Anger rampaged through Colin’s body and he had to breathe deeply to keep from changing right there in the kitchen. He slid off the counter and walked up to Varson. Thanks to Colin’s height, he stood face to face with the older man, who was tugging on his tie uncomfortably.
Colin’s voice was deep, closer to his werewolf voice than his human voice. “My grandmother is missing, Varson. Not long ago she told me that sometimes it just rains because it rains. There’s nothing you can do about it. But I can do something about this. She left the message for me. I’m going to speak with Alfred. You can help me, or you can get out of my way.”
Varson swallowed a gulp. “I’ll drive you to the base myself and you can change there.” He turned and hurried away.
Becca took Colin’s hand and rubbed her fingers gently through his hair. “That was pretty badass. Scary. But badass.”
Colin smiled. “What can I say? I love my granny.”
Becca led him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “You were growling at him and everything.”
“I could say that my bark is worse than my bite. But I really don’t think that’s true.”
***
It didn’t take long to get back to the base. Becca stayed in town to check in with her mother. Varson sped through town and up the service road, past the base, and continued on until the road ended near the coastline. Colin could hear the waves crashing against the rocks not far away.
“Colin,” began Varson, “Don’t forget you’ll be changing again tonight and—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back before sundown and you can lock me up for the night at the base.”
Varson seemed relieved. He must have expected Colin to fight him on it, but even Colin realized that it was for the best. He didn’t want to go too far away from town in case there was another attack. But he also knew he didn’t trust himself to be out on his own with so many people in Elkwood.
Colin stripped down to his underwear and again wished he’d grabbed his tactical uniform from the base, or at least invested in some really stretchy clothing.
“Good luck,” said Varson with a wave. Colin disappeared into the forest and let the change explode through him as he ran. One moment he was a teenage boy, the next he was a massive wolf with dark fur and bright golden eyes, charging through the forest, searching for any sign of Alfred and his cottage. He knew the general layout of the forest and could crisscross it in about six hours if he kept on the move. Varson had explained on their drive that Alfred’s cottage relocated every few days, so it may very well be in the same spot as when Colin visited it the first time. Colin decided to start there.
Twenty minutes of running up the coast later and he was pretty certain he was in the right place, but there was no cottage, just an expanse of forest stretching away from the cliff’s edge. The smell was the same but there was no cottage, no garden, no little white picket fence, and certainly no old wizard.
Colin explored the area but he couldn’t find any trace of anything out of the ordinary.
It must have moved.
How powerful must Alfred be that he can relocate an entire cottage and garden? Colin let out a low growl of frustration. He’d have to work his way out from the coast and explore the rest of the forest.
He covered the entire coastline heading north until the forest ended. No sign of the wizard. Colin crossed back through the trees in a south-eastwardly direction. Wildlife fled out of his way and he had to suppress the urge to hunt, even though his stomach was growling. Knowing he had limited time and he needed answers, Colin dug his claws in deeper and raced forward.
He’d been searching for almost three hours when a different scent crossed his path. He skidded to a stop and narrowly avoided hitting a tree. Nose to ground, Colin explored the area until he found it again. It wasn’t Alfred. It was something else.
Werewolf!
And then he picked up another scent. And another. And another. A sense of dread crept through Colin’s body.
Lots of werewolves.
They crept out of the forest, stalking slowly. A couple fell lightly from the trees above. They had him surrounded. It was a trap! They must have been stalking him, staying downwind to hide their scent until they could close in.
Colin whirled around, looking for an escape. He counted twenty of them. Twenty werewolves! Here? How was it even possible?
One of the wolves looked familiar to Colin. It was the same one that he had tracked the other night. He recognized him from the scent flashes he’d got when he followed his trail. That same wolf stepped forward and stood up on two legs. He was dark gray in color, with bright yellow eyes and black streak that ran down his back.
Colin stayed low to the ground, his heart pounding. The human side of him wanted to run but the wolf side of him was itching for a fight.
