Hair of the Wolf

by Peter J. Wacks

  Madness glowed in the old man’s eyes as they rolled in their sockets, bloodshot and with pupils so wide a person could fall into them. “It’s all so unclear. So much of my memory is gone, ravaged and eaten by time.”

  The man’s voice wavered with sorrow and regret. “Oh that our most beloved—man’s first son—would turn against us.…The pain it caused within us all—that such beauty and tranquility in one of you could turn to such hatred and loathing upon us. It was a heartbreaking time for us.…We were all so unsure of what our course of action should have been.…You see, we wanted so badly to save them both, but in the end we simply couldn’t.”

  “We all mourned so much, but he left us no choice—If we were to survive we had to take his essence. It had to be done, and publicly, I think, to stop Kaine and his followers. It was necessary to stop him before it went too far, before he could succeed. We mourned so at doing this terrible deed, but should he have triumphed in usurping us it would have meant all of our deaths. Kill him or be killed by him. We failed, for I am the last.”

  The old man’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “But in the actions we took, we only managed to sow the seeds of our own downfall. The Morning Star tried to save us—he foresaw what none of us could have … that the children of mortality would rise not only against us, but against all things in the natural order. As the fallen Morningstar stripped Kaine of his essence, destroying his soul, he marked him so all could see the evil he had done. But the body did not stop. Just the soul. And something grew in its place, something new. Both of them continued on, soulless, with corruption in their hearts.”

  A chill ran through Skid’s body. He was finally beginning to understand, and with his dawning comprehension a wave of nausea slid over him. His hushed voice came out barely audible and filled with a dread chill. He feared what the answer to his next question would be. “And what did the Morning Star do after that … did he survive?”

  The old man coughed for a moment more, then refocused on Skid. “He sacrificed himself in the attempt to save the rest of us. That was what his words brought. How noble he was … but how naïve—although I suppose we all were back then. He named himself as the true evil, letting the first killer twist the very essence of who he was. He fed himself only hatred and disgust, giving the Marked One nothing to feed upon. It was such a foolish sacrifice.”

  The old man shook his head sadly. “How twisted and dimmed he. He was only the dimmest of shadows compared to the intensity with which he used to shine. Even so, with corruption and hatred eating at the very essence of his being, only I amongst my kind actually outlived the Morningstar. He is fallen now, as are all my brethren.”

  Tears were now running unfettered down the ancient’s face. “Lucifer’s last attempt at survival spawned such evil.…He used the visage he assumed to twist the minds of millions and plunge the world into one of its darkest ages … to kill millions upon millions more … and he turned against the ones who were our first children. Plunging the entire world into war was not enough for him. He created camps of slaughter, trying to reap as much hatred, fear, and death as he could.”

  “In death and corruption, Morning Star hoped to find the power he lost when he gave up the love of your kind to try to save the rest of us. And that much death is what ended up killing the last spark of light in him. It almost finished me, too—and I was half the world away, hiding from it all. Despite my hiding it would have killed me too, had it not been for my particular aspect.…Throughout the ages, I have become used to the mass death of your kind. It is why I have found the strength to continue as long as I have.”

  Yet another coughing fit racked the man’s body and Skid gazed down upon him. The ancient one was standing at death’s door. The puzzle pieces of what he was saying were finally clicking together and reaching the greatest depths of Skid’s mind and soul—and something that was not a part of him was burning deeply inside of him.

  Skid felt a sickening vertigo overtake him—a sense of loss that was coming from him—and was slowly seeping into the depths of his soul.

  Hatred and rage boiled inside his twisted heart and they were slowly worming their way through his being and into his every level of consciousness. His mind was swimming and his thoughts were becoming numb—forlorn with knowledge unbearable by even the strongest man. He was slowly understanding that his greatest enemy did not exist in a way which he could wreak his vengeance.

  The old man looked up through fading eyes—compassion and understanding shone from behind those eyes, shaking Skid to the core of who he was. The dying Angel, for Skid could assume he was nothing other than that, began the final stretch of his tale.

