Virgin Wolf II

by Lynde Lakes

  After she told them of Damon’s heroic deeds and explained how they rid themselves of their curses, she said, “The moment you see a change, you must come to one of us immediately. We have ways to help you, and your dad’s been working on a serum to control the changes. Perhaps by the time the curse shows up, he’ll have found a cure. Do you have any questions?”

  They were smiling like Cheshire cats and exchanged amused looks.

  Valerie grinned at Victoria. “Should we tell her?”

  “What’s going on?” Angela asked, feeling a prickling along her nerve endings.

  “We’ve been experiencing mild signs of morphing since we were thirteen,” Valerie said. “It’s a real kick.”

  Victoria laughed. “I found the journals when I was ten and we read all about it. We didn’t believe it until we actually started changing. It was only a partial change, thickening hair, astonishing nail growth, superior hearing—and we could run like the wind. It was a trip.”

  Angela’s stomach knotted. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “We didn’t want to worry you. You know how you get all paranoid about us sometimes.”

  “Why haven’t I seen it happening?”

  “We stayed in our room during the morphing. And we washed our hair a lot with frizz-tamer conditioner. It was easy to keep our hands behind our backs and out of sight, but we had a trouble with our sharp incisors and had to keep our mouths closed more than usual.”

  Valerie grinned. “And that was especially difficult for Victoria. Not for me so much. Since I seldom get to talk around here.”

  “This isn’t something to joke about. Until your dad and his team of scientists find a cure for this, you must master the challenge of sublimating and channeling your lycanthropic impulses into positive and constructive outlets.

  They laughed and, in unison, asked, “Say, what?”

  “Control your actions. You may have desires and needs—”

  A sharp intake of breath from the doorway stopped her mid-sentence. She looked up. Damon stood there listening, his expression dark. He scowled at the twins. “You should have told us. We can help you. Your Auntie Nola is a spiritualist and she has the power to lift your curses and free you.” Angela noticed that he didn’t mention that the curse would have to be transferred onto him.

  “It’s okay, Dad. We don’t change that much.”

  “You will. You’re apparently in the early stages. Until all this is settled, from sunset to sunrise, during any full moon, you’re both confined to your rooms.”

  Victoria shot to her feet. “That’s not fair. We haven’t done anything.”

  “It’ll be temporary. I’ll make an appointment with Madam Nola right away.”

  “Geez, Dad,” Victoria said. “That’s why we didn’t tell you. You always make a big deal of things.”

  “It is a big deal. And we’re going to handle it before it gets worse.”

  Chapter Six

  Lazar pounded the lab table with his powerful fist, making all the colorful glass vials rattle. Damn it, he had to control his flash temper. But since the contractor and his crew sealed off the tunnels, he hadn’t had an opportunity to get close to the girls. The night he siphoned blood from Valerie years ago had proven his suspicions. But he needed current information and samples of their ripened blood.

  Fortunately, the twins’ friends could come and go like they owned the place. If Damon and Angela only knew that the loyalty of one of Valerie’s trusted friends could be bought so cheaply, so easily. Yesterday, he’d hired a three-day sober alcoholic to approach the boy for him. Using the alky-dupe, no one could ever pin anything on him. And once the boozer completed the simple task of go-between, he’d put him out of his misery.

  The derelict paid the pimple-faced hotshot fifty bucks to slip a microchip listening device into the twins’ room. The bug picked up the conversation loud and clear. He hadn’t expected to hear such an illuminating earful so soon. The girl’s morphing had begun. One way or another, he intended to get blood samples of both lupine twins. It was vital now that they were experiencing symptoms.

  From what was said into the micro bug, Madam Nola might have the power to lift the curse from the girls before he could run his tests on them. He was too close to a break through to let her foul up his studies and keep him from his goal—success and unlimited money. Two foreign governments were in a bidding war for the serum.

