The Worst Behaved Werewolf

by Gillian St. Kevern

  Julian’s chest twinged painfully. “I—” His brain stalled. “You’re going?” His voice cracked.

  Dian cocked an eyebrow at him. “You are young and have much to learn. Yet, for all that you turned my plans on their head, I did enjoy your company.” He reached inside his jacket, taking something from within. “I would not like you to think me insensible. A token of my regard.” He pressed the object into Julian’s hands.

  It was warm, damp, and quivered. Julian’s nose twitched, the strong smell of copper almost overwhelming. It looked like nothing so much as an illustration from Scott’s biology textbook. What had Dian given him?

  “Home.” The hunger in Dian’s voice was raw. He strode towards the canvas. As he stepped into it, his body flared with light. Julian winced, screwing his eyes shut against the burn. Dawson swore, dropping the canvas. They did not hear it hit the ground.

  The light faded. Julian peeped between his fingers. A few spots danced before his eyes. Dawson cautiously lowered his hands, but the canvas and Dian were not there. A handful of dried leaves drifted to the floor, but the cinnamon scent of Dian’s presence was fading fast.

  “He’s gone.” The loss in his own voice caught Julian by surprise.

  “And not a second too soon.” Dawson wiped his handkerchief across his brow, beaded with sweat. “Sorry, old chap, but I can’t help but feel that this is for the best.” He tugged at the end of his moustache and then placed a hesitant hand on Julian’s shoulder. “A very clever fellow once told me that a wild thing must be free. Dian, if nothing else, fits the description of a wild thing.”

  Julian forced himself to nod. His throat was so tight it hurt, and his eyes stung. “I suppose you’re right.” Dawson’s manner was far more stilted than usual. Surely he wasn’t—nervous? Of Julian?

  “Good show.” Dawson’s smile was relieved. “In time, well—you’ll see this very differently. Now, what was it he gave you?”

  Julian looked back down at the object he held. “I rather think this is his heart.”

  “His heart?” Dawson stared at the object.

  “Yes.” Julian didn’t recognise his voice, strained and high. “And it’s still beating.”

  25

  Dawson folded the heart in the brown paper he’d used to transport his canvas, tying it off with twine. “There. Perhaps I should keep hold of this for the time being. At least, until we can give it to your father.”

  Julian smiled briefly, curled up on the floor. Watching Dawson wrap the heart had taken the edge off his shock. “I’m all right now. I’ll take it.”

  “Sure? You’re still looking peaky.”

  Julian’s legs shook as he stood, but the moment passed. He held out his hand. “It’s my responsibility.”

  Dawson did not appear sorry to give the package to Julian. “If you change your mind, you only have to say so.”

  “Thank you.” Julian put the package into his jacket pocket. If the heart was still beating, he could not feel it through the paper. “I suppose we go to Nice now.”

  “Yes.” Dawson pulled his watch out of his vest. “We’ve missed our train, but there’s still the Blue train tonight. I shall be very pleased to see your father. I hope he can make sense of all of this.” He looked sideways at Julian. “You should have told me what you were planning.”

  Julian’s shoulders sagged. “It wasn’t planned exactly. Besides, you would have stopped me if you’d known.”

  “For good reason. Dian is gone and with him any chance of rescuing Scott and the others.”

  A stabbing pain went through Julian. He’d been too stunned by Dian’s rejection to grasp the enormity of their loss. Dawson was right. Dian had no reason to return. Tears pricked his eyes. “I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

  Dawson took his pipe out of his jacket but made no move to stuff it. “When you are fond of someone, you only see the best of them. Still, we must not give up hope, not until we’ve talked to your father.”

  Pip. He would be very glad to see his father again. “Let’s go.”

  As they emerged from the ballroom, Julian caught the murmur of voices. “Do you hear that?”

  “Sounds like we’re not alone.” Dawson waved Julian back to the door. “I’ll investigate.”