  “The Morningstar’s great plan failed. None of us could see past the need for love, the need for essence. It burned in us and consumed us. In a way, it twisted us all. We created an image that humanity could love—the image of God, and stole the love for ourselves by placing us as His seconds. But Kaine, the only one of you to ever shine like one of us, undid everything. For he had found such a burning hatred for our kind that it easily bested all of our love. A few of us learned to live on the hatred instead, forsaking love, even though it only twisted and blackened us. We did it—though it drove most of those who learned how insane. The need for survival was far too great. And then the need for vengeance became too strong to forsake by dying off …”

  The old man burned with an inner rage of his own and his words came out like fire, forever searing themselves into Skid’s head.

  “I once cursed you and your kind. We loved you. For eons we loved you. And you killed the God we made for you … you killed Him. And then you fed us nothing but hate and in the end you took even that away, leaving us to die … but it is not in the heart of humanity to be that which has been destroying the light of what we were. I must find the first killer. The one who started it all. If ever Humanity is to find the light of what we were again, I must continue on. To stop the pain, I have to shoulder it all. And above all, we shall have our revenge on him.”

  And Skid snapped.

  Years of hatred and fear—years of being the underdog, forced into action by the whims of others—welled up in his mind. He still wasn’t sure he fully understood the old man. His words had been so twisted, so difficult to follow the thread of. But the meaning behind them seemed so clear. How could this fallen one, so used by the world, still fight for light instead of against it?

  It was the core of the fight that Skid held in his own heart. Instinctively, Skid knew he had a choice. It didn’t register on any conscious level. Knowledge just poured into his soul from some external source, bypassing his mind completely. He could surrender who he was, that core of the trust he used to feel … or he could make one final desperate act of trust to try to save himself from the darkness.

  And he made the choice. Ripping his jacket free he stood up, towering above the dying old man, sword raised high above his head, knowing exactly what he had to do and how to do it.

  The old man looked up with compassion shining in his eyes and a smile crossed his face. “You’ve spent the last two thousand years killing us off and now I am the last. But I will survive, I think, for I see the essence of your choice shining through you. To my eyes it is a bright dawn after a moonless night.”

  Spittle flew from his mouth as he rushed to get his last words out. “You have the spark of love in you. Why? I offer you a pact. Finish me, using the blade. I will give you my essence, for so long as you fight the evil I do. Strike, and with that strike merge who we are. Find yourself, and should you accept my pact, you will have a reason to live, young one. A love to fight for.”

  His eyes locked with Skid’s and found acceptance.

  And Skid brought the sword down as hard as he could. Every muscle in his young body focused into that single stroke. There was a sickening crunch as the blade sliced through skin and crushed the ribs in its way to his heart. Blood splattered over Skid and the wall he had been planning to tag. The blood was gold and icy to th
e touch. As it hit the wall frost formed around it.

  He collapsed over the corpse while tears streamed down his cheeks. Years of hatred, fear, and self-loathing had imploded his mind—and had been washed away by the offer this dying angel had gifted him with.

  Skid had walked into that alley to make the house of God his own. But now all that stood in the alleyway was an empty husk slowly filling up with something else, a warm sense of other merging with his soul, all the while the tears streaming down Skid’s face, washing away the last vestiges of pain.

  And finally the body broke down. There was no energy left to continue. Skid slumped to his knees and started rocking back and forth. He curled into a ball, sobbing and letting his frail human psyche try to rebirth itself as the soul of an angel filled him, love wrapping around his own essence. Madness frayed the edges of that soul, but as it merged with him, the insanity melted away, fog burning away under the light. Relief filled him.

  His body shut down and he slept.

  As he lay there, deep in the grace of the Sandman, a shadowy figure strolled into the alley. No matter what angle the light struck to reveal the man’s features, it was always unsuccessful. The man knelt over Skid. He gently stroked the boy’s hair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a small ball of light out, carefully grasping it between thumb and forefinger.

