Riley's Curse, A Moon's Glow Prequel

by Christina Smith

  Chapter Twelve

  A New Threat

  Thirty years later

  I killed again. I’ve resisted the urge for so long, I was sure I had conquered the cravings. But I was so busy yesterday with meetings, I didn’t eat properly and I forgot what day it was. How could I be so neglectful? After being so careful for the last thirty years, I cannot believe I made such a terrible mistake. I have to find a way to make up for my sins, or I'm not sure I can live with myself. The guilt I felt after the first time was a weight on my shoulders that never truly went away, and now, after so long, I've added to it.

  I lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling. The white paint was cracking along the corners. I heard a pigeon calling from outside my window and the sun shone bright in the sky, spilling though my curtains, but I didn’t want to get up. I intended to stay in my house and hide, to punish myself for what I did. I hid my face under my pillow, the scent of laundry soap was overpowering. I sometimes forgot about my heightened sense of smell.

  The sound of a motor outside my house alerted me. I still wasn’t used to the new method of transportation; I preferred my horse and buggy.

  Jumping up quickly, I looked in the mirror above the bureau to make sure there was no blood on my face or body. My sand colored hair was messy, but besides that all was well. I must have cleaned up when I arrived home. I dressed quickly and then went out to see who it was.

  I peered out of the small window, and saw a man climbing out of a blue motor car. He was a stranger to me. He looked to be a few years older, twenty two maybe. He had black, slicked back hair, and deep brown eyes. His sharp jaw line led up to a strange oval scar right below his left ear. He was shorter than my six one and dressed in brown trousers and a black bomber jacket. He leaned against the autocar and stared at my house, waiting. All of this registered quickly with my sharp eyesight as I assessed him, but there was something about him that bothered me.

  I opened the door and stepped out. “Can I help you?” I asked, walking out onto the porch.

  He smiled, or rather sneered. “Are you Nathaniel Riley?”

  “Yes, who’s asking?”

  “My name is Rowan. And I'm here to tell you that you are not the only one in this area. I just moved into town, and I’m in no hurry to leave. So if you have a problem with that, you can leave.” His tone was light but his words were nothing but. He was giving me a warning, I just didn't understand why.

  My brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand,” I said, leaning against the railing. The wind changed direction blowing his scent my way, and as soon as I caught it, I understood.

  He glared at me, his eyes turning yellow. He was like me, a werewolf.

  I nodded. “You don’t have to worry. I like to keep to myself, and I change as little as possible.”

  He laughed darkly. “Oh I’m not worried.” He folded his arms in front of him.

  “How did you know where I lived?”

  “I watched you kill that homeless man last night.”

  I panicked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stammered lifting my hands from the railing, and taking a step back.

  He laughed again. “I won’t tell anyone. I killed someone myself, after I followed you here. You know, you really should have caught my scent. Real werewolves don’t get caught off guard.”

  Did he think he was insulting me, by saying I wasn't a real werewolf? I only wished it were true. “I was upset. I didn’t mean to kill that poor man.”

  His arrogant smile faded. “Why not, didn’t he taste good?”

  I was disgusted at the callus way he spoke of killing a human being. “It’s wrong to take a life,” I said guiltily, hanging my head in shame.

  He laughed heartily, and then took in my serious expression. “You’re not joking?” he asked.

  “Of course not, I try not to kill. I’ve only killed two people in the thirty years since I changed.” I stepped back to the railing.

  He chuckled. “I guess I really don’t have to worry about you. I thought you might be a problem. It’s not usually a good idea for more than one werewolf to live in an area. It might draw attention if too many people start getting killed. But I guess I’m the only real werewolf here.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I repeated.

  He climbed into his vehicle. “See you around, Pup,” he yelled pulling away from my house. I had a bad feeling about him. I would have to be careful with him around.

  I had lived in this town for two years. My father asked me to move here. He had just opened a general store and wanted me to run it. The manager was a family member and knew my secret, but my father said he needed me to oversee everything since I had been in the business for over thirty years. He often found this funny considering I still looked eighteen. When I opened stores for him I always had to take on meaningless jobs as a cover. But we usually had a relative to run it so I could show them the ropes behind closed doors.

