Fatal Moon

by L. E. Perry

  "Carl?" There was no response, but by now Jordan didn't expect one. "Think about howling up there, so I can find you in the morning."

  Of course, if Carl's mood didn't change by then, it probably wouldn't matter.

  Carl was still on the front steps at 6:45 p.m. that evening, and Jordan was getting nervous. He started edging toward the front door, ready to dodge behind it and slam it shut if Carl suddenly turned into that damnable creature of the night before.

  It was 7:04 p.m., by Jordan's watch, when Carl shuddered violently, then clutched his gut and bent over his knees in anguish. As soon as Carl's features began to change Jordan dashed for the front door, slamming it behind himself and throwing the deadbolt. He felt his arms shake as he braced himself against the door. He hoped the residual depression, if that's what it was, wouldn't affect the wolf... Carl. He watched what little he could see from the edge of the window, lights off inside with a bright floodlight shining across the yards outside.

  Carl hadn't taken his clothes off, so all Jordan saw was writhing under the material. He focused on Carl’s face as it gradually extended into the wide-mouthed, long-nosed creature with black lips that had taken Carl's place just before the wolf took over. Jordan's attention was on Carl's face, but it was turned to the side this time so he saw the profile of the forehead flattening out, and it swiveled on the neck so that the neck was coming straight out the back of the head, like a wolf's might. In a few minutes, there was a wolf in Carl's clothes. It tore the clothing off in a frenzy of shredded shirt and faded denim that gave Jordan a great deal of respect for the power of those teeth. Then, the wolf looked back at the house briefly before bounding toward the forest with several high leaps, like a puppy.

  * * *

  During the night, Jordan wrote up his notes on the events he’d witnessed the previous night. He found Carl's journal on a printout beside a computer in what appeared to be a den he discovered by walking through a set of sliding doors in the library. Another set of doors led to the living room. According to the diary he found, Carl had noticed some strange abilities in himself early on, such as rapid healing and heightened sensual perception – these abilities were noted on files that had a later date at the top. He apparently hadn't considered them part of the same illness until just recently. After the first month, however, there was a steady degradation, showing the loss of those abilities he had just gained, as well as loss of weight in a steady, downward curve. The graphs attached to the diary showed several things, but what caught Jordan's eye was the projected weight loss graph. There was a red line drawn straight across the graph at one hundred and thirty pounds. The line was labeled "critical weight – damage to internal organs begins." This line intersected the weight line on August 28th, a month from now.

  Jordan put the pages down for a moment, overwhelmed. His first job, it appeared, was simply to keep Carl alive long enough to figure this thing out, and to do this mostly by helping Carl gain weight.

  Why hadn't Carl taken this to his father? The man was a distinguished surgeon who had pioneered research on several obscure diseases long before he started acquiring hospitals, and the money he had invested in those hospitals had come from that career. So why didn't Carl want him to know? And Jordan was sure Carl didn't want his father to know.

  Jordan shuffled through the stack of documentation. He found a penned list, or at least the start of one. It was titled, "Possible Initiating Events" and there was only one entry: "Wolf bite, May 7.” Down below, there was a note, crossed out: "No known transferal of similar illness between wolf and man. No known illness involving predictable memory loss. Prognosis: Mental illness." Was this why Carl didn't want to tell his father about it? Below these crossed out lines was the message, "Yellow amoebic cells in blood sample. Unable to determine nature. Virus? Too large. Blood sample sent July 18."

  Jordan put the paper down and rubbed his eyes, which were getting heavy from lack of sleep. He switched the computer on and it automatically brought up a window showing pictures of gates. Below each gate was a label, many of which ended in "website", but another caught his eye. It read "library”. His fingers struck the table as he snatched the mouse from its place on the mousepad, he was soon tapping keywords for the computer to look up in a search bar, including "werewolf". He was disappointed to learn that most of the books he needed were unavailable electronically. Carl’s library gate was primarily a list of the names of books on the subject, what library they were normally hosted in, and whether they were currently checked out or not. "Guess money only goes so far," he muttered. He wrote the names of several books on a piece of paper and jotted the address of the nearest library next to them, along with several phone numbers.

