A Monster's Coming of Age Story

by G. D. Falksen

  Ah. The guard had confused him with one of the des Louveteaux. That was just as well—

  The man paused and narrowed his eyes. “Wait a moment,” he began. “What is your family?”

  No matter, William thought. There was no point in bluffing when violence was just as effective.

  He knocked the guard’s pistol away with a flick of his hand. He grabbed the man by the throat and snapped his neck as easily as he had once broken a stick. How wonderful it was to be old.

  William threw the body into the darkness by the side of the house and crept into the kitchen. Time to find the boy and then deal with the des Louveteaux once and for all.

  * * * *

  Varanus found the des Louveteaux house dark and all but deserted. The lights were low and, aside from the odd armed man in the halls, the servants were nowhere to be seen. It was almost as though they had been locked away in their rooms. But that was an absurd idea, wasn’t it?

  She sniffed the air. The house was heavy with the scent of men and women and with a peculiar sort of musk that seemed familiar, yet she could not place it. Moving through the house with Luka and Ekaterine at her back, she finally came across Friedrich’s scent. He had definitely been here. But where was he now?

  The sound of chanting caught her attention. It was very faint, too faint for Luka or Ekaterine to notice, but she heard it creeping up from somewhere below them. Varanus knelt and pressed one ear to the floorboards. Yes, definitely below them. But not, she realized, from the basement.

  “What is it, Doctor?” Ekaterine asked, kneeling beside her.

  “Chanting,” Varanus replied. “Chanting somewhere down there.”

  “So there are people here,” Ekaterine said. “Good. I was beginning to feel unnerved.”

  Varanus rose and continued into the foyer. She spotted two armed men on guard there, watching the door. She indicated them and Luka nodded. He crept across the room, knife in hand, and struck one of the men on the back of the head, rendering him senseless. Then Luka turned in a flash and, covering the mouth of the second man, forced him to the floor.

  “Keep going,” he said quietly as he killed the man. “I will keep watch here. If you need me, shout.”

  “If we shout, we’ll be discovered,” Ekaterine said.

  “If you have been discovered, shout,” Luka said. “Then it will make not a bit of difference.”

  “Words of wisdom,” Varanus said. She motioned to Ekaterine. “Come.”

  She led Ekaterine down the main hallway, the chanting growing louder with each step. Near the center of the house, she heard the voices drifting in from behind the wall paneling. She placed her ear to the wall and listened.

  It must be hollow, she thought.

  It took her only a few moments to find the seam where the wall met a hidden door and a few moments more to uncover the catch. A section of the wall swung inward, revealing a short passageway that ended in an ancient stone staircase, which spiraled down into the ground. Torches were bracketed to the walls, barely bright enough to light to steps.

  Varanus sniffed the air. Amid the heavy layering of smells, she detected Friedrich’s scent. He had been brought this way.

  “I must go down there,” she said to Ekaterine. “Stay here and watch the door.”

  “You can’t mean to go there alone,” Ekaterine said.

  “I must,” Varanus replied. “I have my rifle, and I am not without my own capabilities. And I cannot risk someone coming in behind us. Please, Ekaterine, do this for me.”

  Ekaterine frowned but nodded her assent. “Promise me that you will take every precaution.”

  “I promise,” Varanus said. “And I promise that I will kill every last one of them if they have hurt my son.”

  “Go,” Ekaterine said. “Go, and bring him back safely.”

  Varanus exchanged nods with her and made for the stairs.

  * * * *

  Varanus followed the stairs down for what felt like ages. Though she could see well enough in the dim light, she hesitated to think what such a journey would be like for mortals. The musky stench grew stronger with each step, and it was worsened by the dankness of the deep earth.

  At first she assumed the stairs would lead into the basement, but they descended past the lower levels of the house without opening or changing. It was simply an endless spiral that sank into the earth. Finally, as she traveled deeper than any possible part of the house, the confined pit opened up into a large stone chamber.