  My father had opened about ten Riley stores and his fortune was growing. They still lived in Creekford. My sister Rose was running the store there, and the ones closest. She was married and had three children. Mary was also married but stayed home with her family; her husband was the accountant for all of the stores. My father kept him very busy even though we were his only clients.

  My uncles and their sons ran the rest of the stores throughout the country. It was my job to open the new ones and train them. Once they were able to handle the business on their own I would move on. My father created the position for me since I could only stay in one place a few years at a time.

  My father put in every contract that only close relations could run the stores and they all had to keep my secret or they would be sued or fired. Most were told they would be taken out of my father's will if anyone found out what I was.

  I got along with everyone I worked with so there was never a problem.

  My younger brother William was running one of the stores two towns away from where I was now. I would be moving on soon so I enjoyed spending time with him for as long as I could. I was eighteen years older than him, but he looked more like my father than my little brother.

  After my visit with Rowan I watched the newspaper. There were no new deaths since the night I had killed. I did find the victim's name though, it was Tom Fielding. He had lost his job at the shipping yard, and had a drinking problem. His wife had kicked him out, and he had been living on the streets. His name haunted me for weeks. I could no longer handle the guilt so I decided to look for his wife.

  I found her in one of the poorer neighborhoods in the city. I stopped the horses outside a small house, and stared at the woman coming out of the front door. From my research this was the address of Mrs. Fielding. The house was poorly tended and in desperate need of a paint job. One of the second story windows was cracked; a piece of wood was fastened onto the frame to keep the whole window from breaking. The houses on either side were just as bad if not worse. One of the houses had garbage out on the stoop with a cat ripping into it looking for food. The smells in the neighborhood were so vile, that I regretted my heightened sense of smell.

  A little girl ran out and gave the woman who must be Mrs. Fielding, a big hug then ran back into the house, the door shut behind her with a loud bang.

  I nudged the horses to move out onto the street, I had seen enough. I found out that she had two other children besides the little girl and she worked two jobs just to put food on the table. I needed to help this woman; maybe then her husband's face would no longer haunt my dreams. I just wasn’t sure how to accomplish that yet.

  I continued to watch the paper for any unusual deaths, and it wasn't until a few weeks after Rowan appeared that I finally found something. It was an article about the rise of animal attacks. I knew he was behind them. My stomach turned as I read the story that confirmed four new deaths in town. The police didn’t know how to handle it.
They were searching for the animal, but of course they would never find it, since the real animal was human. I needed to find a way to stop him, because I knew the police couldn’t.

  The next night I decided to track him. I wandered through many different neighborhoods sniffing the air for his scent. It had been hours and still nothing. I had scoured almost all of the districts with no luck.

  Just as I was about to give up, I caught a whiff of his familiar scent. He was in an alleyway behind a tavern, and what I found shocked me.

  Rowan had a woman up against a wall leaning over her, whispering in her ear. She was whimpering and begging for him to stop. All of the scents of the alley assaulted me, garbage, urine, even the girl's fear. There was movement under a pile of rags near the door of a building, and I heard the rustling of rats and other small creatures.

  “Is there a problem here?” I asked, making my way towards them. The girl, I could see now, appeared to be about sixteen, her blond hair was dirty, and she was wearing ripped clothing. I guessed that she was a runway.

  She stared at me in relief. “Please help me. He’s going to hurt me.”

  Rowan glowered at me. “Go away,” he said, not concerned at all that I was there.

  “Let her go, Rowan,” I commanded, thankfully my voice sounded stronger than I felt.

  He pushed himself off the wall and focused on me, his almost black eyes turned yellow with contempt. The girl saw the change in his eye color and let out a gasp. Her face was full of fear, as she glanced from him to me. Since he had stepped away from her she was able to slip away, running around a dumpster, then out onto the street.

  Rowan watched her go with a shrug, and then turned to me, hatred clouding his face. “Who do you think you are? You are no match for me.”