  After checking to see what else the computer had on it, much of which amazed him though little truly surprised him, he stopped to look at the piece of paper that read "Prognosis: Mental Illness." He turned the computer off and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He hadn't had coffee for years, out of a distaste for artificial alteration of the body's natural capacity.

  So, Carl considered the possibility of insanity before. Jordan had witnessed the transformation twice now, and he still questioned his own sanity, but the only way to deal with this situation was to assume that what he saw was real. If it wasn't real, it didn't matter, and if it was, he needed to be prepared. Once he had a cup of coffee, he went back to the den and started another list.

  1. Neck pack for blanket and cell phone (& Food? Size?)

  2. Signaling method? Check GPS signal in various locations.

  3. Blaze trees?

  4. Buy groceries.

  5. BAR WINDOWS!!! (steel rebar, MIG welder, torch)

  * * *

  By 6:00 a.m. the next morning, Jordan was pacing the field outside the house, several layers of clothes bundled on, adrenaline pumping from nerves and the coffee he'd taken after he woke up. He was afraid to fall asleep in case Carl howled, which he hadn't. It wasn't until 7:15 a.m. that he heard the howl -- a drawn out, chilling sound. He looked up at the peaks from where it seemed to be coming, made a point of checking the landmarks to either side for bearings, and headed in that direction.

  There were trails most of the way, making travel rapid until he had to go a different direction. Two hours later, he heard another howl and came to a halt, checking his holster to assure himself that his gun was there. Carl should be Carl by now. The hell if Jordan was going to come face to face with a wolf, natural or supernatural. He said a quick prayer, not to any god, but to whatever force watched over fools who tried to help others. Jordan hadn't believed in a benevolent god since he was six.

  It was taking too long to hike, even at the rapid pace his legs could lift him up the sections of the trail he found. Jordan decided to start taking shortcuts straight up through the switchbacks, where the trails zigzagged because the slope was too steep. He ended up panting heavily, nearly twisted his ankle twice, and slid down a less than solid embankment for twenty feet before grabbing a tree and reconsidering his options. He chose the trail whenever he could. Fifteen minutes later, the point was moot. The trail clearly went the opposite direction, even after accounting for switchbacks. He heard another howl, this one rather weak, but closer, and he aimed straight for it, gun in hand. It still took him another full thirty minutes before he arrived at a rockslide where Carl sat naked, just above a path that cut through the precarious slope. Jordan re-holstered the gun while Carl disappeared into the forest after giving Jordan a brief wave. Carl appeared on the trail below, limping slightly. There was a trace of something brown and dry around his mouth that left Jordan disinclined to ask questions.

  "Thanks so much, mate. I was considering the trail, but I eventually didn't know in which direction to go, and I didn't want to run into some poor hiker looking like this."

  Jordan pulled his coat off and handed it to Carl, then nodded, turning to lead the way back.

  Carl stopped him with a hand. "And for yesterday… thanks… for putt
ing up with me, and… for saving my life."

  Jordan looked back at Carl, who was covering his naked form with the coat, then shook his head. "Don't get used to it. It wasn't in the job description."

  Carl gave him a questioning look, and Jordan turned away. He'd told Carl he wasn't taking the job as a friend. He didn't need another friend. Especially not one whose life expectancy was in question.

  Over the next few months, Jordan and Carl worked out a method for dealing with the transformation. By time they were six months into the contract, they had remodeled the garage as a stable, bought a sturdy horse, and roughed out a routine. They also came to an understanding: Jordan did his job and Carl kept his distance. It took Carl some time to stop making overtures of friendship, but Jordan aided the process by being as difficult as possible.

