Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3

by Brian Ference

  A thick laugh escaped his throat. “You have my word that no harm will come to you.” He reached the other side and disappeared into the shadows.

  She sat down next to the docile animals and began muttering to herself. “What kind of man doesn’t bed his whore? What have you gotten into this time, Lillie?”

  CHAPTER 6.

  E

  NTICING BAIT

  Van Helsing removed the patch from his right eye and began unpacking the remaining crates the porter had brought. Well hidden behind a goat willow tree, they were close enough to the pit to remain concealed while still offering him a clear vantage point. He unwrapped the thick metal bolts for the Cheirobăllistră while concentrating the curse into a circle of protection around Lillie. He needed the girl to bring his prey in close, but that also meant he could not risk using the glass-tipped bolts filled with Demon Fire.

  He loaded the explosive ballista with heavy Bessemer steel spear bolts instead. Their sharpened bolt heads would pierce even the hardest stone. Four-sided concave spikes at the base of the head made removing them nearly impossible—unless you wanted to inflict catastrophic damage. Adjusting the metallic aiming mechanism, he settled in to wait for the Vârcolac to pick up the girl’s scent.

  The sheep had long since fallen asleep, protectively surrounding the newest sable-furred member of the flock. Lillie’s breaths had become slow and even in the last hour. Before falling asleep, she had kept watch for nearly three hours. The woman’s strength was impressive. She had bedded down among the flock and fallen asleep like someone who was accustomed to sleeping on the ground. He wondered what the woman had been before turning to a life of prostitution.

  Van Helsing listened carefully, extending the range of his awareness, even as he rested his eyes. He had hunted many wolves in his lifetime. They tended to approach any trap in their territory cautiously, always sensing when something was out of place. Springing it too soon would just send them running off, never to return. The key was patience. In the past, he had forgone food for days as he lay in wait. He doubted Lillie would be willing to do the same. It had to be tonight.

  His back was exposed, but he had laid an intricate series of trip wires armed with Demon Fire. Anything that came from that way would meet a fiery death. It was an unnecessary precaution; the Vârcolac would not come from a direction still tainted with the musky odor of men. The laborers who had dug the pit for the trap had taken their rest there. No, the creature would approach from the wooded tree line across from Van Helsing’s position. But where?

  The night rang with deafening silence and Van Helsing heard it all. His senses had been honed through the power of the demon curse. He could distinguish the individual ewes as they shifted unconsciously. Time passed as he assessed the movement of every branch blowing in the wind. A fat larder beetle crawled across the bark of the tree to his right. Large paws padded softly across the forest floor.

  His red right eye snapped open. The Vârcolac was somewhere to his front-right side. Still hidden by the trees on the outskirts of the trap, he could see a faint light through his demon eye that gave away the creature’s position. It was upwind from the sheep, hiding its scent. Could it sense the girl among the sheep?

  Ten minutes passed with no movement. Then the Vârcolac moved to the edge of the pasture. It smelled the air as it studied the open field. Van Helsing held his breath, remaining motionless.

  A yearling cried out in its sleep and the fur coat sat up. Lillie rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Who’s there?”

  The creature froze. It had advanced to the perimeter of the trap but now stopped. Licking its chops, the Vârcolac looked down at the grass it was standing on. Then it looked back at the ashy, leaf covered terrain surrounding its prey. It knows. It turned, avoiding the spikes as it traveled the circumference of the pit. A moment later, the creature fell into a loping run as it headed for the boarded walkway.

  "Lă năibă!” Van Helsing swore and swung his Cheirobăllistră into firing position. The Vârcolac had proven too smart for his trap. It would attack the girl while completely avoiding the sharpened spikes.

  Lillie spotted the dark shape heading towards her in the moonlight and rattled out an ear-piercing scream.

  The creature reached the first of the planks and it increased its pace, eager to feed.

  Van Helsing fired the weapon with a powerful ‘strum’. The deadly bolt shot out, taking the Vârcolac in the shoulder and knocking it sideways. The soot-covered netting touching the walkway collapsed as the haunches of the creature slid off the wooden boards and into the pit. First roaring in pain from the bolt, the Vârcolac’s growl dissolved into whimpering as a spike impaled its back paw. It scrabbled to stay out of the pit, pulling the lumber free.

  He had it. Van Helsing aimed the next bolt at the base of the creature’s skull.

  The sheep had since awoken and panicked, breaking the side of their pen. Running in all directions to escape, they fell into the trap instead, skewering themselves on the spikes. Their withered bleating and the smell of their blood filled the air.

  The trap exposed, Lillie ran across the only safe pathway, obscuring Van Helsing’s line of sight. She had almost made it past the Vârcolac when its claws shot out, dragging her to the ground by the leg. The girl struggled, clawing her way forward and kicking at the creature’s face with little effect. She would be dead in seconds.

  With no clean shot, Van Helsing threw one of his knives behind him while he dove forward towards the pit. The knife triggered the system of trip wires with a deafening explosion of Demon Fire.

  The Vârcolac released Lillie in shock. Crying out in fear as the liquid fire spread swiftly through the trees, it struggled to free itself from the spike.

