by A. W. Cross
There were still more mysteries to uncover and I was back on the hunt.
“Well, it weren’t no normal beast,” Philippe said. “Hunters started to swear that normal bullets weren’t enough to get through its hide, and then, the preachers got in as well, saying it was some unholy demon. That’s why Chastel decided to melt down an amulet blessed to St. Mary.”
“So, it wasn’t the silver or the bullet? It was the blessing?” The silver wolf had called the experiments done to the wolf pack curses. It might make sense that a proper blessing could counteract it. Maybe even cure it? And if it could be cured . . . shouldn’t that be tried first?
When my sheepdog went rabid, I would have given anything to cure him.
My father had to put the mad dog down; I understood that. Maybe the original beast had been too far gone as well, but Howl, if his own reign of terror had just started and there was still something of my friend to be saved . . . Maybe I could try it. It wouldn’t repair everything, but it would end the bloodshed. All the twisted rumors would fade, and life would become more stable again.
That was all I truly wanted. Not revenge. Just more of my life back the way it was before.
“Perhaps,” Philippe said. “Or maybe Chastel was really the first to actually hit the beast, and the rest was just bluster. Men do like to talk.” He was looking at Jean again.
Philippe was right. That boy did like to talk. Anna-Marie and a few other girls had already drifted over to hang on to his arm in my absence. And he had all his sisters waiting on the crowd he summoned.
The only creature I couldn’t find was Jean’s red mastiff, but maybe she died of age and boredom, and Jean never stopped to check. I frowned at the less than charitable thought, but I still was seething over my sheep and wondering how Jean couldn’t guess my inner torment.
And he had never described the war like Philippe had. He had even complained they weren’t killing enough nobles—that he had been bored. But if the killings were still going on, why would he come back? Why did he bring all that dark horror home to our little village?
I blamed myself when Father died, for sending him on a needless wolf hunt, but Jean was the one who had started it. Not me and not Howl.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Philippe said again. “Wasn’t any good in the capital with my arm, and I doubt I’d be much good in a wolf hunt either. I’m heading home, but if you want to keep going with me—Well, my folks always liked you, and we could always use an extra hand during the spring. Someone who knows their way around a flock.”
A flock? Not my flock, but still a flock. It might not have been a romantic offer, he could very well mean to pay me as a hand, but it was an attractive one. I could still be a shepherdess in the field, and I did like Philippe’s family. “I would love that. It’s just . . .”
“Jean?”
“Yes, but not like that. I just really need to talk to him alone.” It had been useless trying to pin him down in a crowd, but I still had to know what happened to my father and the wolf. Or at least see the village priest about blessing some silver. “But maybe after some of this is settled?”
“You’d always be welcome, Isabelle.”
My heart warmed at the prospect, but then it all came crashing down again as Jean walked over. We might be friends, but it seemed that boy couldn’t get near me anymore without my anxiety rising. I still remembered times when we were alone, when we were children, when he wasn’t quite that way, but I had yet to capture any of those moments since he had returned.
“Sorry about that,” Jean said, wedging himself between me and Philippe. He put a plate of roasted mutton on the table that only made my stomach churn. “What did I miss?”
I tried for a smile. “Philippe was just saying goodbye. He’s heading home.”
“Oh? So soon?” Jean’s disappointment also seemed forced. “I thought you might want to join us.” He pointed back at the pack of hunters he had gathered for another evening hunt.
“You’re going out on another hunt?” I asked.
Jean squinted at me. “You’re not going to ask to come?”
“No.” I wasn’t going to hunt down Howl with so much uncertain. If anything, I was glad for the break that would allow me to find more answers on my own. I might not have gotten many answers from Jean yet, but I had more than enough of his bluster for one night.
“I just want to wish you luck,” I said. They would need it.
They had never come close to touching Howl, and I was quite confident they never would.
22
Beast
The girl was home. I had wanted her home and worked hard to provide her safe passage through the village gates, but something changed. She hadn’t told me everything and she was with another man. She had slipped from my grasp and into his arms in mere seconds.
After all I had done for her, she seemed ready to throw it away.
But, at least, the next death wouldn’t be at all difficult. In fact, everything was right back on track. The pack came out most nights at twilight, but now, they seemed closer, like they already knew they would be needed. I had already killed the mongrel for a cover, but perhaps now, I would kill another and there would be two deaths tonight.
The girl might cry again, but I could make that work to my advantage too.
It really was her fault and the only way forward.
23
Beauty
The chapel door squeaked open and a balding priest stood inside holding a candle. He nodded when he saw me, like I was expected. “Isabelle. I heard you were back in town. Did you come about your father?”
My father? I realized in a jolt that my father would have been buried here. And I should have come to see him. How could I have gotten so lost in this hunt that I had forgotten?
But I did want to see him and quickly nodded.
I would just ask the priest about blessed silver and cursed wolves afterward.
