The Change

by C V Leigh

  “Someone’s lying, Tess, and when I found out who it is—”

  “You’ll rip them to shreds, I have no doubt. You’ll make them suffer for their crimes against Faol Hall, and there will be a new head hanging on the wall. I know.” She stood up, winced, and clutched at her ribs.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not the only who could do with a rest.”

  She looked straight at him. “I’m going to have a bath.”

  Alistair nodded as she left the room. He held his hands together, pressed the tips of his index fingers to his lips and contemplated his options. The computer screen fell into darkness. He sat back in the chair and glanced up at the ceiling, listening intently to the sounds of the house. Someone—Jacob, he thought—had finished his shower and was making his way downstairs. Drake was already in the kitchen, draining the rest of the coffee pot. Nicholas trod with precise footsteps, heading for the back door. After a moment, it clicked open and closed as the three of them headed into the forests, ready to begin their search.

  He blew out a heavy breath and rubbed his hands over his face. Tess was right, but how could he sleep when Nathan was still out there, threatening his family, his pack? He moved the mouse, waking the computer. He was sure there was something in the files he was missing. The link had to be there.

  Tess had mentioned the witches’ coven. Nicholas had said Nathan believed Megan was a witch, although she’d shown no signs of magic in the fifteen years she’d lived with the Kincaids. Memory magic kept cropping up in snippets of conversation. That’s where he had to start. Memory magic. He needed to follow the path Nathan had led them to. Even if it went to a dead end, at least he’d be able to rule out that possibility.

  Clicking through the files, he found the one with the right label and opened it. Information filled the screen, detailing numerous ways to cast that particular spell. There were arguments as to the best way to perform the ritual, and whether the potion was necessary, and whether the spell should be cast at all. There was a list of ingredients, and another, and another, each one with a slight variation to the recipe. He opened a document and scanned over the page:

  Memory magic–a powerful curse, cast only in the most desperate of situations. It can only be performed by a high priestess and under the direct supervision of the Council. So powerful is it, there are only three known cases in the history of witchcraft where it has been cast with success and without repercussions. The British Paranormal Council banned its use after the incident of 2003, involving Leanna Cavendish of the North Riding coven, when she performed the ritual, cursing her daughter, Megan Cavendish.

  Alistair’s breath hitched, catching in his chest. He blinked and shook his head, unsure whether he wanted to read on or not. North Riding, 2003, a woman named Megan. It was too much to be a coincidence. He hadn’t known Megan’s previous name. She’d been Megan Trevell, having taken Nathan’s name, when she’d moved in to Faol Hall.

  He read on:

  Megan was kidnapped by a predatory lycanthrope and ex-pack leader, Nathan Trevell, and bitten against her will. After her first change, she returned home under orders to change her human family. Leanna, a powerful witch with a strong lineage tracing back to the times of the Salem trials, and High Priestess of the North Riding coven, cast memory magic in an attempt to block her daughter’s transformation. There are no records as to how Leanna Cavendish came to possess the spell.

  Megan Cavendish, aged eighteen, was found outside her home by the local fire department. She was taken to a hospital for treatment for smoke inhalation, but was later discharged into the care of Nathan Trevell, a “family friend.” She was told her mother and father had died. There is mention in her medical files of psychological trauma.

  The British Paranormal Council brought Trevell and Cavendish in for questioning. Cavendish was placed under the guard of Nicholas Kincaid of the Faol Hall lycanthrope pack. Trevell later fled to the United States, seeking asylum under the Act of Salem.

  A rumble reverberated in his gut. The Act of Salem had been put in place by the Council of American Paranormal Activity to protect those who lived in the paranormal realm from unfair persecution. He continued to read:

  It is thought the memory magic cast by Leanna Cavendish misfired. Megan had no recollection of how the fire started or how she came to be outside her home. She referred to herself as “Megan Trevell.” Nor does she recall her mother being a witch. It has been suggested by both the Salem and Pendle covens that memory magic can be reversed by a blood relation. However, this is unproven.

  Currently, CAPA and the Salem representatives are the only covens that hold the rights to use memory magic.

  Alistair felt sick. Bile burned the back of his throat. Clearly, Nathan thought he could lift the curse if one had indeed been cast, and Megan would return to him. He may not be a relative, but it was his bite that had turned her, and the bond between a lycanthrope and those he’d turned were stronger than any blood ties. He closed the files, not wanting to see another page.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Michael waited until he heard water running as Tess filled her bath. His uncles Jacob and Drake had already gone out with Nicholas to search for Nathan Trevell, and Uncle Zane was checking on his mum. His dad was still in the study–he could hear him cursing, even if it was under his breath. As usual, they weren’t paying attention to anything he did, and he was certain nobody would notice. Even when he’d gone to the barn with Ben, without permission, his dad hadn’t seemed that bothered. He could have gone back to Kent, and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. So he sneaked out of his bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him. He’d left his phone plugged into the charger, with music playing, and shaped his pillows under his duvet to look like a sleeping body, in case anyone came in.

  He tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He’d layered up in jumpers and jackets, and wore his trainers, so they wouldn’t notice his coat and boots missing. Michael opened the door and stepped out into the breaking dawn.

