“Good morning, Andee. Thank you for coming. You asked to see me.”
“Yes, I came to say... I feel horrible. Please, can I come in and talk to you for a few minutes? I won’t stay long.”
She waited and looked from one to the other. She saw Alwyn glance at his mother and then back at her.
“I will step out,” he said. “We can walk around the house and then sit in the garden. We’ve talked there before.”
Andee nodded mutely and looked at the matron of the house. Lady Lloyd’s expression was cold.
The crunch of the gravel beneath their feet served as background to their crossing to the garden.
“She hates me,” Andee whispered.
“No,” Alwyn replied, “she doesn’t hate you. She’s angry, hurt, and mostly scared.”
“Scared?”
“Yes, scared for Miranda.”
Andee turned to him and put a hand to his elbow. They were at the corner of the house, and she stopped him and turned him toward her.
“I don’t understand. If she’s so worried about Miranda, why take her from the hospital?”
Alwyn looked at her and sighed a heartfelt breath that hinted of several emotions all wrapped into the one deep exhale.
“You’re right,” he said, “you wouldn’t understand.”
He turned and started the walk toward the garden again. Andee took two quick steps to catch up to him.
Once in the garden, Alwyn brushed some dirt from the concrete bench and offered it to Andee. She smiled. He had done that before, before when she had felt welcome and excited about meeting a new and attractive person. Now, the place seemed foreign to her. Andee turned and looked back at the house. Gennadiya stood in an upstairs window, in fact, in the very window of the room where the agent had once been welcome.
Andee turned back to focus on Alwyn.
“You have to know,” she blurted, “I would never do anything that I thought had the slightest chance of hurting Miranda. She is the sister I never had, and I know we’ve only just met, but I love her as if she was my true sister.”
Alwyn watched the woman, but said nothing. His silence spurred her on.
“I would have been here sooner, but Jerry’s service and I had to help his family. I just wasn’t able to get up here quicker.”
She stopped, and Alwyn said, “You don’t need to justify to me.”
She closed her eyes, partly to block the vision of him, partly to stop the tears she felt forming.
“Please don’t hate me,” she whispered.
“I don’t hate you. I doubt I ever could.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.
He looked at her, and she felt the intensity of those ice-blue eyes pierce her soul. The tears broke free and ran the length of her face. She swallowed and refused to look away.
“You said I don’t understand. Then tell me, Alwyn. Tell me what I don’t know. Make me understand.”
He studied her. She felt his judgement on her worthiness to hear his secret. She worried he would find her lacking. She determined she would beg, if she had to. She did not have to.
“Alright,” he said, “I will tell you a story...”
“No, not a story,” she demanded, “not a legend, not a fable, not a fairy tale. Tell me the truth. Share with me what makes you who you are.”
He hesitated and continued to look at her. She wondered if he was forming an image he would keep with him after she was gone.
“I will tell you what you want to know,” he finally agreed. “I will tell you all of it. I will tell you a story that, odds are, you won’t believe. But I will tell you the truth, and know this, Andee Trakes, when I am finished, we will have arrived at an intersection that may lead us down separate paths. Are you prepared for that?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Her throat seemed to have closed and refused to give way for communication. The beating of her heart was loud in her ears, and she knew he was right. She nodded. She was prepared.
“No one knows for sure how it came about. The beginning for us is as confusing as the beginning for you. Big Bang, evolving from apes, intelligent creation, no one knows for sure, but we know it happened. All I need do is to look at my hand, and I know it happened. I am real.”
She started to speak, but he shook his head and raised a finger halting her question.
“From the confusion of the beginning, three species emerged. There is yours, the homo sapiens. It is recognized by the field of biology. There is also the species of canis lupus, common name, the wolf. It too is accepted by the biologists.”
He looked at his hand, as if proving his point.
“And then, there is me. Homo lupus, not recognized, not accepted, and if your species had their way in the matter, not allowed to survive.”
“Oh, please, Alwyn,” she huffed, “I said no stories.”
He motioned her into silence again, “You said you wanted the truth, the whole truth. Well, here it is. I am a werewolf. That’s who I am. It’s who my mother is, and it’s who Miranda is. All of us, every Lloyd you have met, all of us are werewolves.”
She looked at him, but said nothing.
He looked out over the pond and continued.
“I don’t know where or when or how it all started. Maybe it was with Lycaon and his attempt to trick Zeus. Maybe it was before with the cave drawings. I don’t know, but we exist. I exist. I live, I breathe, and I love my family and I do all I can to protect my species. I protect them from you and your species, and I protect us from ourselves.”
“Throughout time, we have been our own worst enemy. By our nature, we do not civilize, and as mankind developed societies and built cities, we resisted and fought against such development. Those attitudes and actions resulted in us being pushed to the brink of extinction on more than one occasion. But, if nothing else, werewolves are a resilient bunch, and we continue to survive.”
“Alwyn, please. Don’t make me out to be a fool.”