  “Like I would destroy all of the memories, Lilith. This may be incomplete, but it will be enough.” A faint echo of laughter quietly danced behind the man’s voice. He gently stroked the pearl against the boy’s forehead a single time, and then placed it back into his pocket.

  “That should do nicely.” He said. With his task completed he stood, then strolled casually out of the alley, leaving Skid asleep, tightly clutching the sword.

  Much later the boy woke. It was still dark. A faint smile lit across his lips. He stood up, tall and proud, lacking his usual slouch. He hefted the sword and gazed thoughtfully at it. A dim golden glow was barely visible in his pupils. Suddenly the blade burst into a bright and warm flame.

  His eyes wandered to the sky as he savored his newfound essence. Two souls inhabited Skid’s body now. The sun was peeking over the horizon, adding a rich red glow to the encompassing fog.

  “I finally understand. Your race hides from its own passion …” He said in a voice that was not Skid’s.

  Skid’s voice replied, the second voice from his mouth. “Yeah. We do. But you have opened me to understanding, and I thank you. I welcome you, and will fight for your cause.”

  The figure seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Even Morning Star never foresaw this. But I can survive with this. Together we can still bring down the ancient foe.”

  And the Archangel Uriel, Flame of God, the Angel of Transformation, having merged himself with a young mortal boy named Skid, stretched his new body, learning what the twining of their essences felt like.

  The sword hummed, and the new entity heard it echoing in his mind. Find the one named Wells. He will be your guide. Skid and the Angel nodded in understanding, and then together strode into the foggy London morning to avenge the death of Uriel’s kind and try to save humanity from the encroaching darkness.

  ***

  Loki the Coyote

  Shadows swarmed the rooftop, then suddenly fled. Loki masked himself, careful to avoid notice. Pressure suddenly lightened, the air letting loose its watching gaze on the city.

  Loki scanned the clouds. Lilith was gone, presumable to make sure Bathory played her role. Guiding the Fate of the world took a surprising amount of micromanagement.

  ***

  The Werewolves

  The man warily watched the mouth of the alley, standing still with the unconscious Tabitha draped over one shoulder, and young Andrew sitting on his opposite hip. He had promised protection to these two werewolves, but hadn’t expected the presence he now felt.

  “Andrew?” He addressed the toddler straddling his hip.

  “Yef, Uncle Wellf?” It was late at night, and the child was tired.

  “I need to put you down for a moment. You can still hold my hand, but if I let go to fight you need to step back and sit with Tabby.” He lowered Andrew to the ground.

  “Oktay, Uncle Wellf.” The child, now standing next to Wells, held his protector’s hand. Wells gently lowered the unconscious Tabitha to the ground, laying her down slightly behind him.

  “Come out, shadow man.” Wells challenged the darkness.

  Loki appeared out of the shadows, like the Cheshire cat. First, he was just bright white teeth of a smile outlined against nothing, until his form slowly resolved, revealing the God standing about twenty feet down the alley from Wells. “So, I see you’re a bodyguard now. Quite a different line of work from smiting entire civilizations. How’s that going for you, then?”

  “It’s going great, Loki. I see you’re a creepy late night stalker now. Quite a different … actually, it’s kind of what you’ve always done. Regardless, how’s that going for you?” Wells smiled thinly. He never trusted the elder powers when they showed up and revealed their hand in situations, but of the elder powers that were—he actually kind of liked Loki. The Norse deity had never done wrong by him, and they had even managed a tense friendship after discovering several similar tastes.

  Loki hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction the Vampire had fled. “Stalkers have all the fun. Nice work back there. Why’d you let her live?”

  “Wrong place, wrong time. If I kill her right now, the wrong people notice. As it stands, she’ll talk to Vlad and the two of them will concoct some hasty and half-baked plan. If they can pull themselves out of their incestuous idiocy long enough to even take it that far. I’d much rather spend a few decades dealing with the two of them than have to worry about their sire right now.”