  Beyond the trees, a yellow sun appeared above the indigo horizon. The sky was clear of clouds, a brilliant blue, shattered with various shades of orange and purple. The snow was deep, coming above his ankles as he trudged through, leaving deep imprints, but melting fast. Freezing water dripped down the grey walls of the main house and from overhanging branches. Birds flitted through the air, singing to one another.

  He decided to make his way to the barn–it seemed as good a place to start as any. His uncles had gone in the opposite direction, their tracks leading into the forest, towards the stream running along the edge of the property. Grabbing a fallen branch with a thick growth of needles, he then dusted it over where he’d walked, minimising his tracks. The last thing he wanted was for one of his family members to find him before he’d found Nathan Trevell.

  Michael reached the barn and pushed open the doors. They creaked and groaned loudly, complaining at the rush of cold air that broke through. The barn was always warm, insulated by thick brick and old straw. He made sure to close the doors behind him and took out the mini torch he’d stuffed into his trouser pocket. He switched it on and shone it around the space. A mouse scurried past, disturbed by the sudden intrusion.

  He sniffed the air. There was a strange scent to it, one that reminded him of rare steak. It made his mouth water and his stomach gurgle.

  “Hungry?” The voice came from one of the old stalls at the far end. Michael aimed the beam of light at the doors. A man stepped forward, his mouth covered in thick, red blood. In his hand, he held the haunch of a deer, ripped to pieces. Shreds of flesh fell to the ground. “You must be…”

  “M-Michael.” He was cross with himself for stuttering like a coward. That was something Ben would have done, not the next Kincaid Alpha. “Michael Kincaid,” he tried again, pushing his shoulders back. “You’re Nathan Trevell, aren’t you?”

  The man smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of me.”

  “You’re kinda the reason my d
ad and uncles are always so angry.”

  The smile widened into a grin. “How’s your mother?”

  Michael swallowed. “She’s…” He paused. He didn’t know how his mother was. They’d barely spoken. She’d seemed so… confused. She wasn’t herself. “She’s fine,” he finally said.

  “You found me quicker than your uncles.” He dropped the leg to the ground, sucked his fingers clean, and used the sleeve of his torn shirt to wipe his face. “You’re a good tracker.”

  “I figured this would be where I’d hide,” Michael said proudly.

  “Good call.”

  “You covered your tracks.”

  “I did,” Nathan replied with a slow nod. “It’s one of the first things you learn during training–how to protect and hide if you’re ever caught out on your own.”

  Michael frowned. “Dad hasn’t started my training yet.”

  “When do you turn thirteen?”

  “December.”

  “That soon? And he hasn’t…” Nathan tutted and shook his head. “I’d have helped you long before now.”

  “I’ve been at school. Down in Kent.”

  “I’m sorry your father pushed you away like that. It’s not right. Lycanthropes should be home schooled. Kept close to the heart of the pack. Would you…” He cocked his head to one side. “Would you like me to help you? I trained your mother, you know.”

  Michael stared at the blood-covered man. He narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. It would be betraying his father but at the same time…

  “I know I don’t look the part right now,” Nathan continued. “Perhaps you could help me with that? If I could have some clean clothes, maybe a first aid kit. Food, water. I don’t plan on staying for very long. I just need enough time to recover from my injuries, and then when I’ve collected what belongs to me, I’ll be on my way. Your uncles and your father aren’t very welcoming to wolves from outside their pack.” He showed off a set of thick gashes running down his arm. “I don’t mean to cause any trouble. I just want what’s mine, and then I’ll leave.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “There’s something in the house. It was mine, a long time ago, but your father took it from me.”

  Michael scuffed the toe of his trainer into the dusty floor. “Maybe I could find it for you?”

  “That’s kind of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. Just a little help to get me back on my feet would be enough.”

  Michael ran his tongue over his bottom lip while he thought. “My dad wants to ask you some questions. He says you’re here to hurt my mum.”

  “Hurt her?” Nathan’s eyes widened slightly, and he gave a quick shake of his head. “No! I would never hurt Megan. She was my friend. Please, Michael… Your uncle did this to me while I minded my own business. Your father,” he choked on the words, “he’d kill me. Your mother wouldn’t ever forgive him if he did that. Help me. You’re the only one who can.”

  “I guess I could get you some blankets and water.”

  “Thank you. You’re a better man than your father. You’ll be a good Alpha one day.”

  Pride swelled inside Michael’s chest. “I’ll be back soon.” He pushed the barn doors open and peered out, checking none of his uncles were around. But it seemed they were still deep in the forest. He’d have to find a way to mask the scent of the deer and of Nathan just in case his uncles were able to pick it up. His senses were improving, but theirs were still stronger than his. They might not miss it as he had.

  He hurried back to the house, taking care to disguise his tracks. His father was still in the study, and his mother was upstairs with Uncle Zane, talking quietly. Tess had finished her bath, but he could hear her in her room. Ben was playing in the den they’d made in the dining room.

