Only the Moon Howls

by Connie Senior

  So he’s been speaking to a vampire, Caleb thought, trying to stay cool although his skin prickled at the thought of the hunt ten days ago. Surely it was an empty boast that Vlad had incited Emil to bite Mike…

  “Those students are gonna be dead meat on the full moon!” Vlad turned and shouted as his parting shot.

  Vlad teaming up with vampires to eat the students? It sounded like another ill-conceived threat from the dim but vicious leader of the Sixes. But still, he should check on all of them, probably keep them out of the caves three nights from now.

  He started up the trail, smiling at the thought of the explanation Mike would conjure to explain this.

  But Lamia would understand.

  26. The Amateur Naturalist

  “Just what we needed!” Mike’s voice boomed before Caleb could even enter the compound. “A botanist!”

  Caleb sighed as he pushed through the grasses and made his way to the grad students’ pavilion, watching Mike dig through his bag. He was impatient. It was two days until the full moon, and he didn’t want Vlad—or worse, Vlad and his vampire crony—preying on unsuspecting physicists when he’d be worse than useless himself.

  “Look at this!” Mike ran forwards, bearing in one hand one of Lamia’s botany books, and in the other a grapefruit-sized fungus. It was green on the top, with a ring around the stem like a fairy-sized miniskirt and a bulbous golfball base.

  Magical flora, Caleb could do. “Amanita phalloides,” he said simply. “One bite is certain death.”

  Mike dropped the book and the mushroom on the ground, holding his hands away from his body as if the toxin could leap onto him from his tainted fingers.

  “It has certain uses,” Caleb continued, bending to retrieve the dropped items. The mushroom was fresh and would come in handy. “Repelling flies and mosquitoes. Identifying silver objects, which the fungus will tarnish.”

  “Really?” Mike looked skeptical, eyeing the poisonous growth with distaste. “I’ll stick with DEET. And there are other ways to recognize silver.”

  “Indeed,” Caleb agreed. He placed the book into the large wicker basket he carried, then carefully laid the mushroom on top, shielding it with some wax paper. “Which reminds me…I came to warn you all to stay away from here at the full moon.”

  As he’d hoped, Lamia, sitting several yards away, heard these words and approached with curiosity.

  “What?” Mike exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard silver called the lunar metal?” Caleb wondered with partially feigned surprise. “Anyway, the purpose of my visit was to tell you about an exceptionally strong tide that is occurring this month. It will lead to enormous swarms of root moths, which bats will feed upon before they seek caves in which to hibernate.” He took a deep breath. Some of this was based on slightly modified facts from the newspapers, but most of it was just made up. “It is important not to disturb the bats in August, because they need to eat as well as find a roosting place.”

  Holding his toxic hands out like a sleepwalker, Mike still had to be difficult. “So we stay out of the caves at the full moon, the bats eat and sleep, and everyone’s happy?”

  “Er… yes,” said Caleb, knowing it was stupid and glancing towards Lamia for help.

  “How do you know it’s exactly at the astronomical full moon?” Mike demanded. “The moon can be 97 to 99 percent illuminated for several days.”

  “I know,” Caleb interrupted with some impatience, hardly needing to be lectured about his most and least favorite celestial body. “But—”

  “—The tide doesn’t hit its maximum until the astronomical full moon,” Lamia continued, betraying nothing. “It’s at the very peak that the insects swarm. I know about this. We’ll have to protect the equipment.”

  “Yes,” Caleb agreed. “You can cover everything to protect it from dead moths and bat guano…apart from that—”

  “—I want to make sure it’s safe from any wild animals that might be roaming around,” she interjected meaningfully.

  “Dunno.” Mike was a tough customer. “We’re nowhere near the ocean, so where are these bugs coming from? Lakes and rivers don’t have lunar tides.”

  “The Black Sea,” Caleb and Lamia said at once.

  “Really? We’re near the Black Sea and you didn’t tell me?” Mike would’ve given Lamia a playful nudge except that he was afraid to touch anything. “Let’s go to the beach one of these days, give Gamberi the slip…you probably look great in a bikini with that diet you’ve been on.”