The priest walked out in front of me, his robes moving in the warm breeze and dragging on the grass. The rosary on his neck swayed with each step as he led me through the yard to a fresh grave. “I’m sorry we couldn’t wait to bury him, but I think you’ll agree it’s a beautiful site we picked out.” A simple wooden cross had been erected with the chain of a silver amulet looped around the top.
St. Mary.
I examined the gravesite a few more moments before reaching out a tentative hand.
“Was this blessed? Like the amulet Jean Chastel used to make his silver bullet?” A fitting way to honor my father for his role in the hunt, but maybe something more as well.
The priest nodded. “You want it for the wolf hunt?”
“I just think it might help.” But I didn’t have to melt it down for bullets like Jean Chastel did. Maybe just touching or holding it would be enough. Then I could cure Howl without hurting him. And really, I just wanted to cure him—even without talking to Jean more alone.
I already decided that whatever happened that night wasn’t Howl’s fault. If anything, the cursed wolf was the killer, not the boy. If he could be cured, then Jean would have to stop all his hunts, and the threat to the village would be over. We could stop the blood and terror without adding more dark crimes to the mix.
I might not be able to reconcile completely with the man who killed my father, but Howl and his pack could have a peaceful life elsewhere. I still wanted that for him.
“You may have it if you wish,” the priest said, untangling it from the top of the cross for me, “but . . . I worry about the anger in this village. I guess it never fully left for some of us. Lots of old powder here, looking for a spark. It always ends in flames.”
“You mean the fire where they burned the count?”
The priest cocked his head. “Burned him? No. The count had already run off. No one saw hide or hair of him at the castle.”
“So, the count wasn’t even there, and they just burned it anyway? How could they do that?” My rising anger at the rioters probably wasn
’t fair. To them, it would have been an empty castle. A symbolic way to get back at a man already gone.
But three-year-old Howl and his pack had been inside.
“They just burned it because, after all that terror, they wanted to burn something. That’s what I worry about.”
“I worry about that too.” I worried about it more than anything else.
As I walked from the church, a familiar unease filled my chest. Though the sky was clear of rain and the air warm, it seemed again that I knew what I would find outside before I found the crowd gathered under the light of the full moon. I clutched the silver pendant close to my breast, passing through the maze of hunters surrounding the village well.
Philippe’s torn body lay in the center of town.
Jean put his arm around me. “Izzy. I’m so sorry. You were friends, weren’t you?”
Yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry for him. Everything was coming too fast. It was all too surreal. I had worn myself out reacting to each new horror, and it seemed my heart just didn’t have anything left. But as bad as my emotions were, they were nothing compared to the clamor of the rest of the men around me.
“Why are they cheering?” Not just cheering, some were laughing and bringing out bottles of ale to toast the night.
Jean shifted his rifle, a glint in his eyes. “Well, it isn’t all bad, Izzy. The wolf killed Philippe. And I shot the wolf.” He pointed up above our heads. “I brought you back its pelt, just like I promised.”
A new sense of dread filled me then, but when I looked up at the wolf carcass the others were parading around, it wasn’t Howl.
It was Spin.
24
Beauty
“That’s not the wolf.” I leapt from Jean’s arms, waving my hands in distress at the small wolf’s tattered gray hide. A bloody bullet hole marred his side and stole the light from his eyes. “You said the wolf was russet. As big as a calf!”
“It was dark.” Jean shrugged, like the detail that had haunted me for so long never even mattered. “But this wolf is a maneater, Izzy. We saw it tearing at Philippe’s corpse.”
“Spin never would have done that!”
“Spin?”
“The wolf!” I was shouting now like a dam had burst. Shouting like I should have shouted when Jean said he butchered my whole flock. And so many times before then. “He never would have attacked anyone, but now that you shot Spin . . .” I lost the words, now shaking.
However it had started, these hunts had become another war. There was blood on both sides. No way to determine who was wrong or right. No way to stop the flames.
The wolf version of Howl would never let this stand.
As the groups of toasting hunters on the street glanced in our direction, Jean grabbed my shoulders as if to hold me steady. “It’s all right,” Jean said. “I really don’t think there will be any more deaths after this, but if there are, we’ll manage it.”
I pulled away. “I have to talk to Howl. I have to explain.”
“Explain what?”
“That you shot the wrong wolf! Howl is his Alpha, and if I don’t explain—”
“Explain to me. What are you talking about?”
I shouldn’t. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about Howl. I might have already said too much, but I needed Jean to listen. If the pack had already been directly targeted, then we had gone too far for anything else to work. “I chased Spin into the forest. He led me to Howl. Howl is the russet wolf, but he’s also a boy.”
“You’re saying that you found . . . a wolfman in the forest?”
I nodded. “Like the Beast of Gevaudan. But Howl is different. I know he is. He’s cursed, but I thought maybe I could cure him.” I raised the silver amulet in my hand. My eyes stung in a twisted form of rage and grief as I realized how useless all my old half-formed plans were.