  Chapter 3 – Luke finds nothing

  Luke counted off his steps, walking silently west-by-northwest, from the large granite boulder at the base of the cross while the early morning Nova Scotian fog covered his path. He listened carefully to the sound of bird calls, squirrel arguments, the breeze through the tree branches, and the other little murmurs that told him that the animals hadn’t noticed him. When he reached the right distance, he searched in a southward arc to find the square hole in the ground that was the entrance to the labyrinth. It didn’t seem to be disturbed, despite the excavations taking place throughout the rest of the island. He looked around slowly to be sure he was alone, then he knelt on the damp mat of dead leaves, the rich smell of decaying wood filling his senses with every cool, humid breath.

  He jumped into the artificial depression, then reached a finger into a crack between the rocks on the sidewall, which released a latch so he could remove an entire set of stones in the wall. He dropped onto his belly to squeeze himself into the tight passage. A twig dug into his hip, another into his shoulder as he slid into the dark passage, arms stretched forward as if it were a pool of water.

  Wriggling forward, he finally found himself in a small granite cave. He came to the designated location and reached straight up into the ceiling of the tiny cave to find the alcove where there was… nothing. Alarmed, he pushed his hands higher and grunted in pain as his knuckles scraped on the rock, and one of his fingernails tore to the quick. Nothing. With both arms and hands, he felt around every inch of the jug-sized space. Nothing. The crystal skull was gone.

  Luke pulled in a deep lungful of air and immediately let it out in a whooshing howl of agonized despair. He was tired, so very tired – nearly three millennia of tired. His responsibilities throughout the world had grown too much for one old wolf to handle, no matter how genetically fit and skilled he was, and he was just so damned exhausted. And now, he’d lost one more tool he needed to retrieve his own memories when he became forgetful of a language he’d once known, or the location of a weapon he’d hidden, or, more personally, to keep alive the memory of the one person who had ever fully understood him, and loved him anyway. He reminisced briefly about the exquisitely beautiful, black-haired woman his heart had been faithfully married to for several thousand years. It was the one luxury he allowed himself in this difficult and nearly thankless job.

  Now there was only one crystal skull left that was sufficiently accurate for clear memories of her, in the jungle thousands of miles away, in a country wrought with fractious guerrilla warfare. The other skulls had all been found and placed in museums, or private collections, and making new ones was always dangerous, leaving Luke open to discovery while the artisan crafted a replica decent enough that he could place it in the ark, then set it to store and retrieve sharp, clear memories. He also had to mind the laws – even as the oldest member of the species, Luke had to answer to someone. And they would be coming, soon. His use of the skulls for personal memories was questionable. They’re my memories, dammit! I have a right to keep them alive,’ he thought.

  Luke took a moment to consider what other memories were stored in this skull, in case whoever had taken the skull knew how to decipher them, as was most likely the case if it was the witch he’d locked horns with long ago. Most of the memories were old codings, but what had been on his mind when he engaged with it for his latest journal entry? He had just learned of a newly infected werewolf in Washington that had been abandoned by the pack responsible for him. His contact, Sarah, had been watching him, and said the cub was wasting away, which meant he would have to be executed, and soon. If left alone, there was a risk he would learn that a steady diet of human blood would keep him alive, though he would lose the ability to transform.

  Luke considered the possibility that he would be unable to get the skull back. If the one remaining anatomically correct crystal skull was lost before he could make another good replica, his bright memories of his beautiful Julia would slowly fade as they were transferred from one hazy memory to the next, losing resolution every time. In time he would be completely alone in this world, a place he hadn’t belonged in since the death of the Holy Roman Empire. Luke stifled a sudden urge to howl again. He crouched back through the tunnel out of the cave and made the journey through the labyrinth and up to the surface of the earth. Luke had nothing to show for his trip. Nothing at all.

  He reached into the medicine pouch that hung around his neck and pulled out his cell phone to dial his regional assistant.

  “Hey Luke, what do you need?” Dwayne asked, having answered immediately.

  “Dwayne, the skull is gone. Did you come here since I showed you where it was?”

  There was a moment of silence, then a panicked voice, “Oh no, Luke, how could anyone find that? I could barely get in there myself, and there’s a latch that’s damn near impossible to locate! Who–”

  “TACIT!” Luke said, sharply. “It is gone. Have you come here since I showed it to you?”