  Caleb scowled to himself. Lamia seemed ready to go along with his plan, which he had expected, since she knew what roamed the mountains at the full moon. Mike was a harder sell and the other two students, trance-like in front of their computers, hadn’t even looked up.

  “You’ll have to protect the equipment and, well, it’s probably a good idea to spend the night in Rosu because, er…the bats are noisy all night,” Caleb said haltingly. “I’ve checked and there’s room at the inn there.”

  “Aw,” Mike said dismissively, wiping his hands on his shirt and then thinking better of it, “a little noise never bothers me. I was an undergrad at Columbia. Talk about noise all night, try living in Harlem.”

  Very little of what Mike said was relevant, but Caleb continued anyway, “And there’s a big festival in Rosu, the annual Garlic Festival.” Mike nudged Lamia in the ribs and she looked mildly irritated. “They’re showing some American films, too.” Caleb was getting desperate now, thinking back to a poster he saw on the wall when he stopped by the inn to check on a room. “Eastwood something or other.”

  “Dirty Harry!” came a garbled shout from Taofang who looked up from his work excitedly. “Fistful of Dollars! Good, Bad, Ugly!”

  The Chinese student’s babble was incomprehensible to Caleb, but Mike got excited, saying, “Go ahead, make my day!” which provoked idiotic laughter from Taofang. Vijay looked as confused as Caleb at this exchange, while Lamia maintained an impassive scowl on her face.

  “What is it that you two are talking about?” Vijay asked after some of the laughter had died down.

  “Man, oh, man,” Mike sighed contentedly. “Clint Eastwood…you’re gonna love this, buddy.”

  Caleb met Lamia’s eye just long enough to be satisfied that he had made his point, then spun around and left through the underbrush. Mike’s silly fungus had reminded him that he was late stocking up on herbs for the Fives, and brewing remedies for the aftermath of the inevitable battles.

  He came upon a patch of feverfew, pulling out a few large clumps with their miniature daisy-like flowers. Werewolves didn’t get colds often, but their bites festered, and a tea made of the leaves and flowers would soothe their fevers. St. John’s Wort would make them all less snappish, and white valerian helped them sleep.

  He came upon a patch of sumac, but wasn’t sure if it was the poisonous variety, and didn’t want to be tormented with itching until the full moon renewed his skin. Remembering the book in his basket, he extracted it gently from under the poisonous mushroom.

  The little field guide was yellowed, the binding cracked. In the upper left corner of the inside cover, in a delicate, almost feminine hand, was written Arghezi.

  Odd, Caleb thought. How did Mike get this? The writing was not Alexandru’s.

  But the book told him not to touch the sumac, so he quickly forgot the mystery and pressed on through the woods, reveling in the warmth of the summer afternoon and its profusion of botanical colors. He filled his basket with lavender, rosehips, and fruit, humming as he nibbled wild strawberries along the path for home.

  27. Go Ahead, Make My Day

  “C’mon, Lamia, the parade’s started!”

  Mike dragged her through the crowded main square of Rosu as if she were a rag doll. Of course there would be a parade. Festivals always included parades, and the Rosu Garlic Festival was no exception.

  People milled around dressed in mixtures of “city” clothes and “mo
untain” clothes. The former were drab and cheap-looking, while the latter dazzled with their intricate colorful embroidery. The bright clothing reminded her of a childhood in Tîrgovişte, which she hadn’t thought about in a long, long time. Amazingly, the costumes of the mountain folk hadn’t changed much in seventy years.

  But the crowds. Too many people in a small space made her anxious, ready to pounce. Mike did not believe her protests that she wanted to spend the afternoon reading in their room at the inn. If she humored him and watched the parade, perhaps she could slip back to the room later.

  “Hey, guys,” Mike bellowed as they caught sight of their fellow students, “look who was trying to study. Jeez!”

