a wolf sanctuary at Cricket St. Thomas,” said Crone. “He had a very worrying tale to tell.”
“He’s seen Him,” said Nat, not able to speak the name again.
Crone nodded. “His ability to take possession of Crescent confirmed that his powers are increasing, even though he failed once again to get rid of you and Woody. He’s back in his body in England and recruiting again.”
Since Nat and Alex Fish had come back from the Black Chateau, there had been a carnival atmosphere at the Twilighters’ camp. Teebo Bon had organized a massive celebration with Nat and Fish as the star guests. Nat was touched and grateful for all the fuss, but wished Woody could be there to share it. No matter how hard he tried to get through to Woody, it wasn’t working. He couldn’t believe that after all they had shared Woody had decided to cut all ties with Nat and his family, but the longer it went on, Nat had to admit to himself that it was over. Woody had gone back to his clan.
Later that night there was feasting and fire walking, with music from Crescent and the Howlers, who were all on their very best behavior. At last the Christmas presents could be given out, very belatedly, and Nat had a pair of socks and a big red sweater with a reindeer on the front from Apple and Mick, some books from his parents, and, best of all, a custom-made guitar from Crescent.
“But, this is yours!” protested Nat. “It’s too much; I can’t take it!”
“I know you’ve always liked it,” said Crescent, in her new humble voice. “I’d love for you to have it. And sorry for behaving like a brat.”
Nat was speechless. He’d never heard a werewolf say sorry. It wasn’t usually in their vocabulary.
“I was jealous,” explained Crescent awkwardly. “Jealous of you and Woody, I suppose, you being such best friends and everything. I guess the way I felt gave Scale the necessary power to take me over so completely.”
Blimey, thought Nat. This is surreal. Crescent never apologizes. Never.
Then Teebo Bon made a speech thanking everyone who was involved in the cleansing of the hive, after which, to Nat’s surprise, Crescent and the Howlers slipped away.
“We have a very special Christmas present for you, Nat,” said Teebo. “Saffi, will you bring him in, please.”
Then Nat realized why the werewolves had left. Saffi Besson rode into the entrance of the Twilighters’ camp riding a shiny, jet-black horse with a long, blindingly white mane and tail.
“A black palomino!” he breathed.
“Your black palomino,” said Saffi, dismounting and handing Nat the reins. “He comes with a big thank-you from the people of Marais.”
“What are you going to call him?” asked Scarlet curiously.
Nat paused for a moment. “Arcadia”—he smiled—”after a very brave horse I rode a long time ago. When I rode alongside Richard the Lionheart. But that’s another story.”
Quentin Crone and Alex Fish visited Nat and his mum and dad before they flew back to England the next morning.
“I was sure Woody would be back,” admitted Crone, “but maybe it’s better this way. If Scale is still out for revenge, Woody is safer here with the English Channel between them.”
“But what about Nat?” asked Jude nervously. “Is he safe from Scale?”
“No one is safe from him,” said Crone. “The more we can find out about him, though, and what his plan is, the better it will be for all of us.”
“Is your offer still open?” asked Nat suddenly.
“Nat —” began Jude.
“No, Mum,” said Nat firmly. “We’ve all seen things over the last few months that we never thought we would. I helped do something that would have turned out much worse if I hadn’t been able to fight back. If my Wolven stuff can help find beings like Scale and make a difference, then I’m going to help NightShift.”
“You’re thirteen,” said Jude desperately, “you can’t save the world.”
“Not on my own,” admitted Nat, “but things are going to get worse. Mr. Crone is right.”
“He won’t be in the front line,” said Crone softly. “He’ll be guiding us, telling us where to look.”
“You make it sound as though we have no choice but to let him go,” said Jude bitterly. “I wish I’d never heard of any of you.”
“Mum,” said Nat, kneeling down by Jude’s side. “You’re right. We don’t have a choice.”
Forty-eight hours later, the snow on the plains glistened blue as it reflected the cloudless sky. Nat Carver rode out of camp alone, enjoying the crisp, bright morning and the comforting noise of Arcadia’s hooves drumming on the compacted snow. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going, but the night before he had had the most amazing dream. He guided Arcadia with his knees, never needing to touch his flanks with his heels, so in tune was he with the palomino; he still couldn’t quite believe that the blue-eyed horse was his. He rode on until his belly started to rumble and stopped for a while, letting Arcadia drink from a shallow lagoon. He pulled out some bread, cheese, and sausage and sat on a log enjoying the fresh food. There was nothing like eating out of doors.
His ears pricked up at the sound of something moving cautiously to his left, something coming out of the forest. Nat stood up.
“I’ve saved you some,” he called.
“Awe-oooo-some!” came a familiar voice. “I’m starving!” The owner of the voice came into view out of the thick birch trees.
“You knew I was coming, then?” asked Woody, his breath pluming out into the cold morning air. “I wondered!”
“Got your message,” said Nat, his mouth still full of sausage and bread. “It was in a dream.”
Woody took the piece of bread and cheese and shoved it in his mouth. “It was the only way to tell you what was happening,” he said between munches. “I thought you’d stopped talking to me until you howled—that was loud.”
Nat nodded, bemused. “Same here, I thought you’d stopped talking to me … you know, after I had that hissy fit with Crescent.”
“As if.” Woody grinned. �
�I was in a cave network; two-way doesn’t seem to work too well under rock. What’s been happenin’, then?”
“Nothing much,” replied Nat, “not now that all the vampires are dead. Kind of boring, really. Oh yeah … I forgot. I … uh … I did it.”
“Did what?” asked Woody curiously.
“I shifted.” Nat grinned. “I turned into a wolf.”
Woody looked stunned. “You’re joking me, right?” But he could see that Nat was deadly serious. “But what hap —?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back to the Silver Lady.” Nat smiled. “You are coming back, I take it?”
“I guess,” said Woody. “They … the clan … they wanted me to stay—that’s why I went back with them after the vampire thing, and there were brothers with injuries. I wanted to make sure they were OK.”
Nat nodded. “It must have been really hard.”
“I learned loads of stuff, though,” said Woody, cheering up a bit, “and you know … I’m gonna keep in touch with them all.”
“But you don’t want to live with them?” asked Nat curiously.
Woody thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I love them … being with them. But it was different, you know? I think I’ve been away too long.”
“Is it because they don’t have a TV?” asked Nat.
“’Course not,” said Woody, his eyes shining. “It’s … I guess I want the best of both worlds … see them, but stay in the real world.”
“I was hoping I’d get the chance to say I was sorry about everything,” said Nat uncomfortably. “You know, with Crescent and that.”
“Shake,” said Woody, his mouthful of sausage.
“Shake.” Nat grinned.
“We’re two of a kind, we are,” said Woody, still munching, “like Batman and Robin.”
“Yeah,” Nat agreed, “if they were covered in fur!” Then he looked at his friend in amusement. “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Oh, these,” said Woody. “My clan don’t wear real clothes. Only … ah … these pajamas.”
