The Wolf Within Me

by Cheree Alsop

  Briggs straightened. His face looked drawn in the light of the flashlight I carried even though I didn’t need it to see in the dark. I figured whatever I could do to make his ascent easier was worth it, especially when I knew he wouldn’t ask.

  “I’ve given you a hard time,” he said.

  Caught by the change of subject, I lifted a shoulder, pretending it didn’t bother me. “I can take it.”

  “I’ve seen that,” he replied. “It’s commendable. And the fact that you could put whatever you and Vicken have going on to the side to defend this school says a lot about your character.” His expression said he guessed what I had refused to tell him. He motioned up the stairs. “But what I said up there holds true. There’s a reason people are afraid of you, and you’re going to have to face that your entire time here.” He tipped his head to indicate the room we had just left. “If you hope what you do for us down there will make a difference, I can already tell you it won’t. You won’t be able to talk about it, mythics outside of this school will have no idea, and only your teammates will understand what you go through.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not doing it for redemption from some crime I didn’t commit.” Sebastian’s death whispered at the back of my mind. I pushed it away. “I’m doing it because it’s something I can do.” It sounded weak when I put it like that. I looked past the professor and said, “If I’m hated, I would like to deserve it. It’s strange to be feared for something I didn’t do.” I glanced at him. “But hearing the stories of how a single werewolf hurt so many people in this school makes me wonder if I really should be here.”

  The professor was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, he lifted a hand to the scar that marred his face. “Your uncle gave this to me.” He turned the hand over, showing me the scars across the back. “And this.”

  I lowered my gaze, ashamed of what he had gone through at the hands and fangs of one of my relatives.

  “But this…,” the professor said. He undid the clasp of the robe at his neck and pushed the material off his shoulder. I stared at a mass of twisted, melted flesh that reached from the top of his shoulder and down his chest. It disappeared beneath the robe, letting me know there was more underneath. The skin was raised and misshapen, a mixture of white scar tissue and red angry skin.

  “And this….” The professor shrugged back into the robe and pulled up the hem that covered the leg he favored. He lifted the leg with his hands so that his foot sat on the step above. The same scarred and melted flesh ran from his knee and down to his shoe where it disappeared beneath. His leg was shriveled and twisted unnaturally. If I had seen a picture of it unattached to the rest of him, I wouldn’t have guessed it was a leg at all.

  He shoved the hem back down and straightened. “These were caused by demon fire.”

  My mouth fell open. “I thought you said demon fire was only in the mind.”

  He shook his head. “Real demon fire affects each type of mythic in different ways. Witches and warlocks can use spells to help defend against it.” He grimaced. “But when your friends are under attack and your girlfriend is dead, trying to remember the right words….” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “I ran through the fire to try to save Zanie, but it was already too late.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He confirmed my suspicions and also my worst fears at the same time. “How else does it affect mythics?”

  He gaze was sad when he looked up at me.

  “I need to know,” I told him gently. “The safety of my team will depend on it.”

  He let out a breath and said, “Vampires will catch fire as if they’d bathed in kerosene. Their fear was well-placed even if Mercer wouldn’t admit it.” He leaned against the wall and stood his cane next to him. “It can block an empath’s abilities. Dara will have to touch you to help you, but she’ll feel the burning through you like she did tonight. Witches and warlocks like Lyris and Brack can lessen the effects with chants that I’ll teach them; Lyris already knows how to make salves to help with real burns. But if the fire touches them, it will do to them what it did to me.”

  “And me?” I asked. I had the feeling he was saving it for last for a reason; I just wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what that reason was.

  The professor studied his scarred hand. “What you did today showed an incredible amount of concentration, and you should be proud of that.” He closed his hand into a fist. “You were able to last through the pain until the end, which is commendable.”

  “But?” I said, feeling his hesitation and wishing to get it over with.

  He lowered his hand and looked at me. “But if at any time you lose that concentration and let the fear take over, the affects you saw would happen immediately. You would have lost your hand.”

  The knot in my stomach tightened into a fist. In my mind, I saw my charred fingers, the bones of my hand showing black through the light of the green flame. The melted flesh, the smell of cooking meat, and the sight of my skin peeling back like hair held in heat, set my teeth on edge.

  “The fear becomes real,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “I’m going to explain that to the team tomorrow night. They deserve to know what they’re getting into and the real dangers involved.”

  I sank down onto the step behind me. “You mean the dangers I got them into.”

  “They have a choice,” the professor reminded me.

  “And they’ve made the brave one, but if they get hurt, I’m still the one who brought them down here.”

  “What are you saying?” Briggs asked.

  I glanced up at him. “That I should have brought students I didn’t like.”

  He chuckled at my lame joke. “I figured having Vicken come would level the playing field a bit.”

  I shook my head. “How can having four members on our team that can burst into flames possibly be a benefit?”

  The professor tapped his cane on the step. “You’re assuming you’ve seen the only danger you’re going against.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” I replied wryly.

  Briggs waved his cane to indicate the stairs. “Ready to keep going?”

  I gave his leg a skeptical look. “Are you?”