He spun, he spun to face her, his face twisted with rage and the growl in his throat heavy with the hurt and the anger he had held for so long. He leaned toward her and she felt his breath on her. His breath, hot and angry.
“Enough of the child’s play.” His voice had deepened and struggled to find words.
“No more word games. You see what we are, what I am and you pretend we are little more than a fable. We are not. We are wolves and as such we can be a vicious predator who has earned his spot as dominant.”
“Werewolves carry that same genetic makeup. The viciousness of the species is without question. All you need is look at the bodies of Detective Meeker, Cat or Rose. All of them killed by werewolves, or in this case, one wolf. Miranda was attacked by a wolf. At the same time, and some would say in direct conflict, is the werewolves’ need for social structure. I exhibit my own family as example of that side of our personality.”
Andee rose, stepped away from the bench and turned to face him. She felt the need for distance.
“You’re telling me that all of you,” she waved her arm in the general direction of the estate, “all of you, are werewolves?”
He regained his calm and he inhaled before he nodded and said, “I am.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you.”
He studied her, and his expression grew cold. Andee realized she had called him a liar. She feared he would abandon her, but then, he shrugged.
“You are free to believe what you will,” he said. “In the larger sense, it matters not to me, or mine.”
He pulled aside the neck line of his shirt as he leaned his head to one side. He showed her the stab wound in his upper chest. It was little more than a scar, still red, still swollen, but completely closed.
“Explain this ability to heal,” he challenged. “It is an accepted fact that werewolves, if real, have accelerated healing powers. You know this wound is little more than a week old.”
She stepped forwa
rd and touched the area. She felt the raised skin that still looked tender. She allowed her fingers to loiter, then trace the length of the blemish. She enjoyed the feel of the man. He enjoyed her touch, and fought the urge to close his eyes.
Could he possibly be telling the truth?
She raised her eyes to him, suddenly understanding why he had refused hospital care.
“That’s why you had to get Miranda out of the hospital so fast.”
He nodded, “That, among other reasons.”
She nodded, lowered her hand, and stepped away from him.
“Tell me about Eduardo Ferreira.”
He nodded, disappointed she had moved. His chest felt exposed. He released the neck of his shirt and tugged the clothing straight.
“There’s much to cover but I promise you, we will.”
“Okay.”
“From the beginning, wolves tried to find a way to coexist with humans. There are those of the human race who would see us all exterminated as if we were a failed experiment. The zealots have led the charge against my kind since the dawn of record keeping. The Middle Ages were some of the worst times recorded, but in no way the only time a focused effort to destroy us was made.”
“Likewise, there are those of my kin who think humans are a weaker form of us that serves no purpose other than to sharpen the hunting skills of our young. Some of my kind see you as little more than prey. Lucky for all of us, those viewpoints, on both sides, are the minority.”
“The Unum,” Andee reminded him, and he nodded.
“Roughly the time of the Israelite migration from Egypt, some of the more prominent members of my ancestors started to discuss the creation of a self-determining body of the wolves. Understand, it took years, generations even, just to get representatives together to discuss such a radical idea. Again, I submit my family as an example of the stubborn nature of who we are.”
Andee allowed herself to smile with him and raised her eyes to look over him toward the house. Lady Lloyd still stood in the window.
“Anyway, in time, it was decided the descendants of the fifty sons of Lycaon would be the base of the government. How much of the legend is true is debatable, but every wolf I know can trace his or her linage back to one of those fifty sons of Lycaon. That became the genesis of our society. A society in secret, I might add. Each wolf who wished to be a part of this, and most did, had to determine which of the first fifty families he or she descended from. We call those fifty families the Prium Filio. The name is a crude form of Latin that means First Sons.”
He stepped past her to the koi pond. As his shadow covered the surface of the water, the koi responded and stirred the surface in their efforts to acquire food. Alwyn reached into the barrel nearby, lifted a handful of pellets and with a toss, spread them across the little body of water. The water boiled.
“You know who the son was that started the Lloyd family?”
Andee’s question refocused him and he nodded, as he turned back to her.
“I do, and in my case, it is easy. I am full wolf, or what we call a Pauci. Again, a rough use of Latin for the term ‘the few.’”
Andee couldn’t suppress the giggle, and she covered her mouth in an attempt to hide her reaction.
“What do you find amusing?” Alwyn asked.
His question served to increase her mirth, but she said, “I’m sorry. I have this image of two werewolves sitting on a hillside conversing in Latin. It just seems funny. I’m sorry.”
She expected him to find a touch of humor in the absurd image. He didn’t.
“I told you we were a vicious species, not an unintelligent one.”
She raised the hand not covering her mouth, “I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
“As I was saying,” Alwyn continued, “a Pauci is a wolf where both parents and grandparents for at least four generations are full wolves. As you might imagine, there are very few of us. In addition to the Pauci, there are Pars, or part wolves. These are half wolves, quarter wolves, and so on. We recognize anyone who is at least one-eighth wolf. Less wolf than that, and the person is basically full human.”