  “You need to stop killing people. You are starting to attract attention to yourself.”

  “Nobody tells me what to do,” he said, slowly stalking me.

  “If you continue to kill recklessly, I will stop you.” My fists were clenched at my sides and I was prepared to fight.

  The sound of a motor chugged by on the road next to us. “That’s a joke right? I’m older, and stronger than you. What are you going to do about it?” He leaned against the dumpster with his arms folded in front of him. Not a care in the world. I was just a small nuisance to him, not truly a threat. And I admit his casualness intimidated me.

  “I’ll find a way.” My voice was not as strong as I wanted, but I got my point across. I turned my back on him, half expecting him to pounce, but nothing happened. As I turned the corner onto the street, I heard him laugh softly. Apparently, I wasn't as threatening as I had hoped. As I walked back to my horse and buggy, I knew he was right. I didn't have a violent bone in my human body, and I didn’t know how to stop him.

  The next day I had an idea of how I would help Tom Fielding’s wife. I asked the manager at the store to call her and offer her a job. It appeared that she had experience and was given a position that would help her move to a better neighborhood. I know it could never change what I did to her ex-husband, but helping her in this small way eased my guilt a bit.

  I spent the day with my cousin Daniel, discussing an idea I had after my visit to Tom Fielding's old neighborhood. Even though I had helped his wife, I still wanted to help others and I believed I had just the thing to do that. I wanted to open a house, where people of need could go for help. We didn't have the specifics yet, but I knew I was on the right path.

  During lunch, my father called the store to let me know he was coming for a visit. He was sixty-eight years old now, so I needed to visit with him while I could.

  I stopped on my way home to get his favorite meal.

  When I pulled into the driveway of my house, which was on the outskirts of town, I saw my father’s motor car sitting next to the porch. The white paint job shone in the sun's glow. He had just purchased it and was very proud. The sight of his brand new vehicle made me think that maybe I should embrace the new ways and purchase one. I stabled the horses and made my way into the house.

  “Hello, Father?” I yelled from the entryway. As soon as I shut the door and entered the living room, the smell of blood entered my nostrils awakening the wolf within. But my brain was suddenly panicked, what had happened to my father? I heard him moaning and rushed towards the sound.

  I found him lying on the wood floor behind the settee. He had been beaten severely. Both eyes were swollen shut, and starting to turn color. His lips were swollen as well and bleeding. Cuts and bruises were all over his face and hands, and his leg was twisted in an unnatural position. “Father, are you okay? Who did this to you?” I asked, kneeling over him, assessing his injuries. His regular scent of pipe tobacco was lost in the smell of blood.

  He whispered something, but even with my extra hearing I couldn’t understand him. I bent down closer. “A werewolf,” he whispered again. I sniffed the air hoping whoever did this left his scent. At first all I could smell was the blood, my father, and wood, but suddenly there it was, very faint. It was Rowan.

  I was responsible for this. I threatened him and he retaliated, by hurting my father.

  I picked him up into my arms, carrying him as he had carried me when I was a child. Then I took him out to his autocar hoping we could get to the hospital faster than my horse and buggy. He groaned with pain as I placed him inside. Cringing with guilt, I gently touched his hand trying to sooth him before closing the passenger door. His skin was cold, and clammy.

  I didn't really know what all the gadgets were for, but after touching a few buttons and nothing happened, I tried the key, next to the steering wheel and the motor purred to life. When I moved the wheel we turned. It wasn't as hard as I thought, and the drive was bumpy, but we arrived in no time. The ride was definitely quicker, and if I wasn’t so worried about my father I would have really enjoyed the drive. I had never been in a autocar before.

  At the hospital, the nurse took my father through a door telling me to stay and wait. I was so worried, I didn’t know if I could. What if his injuries were extensive? I would never forgive myself.

  I asked a nurse behind the desk to call my mother, and then sat down in an empty stale smelling waiting room, on an old plastic chair, staring out the window. It had started to rain since we’d arrived at the hospital. I watched the droplets scatter down the window pane, creating wavy lines all over the glass while I waited to hear news about my father.