  The room was as dark as the staircase, lit by torches and lanterns that could barely maintain a general glow. It was like perpetual twilight beneath the earth. The room was hewn from solid stone, carved in the manner of a great amphitheater. Varanus saw rows and rows of well-dressed men and women—the cream of Society, all from some of the finest families in Normandy. They stood in the shadows, eyes fixed on the broad pit at the center of the chamber.

  Varanus concealed her rifle in the staircase and slowly advanced through the crowd. No one paid her much mind. She approached the edge of the pit and saw Louis and Alfonse des Louveteaux standing in the center, flanking a man sitting in a chair. Varanus caught her breath when she realized that the man in the chair was Friedrich and that he was tied in place by heavy ropes.

  “Brothers and sisters!” Louis des Louveteaux cried. He turned toward a poorly lit shelf of rock overlooking the pit. “I bring this enemy before our exalted elders to beg their indulgence! This man, this mongrel human, has dared to murder one of the Blood! My own kinsman Gérard was struck down by this man, an offense that must be punished!”

  Varanus heard a deep rumble from the darkness on the shelf. Startled, she looked again and saw several massive, hunched-over shapes lurking there. She could not see them clearly, even with her enhanced eyesight, but something about them was unwholesome and reminded her of the strange beasts from Georgia. She sniffed the air. Yes, definitely the stench of the beasts. The cavern was filled with it.

  How could there be more of them? And at both ends of Europe?

  “This offense must be answered,” came a voice from the darkness. “You have right of retribution. Why do you bring the offender before us?”

  Varanus was aghast. They could speak?

  “Because, great ones,” Louis said, “I wish to give the gift of this punishment to all those of our race. I invite my brethren to join me in this humble feast.”

  Friedrich cleared his throat loudly and said, “I do beg your pardon, but what in God’s name is going on? Unless you’ve all lost your minds, you’d better damn well untie me!”

  “Silence!” Alfonse growled, striking Friedrich from behind.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, you filthy, inbred coward!” Friedrich shouted back. “You haven’t the courage to fight me properly, so you murder my mother and have me kidnapped?”

  Alfonse fell silent and looked at his father. A collective gasp filtered through the crowd, and even the creatures in the darkness above the pit seemed startled.

  “Silence!” Alfonse repeated, striking Friedrich again.

  “Let the mortal speak,” rasped the voice from the darkness. “What ‘mother’ does it speak of?”

  “Babette Varanus,” Friedrich said. “Who else would be my mother?”

  “Impossible!” Louis cried. “Babette Varanus is childless!”

  Friedrich looked at Louis and said, “Well, aren’t you the perfect little idiot? Of course my mother had a child! Me!”

  “If it is as it says,” the voice rasped, “this one is of the Blood.”

  “He is not!” Louis replied. “He cannot be! And if it is true, then surely he is the child of a runt. A runt’s runt!”

  “It does not look like a runt,” said the voice. There was a pause. “Are there any who can tell us the truth of this? Did the granddaugther of William Varanus bear a pup?”

  A pup? Varanus wondered. What sort of way is that to speak of a child?

  “It is true!” she shouted, moving into the light. “It is
true!”

  “What is this?” asked the voice.

  The eyes in the darkness turned toward her, as did all of the assembled gentry, amid murmurs of shock and disbelief.

  “I am Babette Varanus,” Varanus said. “And I tell you truly, that man is my son!”

  “Mother?” Friedrich shouted. He craned his neck in an effort to look up and see her. “You’re alive?”

  “It’s all right, Alistair,” Varanus called down to him. “I’m handling this.”

  “I—” Friedrich began. “My name is Friedrich!”

  “Not in front of the neighbors, Alistair,” Varanus said.

  “Babette granddaughter of William,” said the voice in the darkness, “you claim that this man is your son? That he is the great-grandson of William Varanus?”

  “I do,” Varanus said.

  “Lies!” Louis shouted. “Where is the proof?”

  “Hold your tongue, Louis son of Charles,” the voice rumbled. “You know our laws. Of the Blood is of the Blood. The mother’s testimony is sufficient to establish lineage. This man is of the Blood. He has the look and scent of a pup.”

  “I…I…” Louis sputtered. He looked from the dark figures to Friedrich and said, “Blood or no, he murdered one of our order! He must be punished for it!”