  Vijay and Taofang grinned at her. Even the normally dour Chinese student seemed relaxed today, no doubt looking forward to the festival’s evening cowboy movies. They were all standing on the sidewalk in front of the town hall, a drab concrete building made festive for the day by a colorful banner proclaiming the health of Communism as well as the festival. The town was similarly a mixture of old and new: The old white-washed church in the square was flanked by centuries-old, graceful stone buildings, stoically co-existing with new concrete monstrosities that sprouted like weeds.

  Mike eagerly explained about parades from his childhood in the Italian neighborhood in New York City where his grandparents lived. Lamia was thinking of similar parades she endured when she was a girl. She would be dressed in a starched white dress with ribbons in her hair, not the T-shirt and jeans she sported today. Better not think about that, she scolded herself. The contrast was too great and, after all, she wasn’t even human any more.

  Instead, she concentrated on the people marching in the street in front of them, just coming into sight. The mayor was there, and a little old priest from the church, dozens of school children, a brass band and dancers in colorful costumes. The men wore brilliant white trousers overhung with dark tunics, and the women had swirling skirts held up with lavishly embroidered belts. All sported braids of garlic around their necks, which bounced cheerily as they marched arm-in-arm.

  “So, what did the guy at the hotel tell you about this thing?” Mike shouted as the band passed directly in front of them.

  Lamia smiled tightly, a grimace really, and said, “The festival has crafts, food, contests. The food will be full of garlic, which I’m sure will please all of you.” The others laughed, knowing her dislike for garlic. “You can probably get your fortune told. There will be dancing.” She gestured at the flushed faces of the young men and women marching before them. “Young men traditionally pick their wives by how well they dance. Quite simple, no?”

  “Yeah,” piped up Mike brightly, “and since the girls are all wearing garlic necklaces, a guy can make sure he’s not marrying a vampire, right?”

  Everyone but Lamia laughed heartily. But Mike was so engrossed in his own tales, he did not see that Lamia was not amused; nor did he see her slip quietly into the throng.

  Lamia shut the heavy wooden door of their room at the inn and stood leaning against it, relieved to be out of the crowds. The room had a turn-of-the-century feel to it, reminding her of her grandmother’s room at her parents’ home in Tîrgovişte. It was such a distant memory; after so many decades, it was hard for her to even believe that she did, indeed, have a Romanian grandmother. Lace curtains covered the windows, flanked by heavy embroidered drapes. Large, dark furniture filled the room—a tall dresser and an even taller wardrobe, a small writing table, a nightstand with a ceramic pitcher and basin. The large bed was a four-poster with a gauzy white canopy floating above. There was a sofa, too, where she had insisted on sleeping.

  Only one room had been available at the inn, the fanciest one, which locals probably couldn’t afford. The cost was a pittance for her group, since Western graduate students were rich in comparison to Romanians. The owner of the inn had been particularly happy to receive hard currency, lira from the students’ lab in Italy.

  She closed the windows and drew the heavy drapes shut, but could not block the cacophony of music and crowd noise. Of course, the ubiquitous smell of garlic could not be avoided, either, with all the garlic necklaces and special dishes.

  Garlic was one of the few things her companions could agree on, since they rarely agreed on physics or anything else. In spite of coming from completely different cultures, Mike, Vijay, and Taofang all loved to cook with garlic. At the camp, she usually spent mealtimes in her tent. She didn’t need to eat, and the smell of whatever they cooked up made her weak and irritable—exactly how she felt now as she paced the room. She tried reading first a textbook, then a magazine. From the wall, dictator Ceaucescu smiled at her grimly in a badly done portrait.

  Coincidentally, he grimaced at her from the pages of her magazine, The Economist. She had once thought about getting a degree in economics, but the magazine subscription was all that remained of that enterprise. It hadn’t worked out, probably because she cut so many classes at the London School of Economics. How could she attend class when she spent her nights roaming the streets of the city, drinking blood? That was before she realized that she would have to give up human blood if she wanted to study any subject seriously.