  He gave a tight smile. “If demon fire didn’t keep me down, these blasted stairs won’t.”

  By the time we reached the main floor, I wondered if he was regretting his words. I had continued up when I realized he wasn’t behind me any longer. I looked back in time to see him slide up a small piece of wood along the wall.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making sure nobody is there to see us,” Briggs replied, still looking through the hole. “It’s imperative that these tunnels remain hidden.”

  “Tunnels, you mean plural?” I asked. “There’s more of them?”

  Briggs glanced up at me. “Of course there is. If you build a school for mythical students who can do practically anything imaginable, you’re going to want a way to keep an eye on them without being seen.”

  “Or get away from them without being seen,” I put in helpfully.

  “Exactly,” he replied with a chuckle. “You’re more perceptive than you look.”

  I fought back a laugh. “Thanks,” I said dryly.

  He slid the piece of wood back down, then flipped a latch at waist-level. The door, which was made of heavy wood and should have weighed a ton, turned easily on a pivot.

  I followed the professor through and found myself on the other side of the unicorn painting that occupied the far end of the entrance corridor.

  “That’s handy,” I said, pushing it closed. I gave the painting a skeptical look and realized it was a photograph that had been blown up. “Uh, someone you know?” I asked jokingly.

  “Definitely not,” Briggs replied as he limped up the hallway. “Unicorns tend to be a bit stabby.”

  As I followed him, I had to fight the sensation that I was caught in some weird dream. I was having a conversation with someone about a unic
orn, a real unicorn, and that someone knew unicorns enough to know that they stabbed things, or people, or warlocks. I wasn’t really sure which. I shook my head at the thought that reality was a lot stranger than any dream I had ever had.

  Alden pushed away from the wall near the entrance hall. “It’s about time you guys showed up.”

  “You were waiting for us?” I asked.

  He nodded. “We’re a team, remember? You might need my help out there.”

  “You’re not going.”

  Whatever I had been about to say left at Professor Briggs’ gruff words.

  I looked at Alden, then back at the professor. “Why can’t he come?”

  “He’s a Grim,” the professor replied as if that should have been obvious.

  Alden lowered his gaze to the ground, his expression hurt. “I just wanted to help,” he mumbled.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You can help. We’re a team.”

  “He’s not coming, and that’s final,” Briggs said, his tone resolute.

  “I understand,” Alden said. He turned away.

  “I don’t,” I pressed. “What am I missing?”

  “He’s a Grim, Finn. We’re going to see a ghost. Don’t you get it?” the professor asked. There was a strain to his tone as if I was trying to act dumb.

  My hands balled into fists in an effort to remain calm. I was tired of everyone assuming that things at the Academy were normal and I should know everything they do. I fought back the strange urge to growl and said with carefully spaced words, “Explain it to me.”

  There was a flicker in the professor’s dark gaze as if he just realized I was being honest. He glanced at Alden, who waited near the steps without looking at us.

  The professor sighed. “Alden is a Grim. That’s his last name and the occupation he will have once he graduates here; it also means that he was born with the innate skills that come from his heritage, just like you being a werewolf. Does that make sense?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “It would if I knew what being a Grim meant. You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  Professor Briggs shook his head. “It’s not a bad thing.”

  Alden turned to listen, his expression unreadable.

  The professor continued, “It’s just that Grims convey the spirits of the dead to whatever is after. Bringing Alden when I go talk to Zanie,” he said her name as if it was difficult, “Might mean I wouldn’t get to talk to her at all. I can’t risk that.”

  Alden spoke up. “That’s why I don’t keep roommates and most people avoid me. There are a lot of superstitions about Grims, but facts, also.” He shifted his gaze to the professor. “But I don’t do what my parents do yet.”

  Professor Briggs nodded. “Just the same, I would be more comfortable if you don’t go.”

  Alden nodded. “I understand.” He turned toward the stairs and said over his shoulder, “Maybe I’ll go see if I can help Lyris and Brack with their spells.”

  “That’s a great idea,” the professor agreed.

  When Alden’s footsteps faded up the stairs, I spoke up, “So Grims guide the spirits of people who died?” It was hard to understand what that meant.

  Briggs nodded. His voice was solemn when he replied, “It can’t be an easy job. I don’t envy him growing up to do that. I know some of the students are bitter towards him when he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t understand anyone resenting Alden. He was nice, quiet, and from what I had seen, he took great care not to bother anyone.

  Briggs looked at me as if I was missing something. “Most people have lost someone in their lives, especially mythics. I guess it’s easy to resent the person who took them away.”

  That made my heart tighten. I glanced at him, saying the words as the thought formed itself in my mind. “So the night of the accident, a Grim was there to take Sebastian?”

  I leaned against the wall where Alden had been, my thoughts going places I had refused to think about since I came to the Academy. Professor Briggs waited in silence.

  “That was the night I turned into a werewolf for the first time,” I said, thinking aloud to myself. I forgot the professor was even there. “If Sebastian hadn’t died, I could have gotten him out of the car with my brother. I wouldn’t have phased. Dad said it usually happens for the first time under stressful circumstances.” I shook my head. “Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all. Maybe Sebastian could have stayed alive. Maybe—”

  The professor interrupted the whirlwind of my thoughts. “Grims don’t take the living.”