  “Perhaps,” the voice said. “But Alistair son of Babette—”

  “Friedrich!” Friedrich shouted.

  “—was brought here as a human,” the voice finished, ignoring him, “to be killed and eaten, as must be the fate of all mankind. Now he sits before us, a child of the Wolf. Count yourself fortunate, Louis des Louveteaux, that he has not yet been consumed. The crime of cannibalism must not be tolerated. It is The Law.”

  “It is The Law,” echoed the assembled gentlemen and ladies.

  Louis turned red with anger and stammered. Clearly Varanus’s arrival had interrupted his carefully laid plans. It made Varanus smile to herself.

  “Even so,” Louis said, “even if he is of the Blood, he murdered one of my house. He murdered a des Louveteaux! He, the child of a runt, the descendant of a dishonored house! I demand retribution!”

  “You come before us to seek the death of another Scion?” the voice asked.

  “I do,” Louis said. He pointed at Friedrich. “I beg your permission to kill him!”

  “You demand retribution?” Varanus shouted. “That beast tried to murder my son! That is why it was killed! It is I who should demand retribution upon you and your house!”

  The figures on the ledge turned toward one another and conversed softly in what seemed to be a chorus of growls. Finally, the voice spoke again:

  “Very well. As the truth of the matter cannot be known, it must be settled by The Law. There shall be a trial by combat. Let the young fight for their elders. Alfonse des Louveteaux shall fight Alistair Varanus.”

  “I am Friedrich von Fuchsburg!” Friedrich shouted. He paused. “But I accept the challenge.”

  Varanus felt sick. Combat? No, she could not allow her son to fight Alfonse. Alfonse had already murdered her beloved Korbinian; she would not allow him to murder her son!

  “I do not allow this,” she said.

  “You do not allow it?” Louis asked. “How dare you, whelp? It has been decreed, and so it shall be.”

  “…and so it shall be,” echoed the crowd.

  “No,” Varanus said. She jumped down into the pit and landed solidly on both feet. She crossed to the center and turned to the figures on the ledge. “I will fight in my son’s place.”

  “What?” Friedrich demanded. “Mother, no—”

  Varanus looked at him and pleaded with her eyes.

  “Friedrich,” she said, “let me do this.”

  Friedrich looked back at her and his face fell. He slowly shook his head, whispering, “No, no.…”

  “Let me do this,” Varanus repeated.

  “Alfonse son of Louis, is this agreeable to you?” the voice asked.

  Alfonse smiled, showing his teeth, and replied, “Oh yes, most agreeable.”

  “Very well,” the voice said. “Alfonse son of Louis shall fight Babette granddaughter of William until one or the other yields. Whosoever wins shall decide the fate of Alistair son of Babette. Begin.”

  “Wait a moment,” Varanus said. “Are we not to decide terms? And weapons?”

  “Weapons?” Alfonse laughed. “We use the weapons that Nature gave us and none other.”

  He snarled at her and approached, and for the first time, Varanus noticed his teeth. They had changed since she had last seen them closely fifteen years ago. They were sharper than was natural and more pronounced, halfway between those of a man and those of a wild animal.

  What was this madness? Men and women obeying the orders of beasts? Men deformed and distorted, almost beasts themselves. And this talk of blood and scions? And the way they spoke of her and Grandfather and her son…

  No matter, she thought. She would kill Alfonse, rescue her son, and only then would she allow herself to ponder the strange blasphemies that she had heard.

  “Come Alfonse,” she said. “Come to your death.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Alfonse laughed at her as he removed his coat and tie.

  “Remember,” he said, “when you yield, simply say so. You might survive.”

  “You forget, Alfonse,” Varanus replied, “my better half is English. I would rather suffer in silence than admit defeat.”

  “We shall see,” Alfonse said, removing his gloves. His hands were hairy, and his fingernails were long, sharp, and discolored, more like talons than nails. Alfonse smiled at her and flexed his fingers. “You can always yield.”

  Good God, what was he?