  Lillie crawled away in tears as Van Helsing rose to his feet, his hair singed from the explosion. He ran around the trap, drawing his sword as the Vârcolac pulled itself onto the walkway. A gush of blood came with the vicious spike as the creature removed it, leaving a gaping hole struggling to close itself. Ignoring Lillie completely, it bounded past her and into the waiting cover of the trees.

  The trap had failed.

  Van Helsing moved to lift Lillie to her feet, but she recoiled from his outstretched hand. “Don’t touch me ya meater! Ya tried to feed me to that thing!”

  The hunter wiped some of the soot from his cape. “My apologies. I take full responsibility for your injury.”

  Lillie managed to stand without putting any weight on her bleeding leg. “Bloody ‘ell! I almost died. What ta bollocks was tha’ thing anyhow?”

  “A wolf—of sorts,” he said. “Please. I am a Doctor. You must allow me to treat your wounds.”

  Ignoring her further protests, Van Helsing wrapped his cape around her and lifted the woman off her feet. After several slaps, two bites, and quite a bit of scratching, she finally relented, allowing him to carry her inside the small shepherd’s cottage.

  Weakened from blood loss, Lillie relaxed as he treated her leg with a strong smelling aseptic solution. He deftly closed the wound with thread and needle, surprised at the woman’s refusal to cry out in pain. He stroked her hair gently as she drifted off to sleep, reminded of the times his mother would do the same to him as a young boy.

  Lillie awoke in the morning to find Van Helsing gone. He left a small bag of gold and a note:

  Lillie,

  I stood watch the whole night so no harm would come to you.

  Take this extra gold and depart from these accursed lands. The creature should not return to this place, but will not abandon its larger territory.

  This Vârcolac has proven difficult to kill. I fear it will be a lengthy hunt.

  - Nicolai

  CHAPTER 7.

  S

  HUVANI SAGE

  Shuvani Sage, both and neither, walked barefoot on the moss covered floor of the Oakwood of South Wales. She ran her fingers across the smooth amber bark of a tree. The forest where Shuvani had lived most of her life was strange, yet famili
ar to her. She had left the main road thirty minutes ago, her steps guided by some half-formed memory.

  A young woman was waiting at the edge of a clearing. Alluring and voluptuous, she looked up from braiding her long onyx hair. “Bine ai venit acasa. Welcome home Shuvani.”

  Sage smiled at the sound of the Romanian girl’s voice. “Kushti divvus. Do I know you?”

  Tying off the end of the braid, she covered her hair with a purple headscarf threaded with jewels. “I am Majaris, doilea to Shuvani Ingraham. I have led the Kalá tribe while we waited for your return.”

  Sage shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Shuvani is gone.”

  Majaris closed her eyes. “Not entirely. I sense her in you. Come, your vardo is waiting.”

  The girl turned and led Sage to a ring of colorful wooden vardos. They entered the largest and most ornate one.

  Sage felt immediately at home upon entering. Dozens of candles illuminated the intricate carvings on the wooden walls, reminding her of those she had helped to paint in her parents’ vardo as a child. She knew Shuvani Ingraham had etched the beautiful details with her own hand.

  The room was warm and inviting, the tang of incense dancing in the air. A deck of silver-plated cards sat on a table in the center of the room, seeming to glow with power. Sage's hands itched to hold them.

  Majaris smiled knowingly. “Save the cards for another time when you are more rested. The gift of sight is more draining than you know.”

  Sage crossed her arms and briskly rubbed her skin as if from a sudden chill. “Sight was never my gift.”

  Majaris placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is now. Sleep, we will begin our training in the morning.” She closed the door and took her leave.

  Blowing out all but one of the candles, Sage made her way to the back of the vardo. Finding a humble but comfortable looking cot, she bedded down for the first time since she had rejoined the living.

  Majaris woke her the next morning with a steaming breakfast of eggs, mămăligă, bread with raspberry jam, and salam de Sibiu.

  Over breakfast, Sage started to tear up. Majaris placed her hand on her arm. “What is it?”

  Sage wiped her nose on the white linen. “I…I haven’t had food for so long—and now my first meal is mămăligă that tastes exactly like my Dya used to make. The English porridge just isn’t the same.”

  Majaris’ laughter filled the air like tiny bells. “It was Shuvani Ingraham’s recipe, handed down through your family line.”

  Sage smiled. “Will you teach me to make it?”

  Majaris grew serious, her gaze intent. “The secret recipe is already inside you…along with the knowledge of many other things. If you let me, I will show you how to unlock it.”

  Sage nodded and the two women rose, clearing the dishes together and singing The Twelve Sisters and the Demon Bride as they worked. When they were finished, they sat at the red silk covered table.

  Majaris gestured to the silver-tipped cards. “Shuvani Ingraham painted and dipped each of these with her own hand. She used them to interpret the future.”

  Sage stroked the back of the deck, the intricate silverwork smooth to the touch. “How do they work?”