  I glanced at him, surprised to see him standing there. “What?”

  He gave me a sad smile as if he understood my train of thought. “You’re going down a path that will lead you to blame the Grims for taking you friend, but they aren’t at fault. Death happens to us all, eventually.” He paused, then said, “Sometimes it’s nice to think that we don’t have to go through it alone.”

  I closed my eyes at the realization that I had just done as the rest of the students did, blaming the Grims when in fact it was my fault that Sebastian died. I was just as bad as the rest of them. My only solace came from the fact that Alden hadn’t been there to hear it.

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  “I don’t know what happened the night you phased for the first time,” Briggs said, his words gentle. “But you can’t undo the past. Trust me. I know. But it’s also alright to be sad. Your friend deserves the fact that you miss him. It honors his memory and the relationship you had before his death.” He let out a slow breath and lowered his hand before he said, “When we’re done, the best thing I can do is let Zanie move on. I just want to make sure I can learn why she’s here first.”

  I nodded. I needed a distraction, for any way to lighten the heaviness that rested on my shoulders. I glanced at the entrance to the hallway with the many doors. Strange letters had been carved into the frame on either side and along the top in a scrolling script.

  “What does that say?” I asked the professor.

  Professor Briggs gave a small nod as if he guessed what had caused me to change the topic of our conversation. “It’s elvish. One side says, ‘Growth is in the journey’ while the other says, ‘Follow the path of your heart’. The top means roughly ‘Enter and be changed’. I’ve always felt all three messages were a little much. The elves could have chosen just one.”

  “Real elves?” I asked as I followed him inside.

  “Yeah,” he replied over his shoulder. “What other kind is there?”

  I was going to go with no elves at all, which had been my world until I found out I was a werewolf, but the continued ignorance that kept tripping me up was getting annoying. I chose instead not to answer and reached the door at his side. He slid a key into the hole above the doorknob.

  “It needs a key?” I said in surprise.

  He glanced at me. “Of course. We can’t leave access to doors like this to just anyone. That would be dangerous.” He turned the key and I heard the bolt slide back.

  “I didn’t have a key.”

  He paused with his hand on the door. “So how did you get in?”

  I shrugged under his scrutiny. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I was sleepwalking the two times I entered by myself, and, um, someone else helped me in the other time.”

  If he guessed it was because of the beating I had taken, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he went with, “Sleepwalking, huh? I still don’t understand how you got through without a key.”

  “Me, neither,” I said, baffled.

  He pushed the door open. The scent of the forest flooded through, tangling around me. The sharp smell of evergreens warred with the tantalizing aroma of rich loam, brisk rivers, and flower-filled meadows.

  The moonlight fell on my feet. I stepped forward, longing for the healing embrace once more.

  “Hold on,” the professor said. He turned and pulled the door shut behind us.

  I barely heard him. The wolf within me had surged
at the touch of the moonlight. My strength was fading with my lack of sleep and holding my hand in the fire. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it back. The pain of fighting to stay human doubled me over.

  “Finn, you alright?” Briggs asked.

  I clenched my jaw and forced myself to stand. “Th-the wolf,” I said past my gritted teeth. “I’m too tired to fight back.”

  “Why fight it?” he asked in surprise.

  I leaned against the door and willed my breathing to slow. “It’s not me,” I said.

  “It may not have been you,” the professor replied. “But it’s you now. You’re a werewolf. Werewolves phase into wolves. That’s what you do.”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “I’m not an animal.”

  He watched me for a minute in silence. I kept my expression guarded to hide any show of the pain that was roiling inside me at fighting the phase.

  “You’re still you as a wolf,” he finally said. “The sooner you accept it, the easier you’ll fit in here.”

  I shook my head. “You and I both know I’ll never fit in here.”

  The pain dropped me to my knees. A groan escaped me as the phase took over. I heard a rip as my tee-shirt tore up the back. The pull of my bones shifting, my muscles elongating, my shoulders rolling, and my face changing shape made the pain from the beating fade to the background. I had one glimpse of Professor Briggs’ face. My shirt hung in tatters, my skin was stretching as it changed, and all of my bruises stood out in sharp contrast in the moonlight. His eyes widened, then he turned away.

  I let out a breath and gave into the phase. It went quicker, the fur growth, claws, and ears shaping more easily without me fighting. In the space of a minute that felt like an hour, I stood on four paws willing my heartbeat to slow and my breath to come in steadily. I stepped out of the remains of my pants and shook. It helped my muscles settle into the wolf form.

  The concerns of my human life became more of a background buzz than the forefront thoughts in my mind. Instead, I was aware of a cricket working its way through the grass near the door, I heard the breeze twisting and dancing through the leaves of the trees around us, and the feeling of the dirt beneath my feet beckoned me to run and enjoy the freedom of being unfettered by school. The fall of the moon on my back chased the last ache from my ribs.