  Lazar shook his fist in the air. That screw up Dudley had failed to get rid of the gabby spiritualist. Now it looked like he’d have to handle her himself. An added bonus would be the acquisition of the crystal ball. It’d be a help to know events in advance. He had to act soon.

  He opened his private journal, which he shredded nightly. Writing his thoughts down helped him zero in on the steps to a solid plan of action. He extended an arm and looked at his long fingers. For him, each finger represented a path about two degrees apart, and each would take him in a different direction. His little finger was crooked from a childhood disease and epitomized the most often traveled path. Reviewing the fingers now was a bit like hiking to the top of Mt. Baldy and then looking down at all the different paths he could have taken and noting that, as usual, he’d taken the most crooked and treacherous.

  He laughed to himself. Funny, how he kept getting on the crooked path. He was lucky he’d made it this far in life with the risks he’d taken. He chuckled again. As long as luck remained his partner, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  * * * *

  Damon made the appointment for first thing in the morning. Something in his bones warned him that it was imperative to see Madam Nola right away.

  When he, Angela and the girls met with the medium, she gestured for them to take a seat around the small, round table with the black-lace tablecloth. As usual, she touched something under the table and the room darkened and incense sprayed from a nearby plant. The girls giggled. Damon sent them a warning look. They choked off the snigger as Madam Nola slowly and ceremoniously slipped the velvet cover from the crystal ball sitting in the center of the table. She muttered Egyptian words as she floated her hands across the globe. Flames and blackness licked at gray shadows. Sounds of gastly cries and moans swirled around the room. Then a cascade of flaming ash hovered over a faceless man and morphed into him. “What the heck is that?” Victoria asked, her eyes as wide as her sister’s.

  “I don’t know what that means,” Madam Nola said with a trembling voice. “But it looks like an evil spirit has taken over a body.” Her painted face paled, making her look like a sad clown. “Something devilish and evil is brewing against your family.” Whispering voices swirled around the room. Madam Nola’s eyes widened. “Now the whispering spirits are warning me that the evil is against me as well.” She was silent a moment, as though gathering her courage, and then she said, “It will be risky to try to lift the twins’ curse onto Damon, and it may not work. I’ve never worked with a triad relationship. The love is different and the circumstances are different. However, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Victoria opened her mouth to speak, but Damon stopped her with a sharp look. “I have faith in you, Madam Nola,” he said.

  Madam Nola laughed. “I think Angela would agree that you have faith in everyone until they fail you. Sometimes giving your trust so easily can be fatal.”

  Damon forced a smile. “I still have faith in you. I know you’ll do your best.”

  “Absolutely. And since I’ve taken the girls into my heart and accepted them as my adopted nieces, I won’t charge you for the ritual. But I need two days to plan and gather the needed materials.”

  Damon was dying to ask whose ashes she would use this time, but a comment like that would unglue Angela and encourage the girls to ask questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Perhaps it was best not to joke about this very serious situation.

  Madam Nola’s eyes glistened as if she knew what he was thinking. “For safety’s sake, due to all the evil in the ground behind your mansion,�
�� she said, “we shall perform the ritual up at Lake Arrowhead. Come by with your family and pick me up at four tomorrow morning. I want to arrive at the lake early and be set up by dawn.”

  After they left Madam Nola’s home, Victoria said, “I love Madam Nola, but do you guys really believe all that mumbo jumbo?”

  Before Damon could respond, Valerie said, “Why would you doubt her after what’s happened to us?”

  “She proved herself to me long ago,” Damon growled. “And it’s crucial that we give this a try. We’re probably months away from perfecting a serum to help you girls. So this is the best option at hand.”

  “What will the serum do?” Valerie asked.

  “It won’t cure you, but it will help you control the morphing and, if we’re lucky, eventually fight off the symptoms of the curse. But that could be years away.”