  “Do not think of such things, liebchen,” Korbinian whispered in her ear. “Think of our son. Think of me.” He looked into her eyes and said, “Think of killing the man who murdered me!”

  Varanus inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. She planted her feet firmly and raised her fists as Luka had shown her.

  “Come on, then,” she said. “A gentleman does not keep a lady waiting.”

  Alfonse threw back his head and laughed.

  “I will tear you to pieces, little runt,” he said.

  His laugh turned into a roar, and he charged at her. The speed of the attack took Varanus by surprise. Alfonse’s maddened eyes and gaping jaws made her think of the terrible beasts in Georgia. There was something hideously similar between them, and it made Varanus think terrible thoughts about Alfonse’s ancestry and the nature of the beasts.

  A moment later Alfonse was upon her. Varanus shook herself to regain her senses and lashed out with her empty hand. Her block caught one of Alfonse’s arms as it reached for her, stopping the attack in mid-swing. But Alfonse had seen fit to attack on both sides, and the claws of his other hand struck the side of Varanus’s face, cutting almost to the bone.

  Varanus cried out in pain and ducked away, clutching her face. Alfonse backhanded her, knocking her to the floor.

  “No!” Friedrich screamed. Varanus heard him struggling against his bonds as he shouted curses and threats of violence in German.

  Varanus looked up and saw Korbinian looming over her.

  “Get up, liebchen,” he said.

  “I was planning to,” Varanus said, taking his hand and rising.

  “Well, well,” Alfonse said, “the runt is more resilient than I thought. Or perhaps I am losing my touch. That ought to have killed you.”

  Varanus took her hand away from her face. The flesh had already begun to knit back together. She smiled, which was painful, but tolerably so.

  “Nonsense,” she said to Alfonse. “It was just a flesh wound.”

  Alfonse snarled at her, “Flesh wound? I will show you a flesh wound!”

  He came at her again, tearing at her with his claws. Varanus threw up her arms to break through the initial attack. Alfonse’s claws tore her forearms, but he could not displace her. Varanus dropped her guard and turned
sideways, thrusting her shoulder into Alfonse’s chest and blocking one of his arms.

  Snorting in frustration, Alfonse brought his free arm in, grabbing for Varanus’s throat. Varanus blocked the attack with her open hand, then struck Alfonse’s upper arm with the back of her fist. Alfonse’s arm was tough and heavily muscled, but he winced at the force of the blow. Varanus was not finished, however, and she struck Alfonse across the face with the heel of her palm.

  Alfonse stumbled away, spitting blood. Varanus flexed her fingers and shook her hand. Alfonse had an incredibly strong jaw, and the blow had hurt; less than it hurt him, no doubt, but still…

  Again Alfonse lunged at her and again Varanus evaded, blocked, and retaliated. Her fists pounded into Alfonse’s chest to knock the wind out of him. Alfonse gasped for air and half doubled over. Varanus struck him beneath the chin.

  Alfonse backhanded Varanus and retreated, hunched over and lashing out almost blindly in an effort to keep her at a distance.

  “How is this possible?” he demanded.

  “Surprised, Alfonse?” Varanus asked, advancing on him. “I am a Varanus. Never underestimate us.”

  Alfonse snarled loudly and roared, “Die!”

  Eyes red with anger, he lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat. Varanus struggled to fend him off, but in his rage, Alfonse suddenly seemed incapable of sensing pain. Varanus struck him in the chest, feeling ribs break, but Alfonse did not relent.

  Panic filled Varanus until she forced herself to remember that she did not have to breathe. Fighting her instinct to gag, she reached past Alfonse’s arms and grabbed him by the throat, strangling him in turn. Alfonse’s eyes bulged in amazement, and he began to gasp. Before long, his grip slackened and he dropped to his knees.

  “I yield!” he said, barely able to manage a whisper. “I yield!”

  Varanus smiled and said, “No.”

  She forced Alfonse onto his back and pressed him firmly against the stone floor. Alfonse struggled, ever more feebly with each passing moment. Varanus found it absurdly simple to hold him there as she choked the life from him. How incredible it was to hold his life in her hands.