Think logically, Colin. They can’t hear your thoughts, they’re not part of your pack.
He wished Silas were here to help even the odds. If there were twenty werewolves here, how many was Silas facing in Europe?
The dark wolf let out a howl and the others in the circle howled along with him. It was a victory howl; they’d caught their prey.
“Hello, Colin,” growled the dark wolf slowly. “Been looking forward to meeting you.”
Think, Colin. Think!
They were young. Colin didn’t understand how he knew but their scents gave off traces of emotions and feelings. This entire pack hadn’t been werewolves long. Silas was an ancient werewolf, and it showed. While still casting an imposing figure, his coat was shaggy, his yellow eyes dull, and there was a scraggly look to his face when he was a werewolf. These werewolves were all fresh faced. Their coats were shiny and their eyes were bright. Colin had more experience than they had.
“What do you want?” growled Colin, still crouched low.
The dark wolf barked a laugh. “We want you. We want to eat you.”
“And then we want to eat your gran,” said another, though not very clearly. Speaking in werewolf form wasn’t an easy thing to master.
Gran’s still alive!
“And then your girlfriend,” said another.
“And then your best friend,” said the dark wolf, “your camping buddy.”
There were growls of agreement and Colin felt their anticipation grow. He had to do something. Silas, a centuries-old werewolf, had trained him. It gave him the upper hand.
“No luck finding the wizard?” said the dark wolf. “What a shame.”
Colin weighed up the sizes. As a werewolf, Colin was quite large. Bigger than Silas. At least half the group was smaller than him. Another six or seven were a similar size and build. At least two were bigger, one of which was the leader.
A few of them glanced at each other.
They’re thinking to each other. Communicating. Planning their attack.
What was Silas’s lesson about being cornered? “Be smarter than they are. Be unpredictable. Throw off your enemies’ plan. Make them work for it.”
A small, light gray wolf glanced at one of his larger pack members. Colin leapt at the smaller wolf, digging both front claws through the creature’s fur and into his skin. Eyes wide with shock, the smaller wolf yelped as Colin heaved him over his head and threw him hard into a tree with a sickening crunch.
He’d heal, but it was a start. The other wolves exploded in frenzy.
“Kill him!” roared the dark wolf.
Colin didn’t waste any time. He swiped his claws across the face of the nearest werewolf and then leapt high, grabbed a branch, swung himself closer to the tree, and kicked hard away, propelling himself through the air. The wolves below were barking and howling, running back and forth. But there were less of them now. Colin glanced back to see that five of the wolves, including the dark one, had taken to the trees and were jumping from branch to branch.
Colin moved quickly from tree to tree, dived over an attacking werewolf, and climbed higher, propelled
by powerful legs and guided by clawed hands under branches and around trunks. He’d been doing this for six months. The other wolves scrambled, moving less smoothly than Colin. One missed a step and grabbed a branch that was far too small. It snapped, and the werewolf fell to the ground.
Colin felt stupid, running out here by himself. Right into a trap!
He scrambled up a high tree, teeth snapping close beneath him, and then the tree shuddered. There was a sound of splintering wood and the tree began to fall, slowly at first, but picking up speed as it crashed down through the forest. Colin froze and dug his claws into the bark, holding on for dear life.
The tree crashed to the ground and sent Colin spiraling through the air before he hit a large rock. Bones cracked, and skin was torn open. He could hear the whines of the other werewolves. They must have pushed over the tree, but it sounded like a lot of them got hit when it fell.
Colin’s body began to knit itself painfully back together. A nasty gash down the right side of his chest closed up and he felt his bones knitting back into place.
He had to do something. He couldn’t take on the entire pack. They’d kill him. He needed help. He couldn’t call to Silas. Becca might hear him but not in time to do anything. Colin struggled to his feet. Even now he could hear the other wolves recovering and making their way toward him. He placed a massive hairy hand against a tree to steady himself and then a thought struck him.