  * * * *

  As usual, Dr. Simon L. Lazar, head of the science team, remained after the others went home. It was the best part of the day when he could run his secret tests. He knew that blood carried the very essence of an individual and he was very close to reaching his goal. The room suddenly felt icy. It was as though the chilling winds coming off the San Gorgonio Mountains in dead winter was blowing through the stone walls. He pulled on a jacket. Within seconds, the air above him turned blast furnace hot. The heat entered his head and curled down through his body. His skin burned as though licked by flames. He stiffened as he felt an evil soul join his. Violent images swirled in his mind—blood and the ripped out throats of many women. His greed took on a new depth. Overpowering hatred grew within him like a cancer, and he lusted for revenge. His goal was no longer merely money. He wanted Damon Lamont to suffer a thousand deaths and then he wanted to tear his throat out. Was he going mad?

  Reeves’s blackened soul, now sharing Dr. Lazar’s body, laughed out loud at his host’s confusion. His evilness and stronger personality now reined. But appearance-wise, and for all practical purposes, he was Dr. Lazar. He looked like him, shared his talents, credentials, and knew his secrets and where the bodies were buried.

  The synergistic and more violent Dr. Lazar smiled. Damon would be equally surprised to learn that, in spite of his deadly attack on the former Reeves, his dissatisfied half-brother, death hadn’t been his final destination.

  Lazar scanned the room. The bottle of whisky on the counter told him his host was a drinking man, like himself. He poured a little snort to celebrate his return to the land of the living. The slim, wide-shouldered body the Devil had provided suited him just fine. Smirking, Dr. Lazar surveyed all the labeled vials about him. This was the perfect setup. He’d taken over the life and mind of man destined to be very rich—and who had direct access to Damon and his family. Now he could have it all, revenge, status, and money.

  Lazar looked out the lab window at the full moon. As his body began to jerk, he realized he was still affected by the Lamont curse. He rubbed the bristly stubble on his face, ran to the lab bathroom, and looked into the mirror. Intense feral eyes stared back at him. He ran his hand through his thickening hair. Soon, he would think like a wolf—attack like a wolf. And his new position had unexpected benefits. He could run tests on his own cursed blood. He had to extract some now while in the throes of morphing. He grabbed an empty vial, tied off his arm, and withdrew two full containers. He marked them with a big X and placed them into the refrigerator.

  He curled his lip and snarled. Quickly, he drank an ounce of the nearly perfected moon-poppy serum, enough to maintain control of his thinking and keep his savage bloodlust under control. He removed his lab clothes and shoved them into a drawer. He scanned his host’s database of brain cells until he had a fix on their shared enemy. Madam Nola—the busybody who’d burned his body and scattered his ashes when he was wolf Reeves—was causing trouble again.

  In the midst of his moon-heat, he eased out of the laboratory into the night as his body strengthened and grew hairier. He felt physically powerful yet he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was merely a hostage controlled by devilish whims. He buoyed his confidence by reminding himself that he was not just a werewolf intent on mindless killing. He had an agenda.

  He became one with the shadows. In the far distance, a train whistled, making the silence of the night more ominous and magnifying his driving urge. He ran on. Lusting for blood, he slipped through the shadows and bushes toward the darkened street with the gingerbread house. No lights were on in the dwelling, but there were lights illuminating several neighboring houses. His nostrils flared as he filtered the aromas floating through the biting air. Following the medium’s cloying scent, he circled to the back of the property, leapt, and crashed through the bedroom window. The psychic-dwarf began to scream and her Cockatoo flew at him screeching and trying to peck at his head. He batted at it with a huge clawed paw and knocked it across the room into the mirrored closet doors. Returning his attention to his victim, he ripped out her throat. It was so easy. She was such a tiny thing. Before he left, he ate her stunned Cockatoo, leaving a scattering of feathers on the dining room floor. He felt alive, energized, and ready to take on his half-brother and the whole damn world.