He turned away from her and tossed another handful of pellets. Again, the water boiled with the activity of the fish.
“It’s a question of the genetics,” he said. “There are people walking the streets today that don’t know they are part werewolf.”
“How can that be?” she scoffed? “What about the full moon and the shapeshifting?”
He looked over his shoulder and rewarded her question with a small smile.
“We can thank the zealots of the Middle Ages for that twist to the story. They linked being a wolf with being in league with Satan, and who isn’t afraid of the dark. It was easy to build a fiction that wolves were cursed and therefore had to submit to the power of the night. It’s bunk.”
“However, there is a recognized pull of the moon on all creatures, as well as plants. That pull is strong in the wolves. A full moon is not to be wasted. Which does not mean we all turn into wild animals, ravage the countryside, and slaughter all the innocent lambs and children.”
“What does it mean?”
“Have you ever wanted to take your shoes off and walk in the fountain in Central Park?”
“Yes,” she smiled, “but I don’t.”
“But you felt it?”
She nodded.
“Did you ever want to skip school, you know, just not go?”
“Yes, but that is normal. Everyone feels like that.”
He nodded and smiled.
“Have you ever wanted to eat a second helping of ice cream, knowing that you shouldn’t?”
She smiled, “Of course, all women struggle with that, but we like to wear our pants, so we pass.”
He gestured gracefully, fingers spread wide at the obviousness of it all.
“If you were to track all the times you felt like throwing convention aside, even just for the day, you would discover there is a cycle, a rhythm to those feelings. Your cycle may not be in conjunction with the phases of the moon, but the full moon makes it more difficult for us, for wolves, to say no to those impulses.”
She looked at him intently, and he wondered if she was starting to grasp what he was saying.
“These are impulses most of us feel, but they are stronger in wolves, and stronger still during the full moon. For some of us, it’s driving faster than normal. For some, it’s walking in the woods, and, in truth, sadly, for some of us, it’s raping and killing innocents.”
“So there are the vicious ones.”
He shrugged.
“You sound like you have uncovered a long-held falsehood. I’ve already told you, as a rule, we are an aggressive and violent version of you. We are, after all, part human.”
“Not to mention you can turn into a wild animal,” she added with a touch of bitterness to her voice.
“Nothing in nature is more violent than mankind,” he defended. “But, yes, some of us can shape shift. Some of us can turn into that wild animal, as you put it.”
“Wait a minute, are you telling me not all werewolves can change shape?”
“I just told you there are werewolves who don’t even know they are wolves. They were never taught.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You were an athlete, were you not? Played soccer?”
“I was, and I did, yes. Your point?”
“Can you dribble a basketball?”
“What? Of course.”
“Then why don’t you play in the NBA?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You don’t play because you either don’t have the talent to begin with, or you haven’t developed the talent you have. Changing shape is difficult, as it should be. It requires training, dedication and, believe it or not, practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
“How does a wolf even do that?”
“It is a mental technique not unlike the meditation taught by eastern societies.
It is quite literally mind over matter. We visualize the transformation to take place. Bones are modified, joints reshape, and, of course, the hair.”
She reached for him and touched his shoulder through his shirt. Her unexpected touch surprised him, thrilled him, excited him.
“Your wound. That’s how it healed so fast. You willed it to.”
He smiled.
“You are beginning to understand.”
She looked toward the house.
“That’s what Miranda is doing now. She’s healing herself. That’s why I wasn’t allowed to see her.”
He nodded.
“Among other reasons, yes.”
She removed her hand. Where it had rested on his chest now felt empty. Did she know she affected him so?
Andee started to pace before him. Five or six steps in each direction. He enjoyed watching her. He liked the way she moved. He was attracted to the shift of her weight from foot to foot, side to side. It was more than the sway of her hips, though he liked that as well. It was the total package, from the shifting wave of her hair to the precise balance of her feet.
She turned to him, her eyes, though dark, aflame with excitement.
“You still haven’t got to the Unum,” she challenged.
“But I will.”
“Keep in mind,” he continued, “with the mixture of wolves, part-wolves, ideas from various points of view, it took generations to bring any semblance of order to the packs. I’ve heard it said complete ice ages came and went before the wolves started to get their acts together. Some wonder if we have it together yet. Nonetheless, it is better.”
“How so?” she asked.
“Today, we have a body of representatives. Members are called Consenti, which, as you may have guessed is Latin for consent. It is required that when the congress, the Pactum, or the agreement, meets, that the members come to agreement before the meeting ends. Unlike other bodies of other governments, when the Pactum meets, they must not adjourn without agreement on the discussed point presented. If the Pactum is in disagreement, the families of wolves are as well, and that usually results in spilling blood.”
“Human blood?” she asked.
“Sometimes, but more often than not, wolf blood.”
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 19