  Loki nodded. “Understood. Better not to underestimate them though. They have survived you trying to kill them before. They aren’t that weak. And their plans aren’t that half-baked. Are you forgetting what happened during World War One? You also do know you’re going to have to deal with the sire eventually, right?”

  Wells gently squeezed Andrew’s hand to reassure him. The child was staying quiet but Wells could feel nervousness and fear radiating off him. “I know, Loki. I’m not ready yet. You should know better than any what it costs to war against an enemy before you are fully prepared. Neither of us is a powerhouse, and planning is way too important. The Gray Ones are nasty, it takes time to prepare to move against them.”

  “I know, I know.” Loki winked. “Just wanted to make sure that you were in the same headspace that I am. Speaking of which, the Angel awoke.”

  Wells blinked. “Already?”

  “Yup.”

  Wells grunted in frustration. “Is there any chance you can deal with it for the moment? I kind of have my hands full here.”

  Loki shook his head. “You know I can’t, Wells. If I get directly involved the others are going to notice.”

  “Dammit. I can’t be in two places at once, Loki. There’s too much going on here that I have to deal with.”

  Loki tilted his head to the side, his eyes glazing over. He thought for a moment then blinked, refocusing on Wells. “I see. You know it’s dangerous to try to play pieces without knowing our game plan.”

  Wells glanced down to Andrew, smiling reassuringly, then looked back to Loki. “Look, I know you can’t reveal your master plan to me, but I’ve told you time and again that I won’t be one of your pieces. One of your pawns. I have my own goals to achieve.”

  “I understand that. And I will not stand in your way. Besides, I’m using myself as a piece. That’s way stronger a gambit than you are. Let’s try this,” he held up a finger. “A bargain. We’ve talked enough to know that our goals go hand in hand. I will trade you answers to questions, and then let you choose to do what you will. Agreeable?”

  Wells thought it over briefly. Direct answers from a god could be useful. “Agreed.”

  Loki rubbed his hands together, and
then spoke. “Excellent. I shall start with the first question. Have you managed to deal with the problem of his infant brother?” He pointed Andrew. “It can never be found out that he is a werewolf with a dead gift. The vampires can use that.”

  Wells nodded. “I have. The child is mortal, as you know, so I distributed his essence and placed him in an orphanage. He will not be found. He will not be drawn into this.”

  “Yet,” Loki smiled enigmatically.

  “Hopefully not ever. Where was the Angel reborn?”

  Loki raised an eyebrow. It was nice to know that he had Wells’ interest in the right things. “London. A gutter punk with no family has heard the story and seized the sword. His name is Skid. What is the infant child’s name?”

  Wells shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I do not know. The birth certificate was destroyed, and I had a doctor deliver the baby to the orphanage. Even I do not know his name or location. How long do I have to find and teach the Angel?”

  “He must be ready in thirty-five years. Lilith delivered a prophecy, powered by the dying souls of the Titanic, which gave us a century to prepare. It is imperative that you begin his training. Will you allow me to protect these two, and release you to pursue the Angel?”

  Wells thought it over. At his heart, Loki was a prankster, a trickster. At least … he used to be. Walking the mortal world in human form for two millennium had changed the god. Wells had watched him … mature? So the real question was, that despite the fact that the whole world of the supernatural was at stake, could he trust Loki right now? He knew he liked that god, but friendship is a far cry from trust.

  Ultimately, he decided, it didn’t matter. He was backed into a corner.

  Whatever Loki’s game was, he, Wells, had to be the one to train the Angel if he wanted to stop Kaine and the Gray Ones. His side didn’t even know the full plan, there was a lot of shooting in the dark going on here. “You realize I've been perfecting my skills for centuries and centuries? Either way I am screwed." Wells sighed. There was no other way around it, "I guess it doesn't really matter whether or not I will allow it, it takes decades to train an angel properly and I now have thirty five years to do it. If I choose to trust you in this situation, will you agree to work towards my ends instead of your own?”