  According to her magazine and the portrait on the wall, Communism still held the country in its tight fist, and it seemed certain to continue into the next century. All that meant little to her. She had never been affected by Romanian politics. The castle, where she lived for thirty years, had been too isolated. After leaving it for good, she tried to forget her native country, quickly discovering that the West held nearly infinite possibilities for a vampire who wanted to better herself.

  All she wanted now was to get a degree and a research position. Switzerland or California would suit her. She could remove herself entirely from the larger world of politics, as well as from the realm of wizards and vampires, in favor of the captivating world of particle physics.

  It was particle physics, not politics or garlic, that now caused her to pace restlessly around the room. She needed an uninterrupted summer to make those measurements in the caves. Professor Gamberi, her research director at the university, was suspicious of her, and made it clear that she’d have to go to greater lengths to prove herself than would the others. Maybe he didn’t trust women, and held the traditional view that women had no legitimate role in physics. Or maybe he was skeptical of that overly glowing recommendation from Professor Mannheim at Stuttgart. Perhaps its enthusiasm did lack credibility. She knew it wasn’t sincere; Mannheim had promised her a good letter if she left quickly, and no one would mention the technician with holes in his neck who had to take medical leave for “pernicious anemia.”

  The work had to go on this summer, and if some of the students on the project were injured or if some of the equipment in the caves was damaged, it might bring a halt to the project.

  The American wizard, Lupeni, knew something was going to happen in the caves tonight, and it had nothing to do with moths or bats. He clearly knew what had attacked Mike in May, so it was likely that he now knew werewolves would be running loose at the camp. She had always feared those monstrous dogs, after thirty years at the castle listening to their senseless howls during the full moon. She was astonished that she had been able to fend off the two wolves attacking Mike; but having done so, she was now confident she could do it again, as long as there weren’t too many of them. She shivered as she remembered that werewolves usually ran in packs in these mountains.

  An idea occurred to her. There were spells for repelling werewolves, and she knew where a patch of aconite grew. She had come across it recently while exploring the camp. If she picked the flowers and draped them around…

  What on Earth was she thinking? Did she actually mean to go back to the camp?

  It seemed the only way to protect the equipment. The idea of a pack of werewolves bumping around the cave upset her terribly. Why would Lupeni think they would do that? They were mindless, vicious animals, after all.

  She ru
mmaged through the others’ bags, looking without success for the keys to the Jeep. Mike must have them, protecting his proclaimed right as an American to do all the driving. The journey from Rosu back to the camp wouldn’t take very long for a bat, although it would be tiring because the sun was up. Even though she hadn’t used any other spells in years, she routinely practiced flying as a bat. It was simply too handy to give up.

  Would she meet Lupeni if she went back? She pondered that as she searched for paper and pen to write a note. He remained a mystery: not a hippie, not a botanist, more than a foreign wizard on holiday. Why was he here? Why was he killing vampires? Certainly his coolness at disposing of Emil meant that he had killed others.

  A heroic American crusader bent on making a reputation as a vampire killer? No. Lupeni was too educated, too intelligent and well-spoken to be here simply to make a name for himself.

  An exile? A criminal? Not quite, but there was something about him that suggested those possibilities. She detected a fragility in him; under the steely calmness, he kept a dark secret at bay.

  Well, she had a rather large dark secret herself.

  She perched on the edge of the bed with pen and paper, but couldn’t focus on the simple note she needed to write. Instead she thought: He kills vampires and if he finds out what you are, you’ll be next.

  Funny, she didn’t mind if Lupeni rid the mountains of other vampires, like Cuza. She shivered at the thought of their last meeting. She wanted nothing to do with any of them. Would Lupeni understand that? she wondered. Would he believe that a vampire could go against her nature so completely? No. Of course not. Sometimes, even she did not believe it.

  She swore at herself. Writing this note was taking far too long, and one of the others might come back to check on her soon. Maybe she shouldn’t bother with the note…No, if they found her missing without explanation, they would search for her, and she did not want anyone else at the camp that night.