The trees. Talk to the trees.
Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought, but Alfred had said if he ever needed him just talk to a tree.
“Help,” he growled at the tree, feeling extremely stupid. “Alfred, uh … it’s Colin. I need your help. They’re going to kill me.”
“The boy’s lost it,” snarled the dark wolf. “He’s talking to trees.”
There were barks and growls of laughter. Colin turned to see that most of the pack was now surrounding him, preparing to pounce.
I’m sorry, Silas.
Colin dropped to all fours and prepared for the attack, frustrated to be so helpless, angry that he hadn’t been able to get away, scared that he was about to die.
The pack crouched low, ready to jump, and—
A flash of blinding light exploded in front of Colin and when it faded, there stood Alfred, the little old wizard dressed in a tweed suit, clutching his walking stick like a weapon, thick glasses perched on his large nose. Despite being surrounded by a group of snarling werewolves, the old man looked extremely calm.
“The trees are very unhappy that you’re pushing them over,” said Alfred to the wolves. “I think it’s time you all left.”
The werewolves laughed and growled, clawing at the ground in amusement.
The dark wolf raised himself up on two legs and pointed at Alfred. “Get him!”
Time slowed down. The wolves jumped slowly through the air, like they were moving through water. Alfred raised his walking stick, muttered a few words that Colin didn’t understand, and slammed it down in front of him. The forest rippled and the trees looked as if they were leaning back. Time returned to normal and the werewolves fell to the floor, only they weren’t massive snarling beasts anymore: they were all adorable little wolf puppies.
Colin concentrated on being human and felt himself shrink back down to a teenage boy.
“Oh, my dear boy,” said Alfred, realizing Colin was naked. The old man shrugged out of his tweed jacket and handed it to Colin, who wrapped it around himself.
“What did you do to them?”
The wolf pups were playfully attacking each other letting out little yips and growls. They were adorable.
“It’s quite simple, really. I altered their state of time, temporarily reversing their aging process. As they were in wolf form at the time, they’ve reverted to wolf pups. I’m afraid the spell won’t last long. Time has a nasty habit of correcting itself.”
“Who is Damon Talbot?”
The old man’s face looked shocked, like he’d just been slapped. “Talbot is to blame for this?”
“Gran has gone missing. She left a message that only I could find that said hellstone. Damon Talbot. Ask Alfred.”
“A hellstone, even! That cursed brat is using a hellstone. It all makes sense now.”
Colin sensed the familiar shift of pressure in the air.
“Oh no,” said Alfred.
“What is it?” asked Colin.
“It’s Damon Talbot.”
The floating man Colin had seen in Seattle appeared behind Alfred. The man with glowing red eyes. He wore a suit with a long black cape that swished around him in a dramatic fashion.
“Excellent work, Colin,” said Damon, clapping his hands slowly. “I was having a terribly difficult time locating my old teacher here. But I knew I could count on you to bring him out of hiding for me.”
“You used me!” shouted Colin.
Damon Talbot threw back his head and laughed. The hellstone around his neck glowed brighter. “I did. And now, thanks to you, I’m going to destroy Elwood.”
“You’re an idiot, Talbot!” snapped Alfred.
Talbot swept his hand in a flourish and the werewolf puppies began to grow back to their normal size. “Your old and dusty magic is no match for the powers of a sorcerer!”
Alfred laughed and the glasses on his face jiggled. “You’re no sorcerer. You’re just a second-rate wizard with fancy jewelry.”
Talbot’s face darkened and he slapped a hand down on the old man’s shoulder. Alfred went rigid, as if in pain, and clutched his walking stick to his chest. The werewolves were still growing back to their normal sizes and were making their way back to their master. Colin’s hearing twitched. Alfred was speaking in a low mutter, so low that even Colin couldn’t make it out. It looked like the old man was speaking to his walking stick.
Oh great, he’s lost it.