  Majaris drew one of the cards, turning over the image of the fairy queen Matuya luring a farmer into the forest with her violin. “They are just cards. It is your gift of sight that divines the future. The images serve as a focus point, but you must channel your energy to grasp what they might portend.”

  Sage laid her hand on one of the cards. A jolt of energy shot up her arm. She felt a strange energy welling up inside her. She turned the card over to reveal the image of the eternal Prometheus, his liver devoured daily by shadowy vultures, only to regrow each night. She gasped.

  Majaris interlocked her fingers with Sage’s other hand. “What do you see?”

  Sage panted, her energy momentarily drained and replaced with fear. “It’s Dorian…he’s in terrible danger.”

  Majaris squeezed her hand. “What sort of danger? Turn another card.”

  Sage turned another card. This one showed the son of Zeus locked in furious combat with the three-headed Hydra. “A great evil is stalking him and he has been badly injured—he needs my help.”

  Majaris nodded as if she could also see the visions flashing through Sage’s head. She placed her other hand on top of Sage’s. “How can we help him?”

  Sage flipped a third card. It depicted the dog-headed Căpcăun, devouring a group of children. “Shuvani Ingraham told me she tried to separate Dorian and the wolf and had only made things worse. The wolf has been excised, but Dorian is still cursed to change into the likeness of the creature during the full moon.” Tears fell on the red silk cloth.

  Leaning in to embrace her, Majaris spoke softly. “Can he be healed?”

  “Don’t you know?” Sage shot her an imploring look.

  The woman smiled sadly, “I have always been attuned to the drab and the bol. As a little girl I showed promise and so my parents sent me to study with Shuvani Ingraham. For years I studied day and night, but try as I might, I could never make the spells work. I do not have the gift. I can guide you, but you must find the answers.”

  Sage sighed. “Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.” Turning the next card, she shook her head. “I don’t know. There are too many possible outcomes. His future lies hidden behind a swirling darkness.”

  “What must we do?” Majaris asked.

  Sage turned another card, then the next. She flipped through half the deck, continuing to pull on her internal reserves of power. Finally, she cast the rest of the deck across the table as a sharp pain flared in her temples. “It’s all my fault! I don’t know if I can help him, and if I can’t I am not sure I can face the alternative.”

  Carefully retrieving the cards, Majaris reassembled the deck. “You mustn’t overextend yourself in one sitting. Be patient, the answers may yet come.”

  Seeing the girl’s reverence for the cards, Sage felt embarrassed at her outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—“

  Majaris looked at her knowingly. “You love this Dorian?”

  Sage choked back a sob, her eyes welling up once more. “Yes…it was from another life, but I still do.”

  Returning the shimmering deck to Sage’s hands, Majaris began to massage Sage’s temples. “Then we must try. I will travel with you and do all that I can to bring you into your full power.”

  The next morning Majaris began to train Sage in the ancient use of combat spells. Each enchantment had a two-sided use. Intended exclusively for defense, the feminine form of every incantation was subtle and adaptive. The masculine form of the incantation was much more limited in use, but formidable and destructive. While the spell of invisibility might obscure something from sight, the blunt power of it could also dismantle substance. In the same way, the spell of healing could cause new cells to grow, or force the cells to multiply unendingly. Unchecked reproduction of living matter would cause veins to rupture, muscles to contract to the point of immobility, or bones to distort and crack.

  “Focus your mind.” Majaris began, “You must look inside with purpose. Use your gift of sight to see how you will affect the change you desire, then will it to happen.”

  Sage stared at the spare wooden vardo wheel they had propped up against a large stone. Clutching an iron ingot in her palm, she envisioned the thin spokes healing, and then expanding until a solid circle of oak remained.

  Prin sânge și fier și voință,

  Vindecă această formă,

  Restaurați-l,

  Faceți-l întreg.

  By blood and iron and will,

  Heal this form,

  Restore it,

  Make it whole.

  Majaris laughed when nothing happened. “It is nearly impossible to ‘heal’ something already dead like chopped wood. Try again.”

  Sage’s vision changed in her mind’s eye.

  Prin sânge și fier și voință,

  Dezactivați
acest formular,

  Scoateți-l din lumină și umbre,

  Niciodată să nu mai fi văzut.

  By blood and iron and will,

  Unmake this form,

  Remove it from light and shadow,

  Never to be seen again.

  The wooden spokes cracked as the center of the wheel turned to dust. Suddenly dizzy, Sage sat down on the grass.

  Majaris rushed to her side. “There is a cost to each spell. With time your endurance will increase along with your abilities.”

  Sage’s thoughts went to Dorian. “Time is something we don’t have. We leave tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 8.

  T

  HE CROW MOON

  Dr. Thomas Smith had just finished his rounds at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Serving on the Council of the Royal College of Surgeons had given his career the prestige he had always yearned for, but he felt a certain nostalgia for his old stomping ground. He returned several times a year to the place where he had discovered several of his most famous medical breakthroughs.

  He returned once more to room 5. The comatose patient had come in by carriage two nights ago with a neck wound. Dr. Smith had sutured the injury, but had so far been unable to revive him. The poor fool must have had his throat slit by some cutpurse.