  Michael left his wet trainers by the back door, hidden behind some boots, and jogged up to his bedroom. He found his school backpack under his bed, pulled it out and stuffed a couple of blankets in. Back downstairs, he added a bag of beef jerky, a drinks bottle filled with water, and the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard.

  He smiled when he saw the pile of clean clothes left on the side, waiting for someone to iron them, and grabbed a shirt from the top before adding that to his load. He slung the bag over his shoulder and slipped his feet into his still-soggy trainers. He took a coat from the hook before leaving by the back door.

  Nathan was still in the barn. Michael handed the bag to him and watched as he used the water to wash his face and down his arms. He stripped out of the torn shirt and opened the first aid kit. Carefully, he bathed his wounds and dressed them in fresh, white bandages. He slipped the clothes on, wincing as the material brushed over the cuts. “Thank you,” he said, buttoning up the shirt. “You’re a good lad. Your dad should be proud.”

  Michael glanced away, shame colouring his cheeks. “Dad’s too busy to worry about me.”

  “I’m sorry he’s not putting you first. If you were my son, I’d be training you day and night, preparing you to take over after I’d retired.” He paused. “Maybe you could come with me when I leave?”

  “What? No. I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave Mum and Ben.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Bring them with you. It’s obvious Alistair puts the pack before his real family. I wouldn’t ever do that.”

  Michael swallowed down the saliva that had built in his mouth.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t put that kind of pressure on you.” Nathan shook his head. “But at least let me help you train before I go. I’ll need a couple of days to rest.”

  “What about whatever it is you’re looking for?”

  Nathan raked his fingers through his hair, using his good arm. He huffed a laugh, though Michael had no idea what was funny. “Let me rest for a bit, get you started on your training, and then I’ll leave. It’ll give you time to think about joining me.” Nathan sat down on the ground and pulled out the pack of jerky. “Would you like some?”

  Michael nodded and joined him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jacob and Nicholas crunched through the snow with Drake behind them, rifle held close to his chest. A cool wind whipped through the trees, twirling around them, bringing small flurries off the branches. Jacob glanced at his uncle. It was unusual to see him out of his smart suits, instead dressed in thick trousers and a woollen jumper.

  “Did you get that?” Nicholas asked, nodding towards the forest.

  Jacob took a deep breath. He recognised the metallic tang as Nathan’s. “Blood. It’s old, though. Could be from when you attacked him. It would still be in the earth.”

  “Except that’s not where I attacked him.” Nicholas marched ahead, his boots leaving heavy imprints in the snow.

  The temperature was beginning to drop again, and the stream had started to re-freeze already, with shards of ice skimming across the frigid surface.

  Jacob looked around. He spotted a spattering of dark red on the snow. And another. He followed the trail. “Nicholas, Drake.”

  Nicholas jogged to catch up with his nephew. Drake continued at a slow plod, constantly surveying the scene. “I thought I sensed something back in the forest,” Drake said. “A fresh kill.”

  “We’ll check it out later,” Jacob said. “Look.” He nodded at the bloody patches. “You injured him bad enough he didn’t even try to cover his tracks.” He snorted a laugh.

  Nicholas wrinkled his nose. “It could be a false scent. We should split up.”

  “Wolves would have better luck,” Drake said, joining them.

  Nicholas and Jacob stared at each other, the latter narrowing his eyes as he considered what was going through his uncle’s mind. “I’ll follow the track,” he said after a while. “If the scent gets stronger, I’ll shift. Drake, you stay with me. Nicholas, check out the treeline.”

  Nicholas nodded and walked downstream. Jacob looked ahead. He leapt over the running water and soon picked up the trail again. He followed the speckl
es of blood to an old stone barn on neighbouring land. Bracken crawled around the decaying walls and crept through the empty window frames. The scent of blood was stronger than that of rotting wood and vegetation. There was also the smell of smouldering ashes.

  He knelt by the only wall sheltered by a broken roof. The stone had been stained by blood from where Nathan had spent the night leaning against it. The ground was dry despite the snow that had melted, but it had been hours since he’d last been there.

  A sudden howl echoed all around them.

  “Nicholas!” Jacob said.

  “Go.” Drake nodded. “I’ll follow.”

  Jacob began to run, bounding over bracken and heather. Behind him, Drake fiddled with the rifle, loading a dart into the chamber. Jacob stumbled, his foot catching in a rabbit hole. His hands sunk into the wet earth. He pushed himself up. He leapt the stream and moved through branches and twigs, snapping them out of his way.

  A howl from somewhere in the distance echoed through the air. Jacob stopped and cried out. His nails sharpened and his teeth elongated. Dark hair erupted all over his body.

  “Jacob.” Nicholas swooped his arm around his nephew’s waist. “Did you find him?”

  Jacob shook his head, panting for breath as his change retreated. “An old barn…” His words were caught by the pain that wracked his body from an unfinished change. “In the fields… I thought I heard something. Did you find anything?”

  “I lost his scent,” Nicholas confessed.

  “I thought I heard a wolf howl.” Jacob drew in a deep breath and straightened. Running his tongue along his teeth, he found rounded, human incisors. “I thought—”