“I really must thank you, Colin,” said Talbot. “You are a very obedient puppy. If you didn’t have that little rebellious streak, I’d suggest you join my pack of dogs. You followed the clues so nicely. The little message I left in your grandmother’s living room led you out here, and you found dear old Alfred for me.”
“You left the message?” said Colin, feeling stupid.
“A stroke of genius on my part.”
“Who are you? Where’s my grandmother? And Charles?”
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t remember,” Talbot laughed. The werewolves were fully-grown now and pacing behind Talbot, snarling and growling. “I’d love to sit here and explain my entire plan to you but I’m simply not that kind of a villain. If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t the only person in Elkwood helping me. Someone else you know has been feeding me essential information.”
Principal Sampson! I knew it!
Rage surged through Colin’s body; he could feel his inner wolf howling to get out.
The werewolves began to close in. “No!” snapped Talbot. “Colin here gets to live, for now. He’s just going to take a nap. Don’t worry, there will be plenty for you to eat tonight.”
Colin was shaking, though he wasn’t sure if it was with fear or anger. Maybe both.
I did this. It’s my fault.
“Sweet dreams, Colin,” said Talbot. The hellstone glowed brighter along with Talbot’s eyes, and Colin began to feel drowsy. The wolves turned and disappeared into the forest. Talbot and Alfred began to fade away. His eyes heavy, Colin watched Alfred drop his walking stick on the ground and heard the old man whisper, “Pick it up,” and then they both vanished.
The ground rushed up to meet Colin and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Pick. It. Up.
Chapter Fourteen
The Chatty Forest
The trees cast long shadows across the leaf-covered ground when Colin woke up. His head was pounding.
“What happened?” And then it all came rushing back. The werewolves, the dark wolf, Alfred, Talbot kidnapping him. And tha
t it was all Colin’s fault. Talbot had left the message in his living room, not his grandmother. Who knows how else he had been using him. And then there was Principal Sampson. Colin had been right all along. He had to be the other person who had been helping Talbot; it made too much sense not to be him.
The sun was beginning to set. There was only an hour or so before his final full-moon change. Colin had to get to the base and warn the others before—
Pick it up.
Alfred’s final words rang through Colin’s mind. The wizard’s walking stick still sat where he’d dropped it. Colin picked it up and as soon as his hand touched the polished wood, the forest spun around him like a deranged amusement park ride. Leaves swirled, and the sound of branches clacking together was almost deafening. The forest slowed its insane spinning and came to a stop as the whirling leaves came together in front of Colin and began to create a shape. It looked just like Alfred, only made completely out of leaves. The leaf version of the old wizard reached out and took the walking stick from Colin’s hands.
“Hello, Colin, my dear boy,” said leafy Alfred, but his voice sounded more like the rustling of leaves.
“Alfred? Is that really you?”
“Not really, no. I knew you needed answers, but I also knew that Talbot was about to take me. So I temporarily split my mind and placed part of it in my walking stick, allowing me to appear before you for a brief time so we can speak. I didn’t have much time to work the magic, so I can only grant you three questions. Use them wisely.”
Three questions?
Colin really didn’t know what to ask but figured he should start with the obvious.
“Who is Damon Talbot?”
Leafy Alfred leaned on his walking stick. “He was a resident of Elkwood, a young wizard who was very strong when it came to affecting people’s minds. His was much like my own magic. As senior magical members of Elkwood, it fell to your grandmother and me to teach young Damon. And we did. But it was never enough for the boy. Above all else, Damon craved power.” The leaves began to blow apart then quickly rejoined again. “Damon grew to hate Elkwood. He saw it as a place full of powerful people and creatures who were living a lie, trying to be normal. Although his powers of the mind grew, he wasn’t as strong in other areas. Not like young Ms. Emerson, for example. In a fit of anger he attempted a complicated spell that allowed him to harness magical energy for a short period of time. And like any young, angry boy, he tried to use the power to destroy. And that is the danger of having too much power, too fast.”
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