  * * * *

  Damon felt bad vibes as he and his family drove through the darkened streets toward Madam Nola’s house. Traffic was light at four in the morning. It was an ungodly hour to head for Lake Arrowhead, but Madam Nola insisted that they get an early start. He glanced into the back seat. The girls had fallen asleep again. Teenagers could sack out at the drop of a hat. Damon turned the car radio to low, hoping to find some music to soothe Angela who was sitting as rigid as a board. Instead, he got the news.

  “Spiritualist’s throat torn out,” the newscaster said. “The attack happened after she retired for the night. Neighbors heard her blood-curling screams at about eleven and called the police. Appears to be the work of a werewolf, yet police are mystified by the medium’s missing crystal ball.”

  Angela gasped and her eyes filled with tears. “How horrible! Poor Madam Nola. Oh my God, and what about—”

  Damon knew why Angela cut herself off. She didn’t want the girls to hear that there would be no ritual to lift the curse from them onto him. They were trapped. Damon said a silent prayer that Lazar and his team would discovered a cure. And fast. They’d been working on it for more than sixteen years. Lazar said they were close. Let him be right.

  * * * *

  That afternoon, Lazar headed for the same bar where he’d found Dudley and the alcoholic and hired a crew of four men to capture more wolves. He had two special wolves in mind. He found the kind of men who were so eager for work they didn’t ask questions. He told them the hunt had to be tonight. “Round up every wolf,” he told them. “They must be alive. There’s an extra bonus if you capture the midnight black and snow white lupines.”

  * * * *

  As the moon rose in the darkening sky, agonizing pain radiated through Victoria’s slender teen body. It was as though she were trapped in a tornado, violently rotating and spiraling out of control. She pressed a pillow to her mouth to mute her howl. Sweat trickled down her back. The muscles throughout her body began to throb, followed by more pain. She howled again into the pillow, and then raked her fingers through a wild, thickening onyx mane. Swirling thick fog enveloped her brain, its snaking tendrils squeezing away much of her rational thought.

  Beside her, Valerie was writhing, apparently going through the same hell. Her almond-shaped eyes glittered with savage intensity.

  Victoria looked down at her own changing hands. Staring aghast at the long claws, partially painted with black polish, that now jutted from her fingertips made her want to laugh as though she were high on something. Then excruciating pain shot through her again, killing any desire to laugh. Her eyes pooled with tears as the attacks of pain came in waves, each surge sharper than the last. She convulsed and writhed upon floor. Mom had warned about the pain…but based upon Valerie’s pained expression, both of them would probably agree it was worse than e
ither had imagined. Victoria’s pain eased slightly. Her lengthening incisors, now as sharp as ivory tusks, grazed her lip and drew a drop of salty blood. She thirsted for more. Oh God, she was burning up. With sharp teeth and claws, she ripped the clothing from her body and left it in shreds at her feet. Valerie had done the same. She was still burning up and the room was hot, airless. She struggled to reach the terrace doors and threw them open.

  Feral instincts overpowered her sanity as her body continued to change shape.

  Holy cow…she was becoming a black, hairy beast. Amazed and terrified at her building strength as the agonizing metamorphosis geared through its stages to completion, she barked an order to her morphed sister, now a snow white wolf.

  When Valerie didn’t take her seriously, Victoria went into a controlling routine and snapped into the air near her sister’s head. Valerie growled back. Victoria raised the hackles around her neck and shoulders, trying to give the impression of increased size and dominant power. Her sister copied her and then splayed her ears sideways, like outstretched bat wings, to indicate increasing defiance. Not to be beat by her seconds-younger twin, Victoria issued a low, throaty growl.

  With ears erect, they evaluated each other. But the call of the moon was stronger than their game of establishing superiority. In unison, they gestured with their heads toward the open terrace doors. Then backing up, they charged forward and leapt with arching grace over the wrought iron railing. The moment their front paws hit the grass-covered ground, they headed for the hills and the caves beyond, thirsting for freedom, lusting for the unknown, and desperate to answer the compelling lure tugging at their feral souls.