  Another brief silence. Luke didn’t need to hear the next words, he already knew. “Yes, I went there to test myself and make sure I could access the memories without you. Oh God – you think someone followed me?”

  Luke closed his eyes as his vision went red with rage. “Did someone follow you, Dwayne?”

  “Oh God, Luke,” the shaky voice answered. “There was a car behind me, but it went and parked at the museum.”

  “Was it daytime?” Luke asked.

  “Yes, museum hours–”

  “Vae!” Luke spat, cursing in his native Latin. “Why would you come at a time when people are likely to be about?”

  “I wasn’t thinking–”

  Luke cut him off. “Think now!” This could be disastrous. “What type of car?”

  A short pause, then, “It was… it was black–”

  Luke cursed again. “If you do not know the make or model, just describe it.”

  Dwayne’s voice had crept up at least an octave and was still shaking as he continued, “It had a weird front portion, with a line down the middle of it. It didn’t have a bumper. Two headlights each side of the grill, separate, oval, more grill where I expected a bumper, and the license plate hung down, it was really weird…”

  Luke clenched his jaws together, then asked, “Do you know what a Bentley sedan looks like?”

  “A what?”

  Luke felt the cell phone dig into the base of his thumb as his grip grew tight. “Are you at your computer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Google images of a Bentley,” Luke prompted him.

  Keys clacked, then, “That’s it.”

  “Faex!” Luke swore. “Never allow a Bentley to follow you when you are working for me! It is not a common car, certainly not on this continent, and it is a car one of my enemies, a clan in England, prefers. It is a high-end luxury car. No one would choose to drive a high-end luxury car on the dirt roads of Oak Island. You were being followed.” Luke cursed again. “Learn to recognize all models of Bentley, and report to me immediately if you are ever followed by one. That damned witch is on my trail again. And she has resources to rival my own. Gods, but she has resources
I will never dream of.” Luke scrubbed a hand through his hair.

  “Can she read the skull?” Dwayne asked.

  “Yes. Her people created them. She is the Sh’eytan Imperial Princess, though far more a witch than she is noble. We must track the skull down and get it back; it is dangerous to have that information in her hands. If she wanted the skull enough to drive a Bentley all the way out there, or more likely have one of her minions do so, she must have a very good reason. She’s looking for something. And if she reads the memories, she will gain far too much knowledge about the location of packs… the Skykomish pack, for one, and she will know they are on the verge of going rogue, if they haven’t crossed that line already. I must get out there. They are due for a reckoning.”

  “You mean about that guy that got transformed? The one who’s dying?”

  “Yes, that one. He should never have been infected, but being infected, he should not be on his own. He should not even be alive, at this point. There is no good prognosis. He will waste away soon enough, unless he discovers the blood cure and becomes a vampire. Deos. I will have to take that into my own hands. You are on notice, Dwayne. I am not sure I can work with an assistant who cannot do as he is told. I told you to see that you were not followed.”

  “Oh God, Luke, I was sure that car wasn’t following me, in the end! Give me a chance to fix this. I’ll find them – I’ll get it back.”

  “No, Dwayne. You will find it, and I will get it back. The skulls are off limits to you until I can trust you again. Do not even think about touching one, or going anywhere near it. I will be checking your memories every time we meet until I can trust you again, and you had best stay in alignment with my orders.” Luke took a moment to consider dismissing Dwayne immediately, and decided he needed time to think about it. Dwayne’s ability to manipulate information over the internet was hard, perhaps impossible to replace, and it gave him an edge he couldn’t afford to lose. He continued. “I need you to use your hacking skills to get the information I need to track the thief down. This most likely occurred immediately after you left the island. You will review all flights from the nearest airport to Seattle – that should be Halifax International. I’m sure she sent someone who could read the skull; it has ever been her desire to find our people. That’s the only pack clearly identified, recently enough to still be where I located them when I encoded my local annual update. She’s clever, she knows me well enough to move quickly to stay ahead of my actions. She will want to execute them all… or worse, and perhaps more likely, turn them against me. Futuo, I should let her, then destroy them all!