“Curses? Izzy that’s—”
“It’s true. You know it is.” At least he should know that the Beast of Gevaudan wasn’t a normal wolf and had to be shot by silver. Everyone knew that. If Jean really thought there was a beast like that in the woods before this, he should have made silver bullets already.
He had to know that he had been overselling the current wolf threat, but he got high on the praise and the thrill of the hunt just like any other time, and now, he was far in over his head.
“If Howl finds out what you’ve done . . .” My words caught.
I had seen what Howl was like as a wolf. If he felt half the rage I felt over this injustice, Jean—all the hunters were dead men.
“How could you kill Spin?”
Jean didn’t answer me. Of course, there was no answer. He had always been a stupid boy shooting at shadows. He had my sheep butchered without thought, and he had done the same with a wolf that both Howl and I loved. Now, he might push Howl into becoming a real beast, something so monstrous that he had to be put down, but it didn’t make it right. How had Jean fought a whole bloody war without knowing the cost of careless rage?
And how was I supposed to save his stupid neck? All the hunters’ stupid necks?
I could already hear howling in the distance.
Jean looked behind him at the sound, white-faced. He was starting to get it. Faster than I hoped, but maybe still too late. “You found a beast in the woods and then what? How did you escape?”
“Howl brought me to his castle. I was hurt and couldn’t leave and then . . . We need fire.” I had rushed the story, but the simple solution came to me faster than I expected. “Howl’s already afraid of the village, so if we have fire . . .”
Jean nodded, turning away to call for some more torches. He was listening. Finally. But then he spun back to me with his rifle. “So, you escaped with fire? And if we melt down the silver, we can kill him? Is there anything else we need to know to fight the monster?”
“Fight? No. You don’t need to fight him. Just ward him off, give him a moment to calm down. Once he’s himself again—I’m sure I’ll be able to talk to him then. I can go back to the castle. I might even be able to figure out how to break the spell.” No one could call Howl a monster then.
Just a boy fighting for the only friends and family he had. His pack.
Jean shook his head. “Izzy, do you really think the monster that kept you locked up in his castle can be reasoned with?”
“It wasn’t against my will!” I shied from the strength of my own voice. I didn’t know I could be so loud. I was shouting—shouting in front of the whole town.
And Jean still wasn’t listening. Not really. Not like I had hoped. He only heard the pieces he wanted to hear, the ones that made Howl into a monster. Though, in a moment, Jean’s face looked harsher and more misshapen than Howl’s ever had.
I tried again, more softly. “I mean, most of the time . . . he was my friend, and—”
“You were friends with this . . . this creature? Which side are you on exactly?” Jean glared and waved his arm back, not waiting for my answer. “That beast killed your father! He killed Philippe!”
“You were just saying Spin did that,” I snapped back coldly.
I didn’t believe a word that boy said any more.
“It was a wolf! A cursed wolf like that is only good dead.” But he didn’t bother trying to argue the point with me. He turned away to address the rest of the town, grabbing someone else’s torch. “This is exactly what we have been searching for! This creature caused all our troubles and restricted our freedom. He’ll kill everyone in this village if we let him. His dark reign must end, and there is only one way out.”
The men all circled closer as Jean raised the fiery torch.
“We need to kill the beast!”
25
Beauty
As the men took my silver and prepared their weapons, Jean dragged me back to the inn. I yelled and kicked and flailed my arms, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. He didn’t hear me. He just lifted and pinned me to his shoulder when I wouldn’t walk.
I only
felt slightly gratified that he had to grunt and strain in ways Howl never did. Sweat coated his blond hair and his shirt came untucked as he put me down in the kitchen.
I supposed the inn had never invested in a proper prison.
The staff and members of Jean’s family worked through a pile of greasy pots and pans. His mother scurried closer, hair falling from her bun. “Jean, what’s going on? Is there another hunt?”
“Ma, I need you to stay with Isabelle. She’s had quite the ordeal, but I’m certain after the hunt, and some time to rest, she’ll be reasonable again.”
I had no intention of being reasonable. “Jean! Jean!”
He dragged me to the open root cellar and set me on the stairs, blocking the exit with his shoulders. “I’m going to lock the door. You’ll be safe here.”
I tried to push past him. “Jean—”
The words cut off when Jean’s lips closed on mine.
I jerked away with a queasy feeling. I almost fell down the steps.
“Love you, Izzy.” Jean smirked, using that space to close the door the rest of the way.
He was locking it. Asking some of his family to stay and guard it.
I kicked it and it wouldn’t budge. I glanced down the stairs, but there wasn’t any other exit to try. It might not have any actual bars or cages, but it was another windowless cellar.
Joan of Arc and the Maid of Gevaudan would not have stood for this. My father wouldn’t have either. I still wanted to be as strong as one of my heroes, but I could never get out alone.
What was I supposed to do now? Why wouldn’t Jean listen? We were friends! I had cursed myself so many times, thinking that if I had only been bold enough to speak to him, maybe something would have changed. But I tried and tried and nothing did.