  Before Julian could move, a door opened. A handful of people filed into the room, looking around. Their faces were familiar. Julian had last seen them standing before the fairy cook, or refilling glasses at the long dining tables. Leading them was a tall woman, her brown hair streaked with grey.

  He ran to her. “Rosemary! I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “Julian?” Her eyes widened. “Where are we?”

  “Don’t you recognise it?” Julian waved to the house. “This is where the party was.”

  “But that’s in the mortal realm.” She gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Does this mean…we’re free?”

  The pain in his chest eased slightly. Maybe he’d been right to trust to Dian after all. “I think so.”

  As Rosemary turned to break the news to her companions, another door opened.

  “Open enough doors, and one of them is bound to lead somewhere eventually.” Scott stepped through the door and trailed to a halt. “What did I tell you?”

  His clothes were rumpled and in desperate need of freshening, but he looked exactly as Julian had seen him last, down to the self-satisfied grin on his face as he stepped aside, making way for a second figure to step through the doorway—a figure whose scowl tightened as he scanned the room, only lightening as it came to rest on Julian.

  He didn’t remember making the choice to run, but in a heartbeat he had flung his arms around Lord Cross. He breathed in the scent of cloves, starched handkerchiefs and soap, and felt Cross’s hand on his head.

  “Julian. I am very glad to see you.”

  “I’m very glad to see you, Other-Father.” Julian’s voice was muffled, face buried in Cross’s coat. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly. I feel as though I’ve woken up from a long, but not unpleasant dream.”

  That was interesting enough for Julian to raise his head. “Mr Scott too?”

  Scott was already across the room talking to Dawson. This time, he need not doubt how happy the artist was to see him. Dawson’s eyes shone, and he gripped Scott’s hand in a hold that indicated he had no intention of letting him go.

  “Scott’s fine,” Cross assured Julian. “Complained of missing breakfast, but otherwise unharmed. Didn’t believe me when I told him he’d been gone as long as he had.”

  “You were asleep,” Julian explained. “Dawson’s painting opened the way for the fair folk, but your dreams let them stay in our world despite the iron.”

  Cross nodded, tugging at his beard. “And these other people?”

  “Guests of the fair folk.”

  “They look utterly bewildered.”

  “That’s not surprising. Some of them have been gone centuries, if not longer.”

  Cross’s expression darkened. “No friends or family remaining who remember them, the world so different.” He watched the milling people, his gaze turning distant.

  Julian took Cross’s arm. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

  It took him a few minutes to find Rosemary. She was in the garden staring out the gate at the city beyond. She’d tied a scarf over her hair and started when Julian called her name.

  “Stupid, isn’t it,” she said as Cross and Julian drew near. “This is all I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. And now that I have freedom, I’m afraid.” She tensed as a carriage rattled past. “Nothing looks how I remember it. The clothes, the buildings… I am a stranger here, in my own world.”

  “A lot has changed in a hundred years,” Julian said politely. “Lord Cross, this is Rosemary. She doesn’t mind mentioning her age. Rosemary, this is my guardian, Lord Cross.”

  Cross snorted, even as he bowed. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Rosemary recoiled.
“A lord? I didn’t know. Any liberties I have taken—”

  “No apologies necessary,” Cross said. “From what Julian tells me, we owe you a great deal.”

  She smiled thinly, fingers twisting the cloth of her scarf. “I didn’t do much at all.”

  “You warned me,” Julian said. “And you saw at once what needed to be done to make my plan work.” He turned to Lord Cross. “Rosemary’s good at making plans, and she knows the fairy guests. She can tell you what the best way to help them is.”

  Cross cocked an eyebrow. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “You had your ‘Lord of Foxwood Court’ expression on. The one you wear when talking to the agent.” Julian tugged at his sleeves. “Was I wrong?”

  “No. I would very much like to be of service to those caught out of time by the fair folk. If Miss Rosemary would give me the benefit of her experience, I would be greatly indebted.” Cross bowed. “Will you introduce me to your companions?”

  Rosemary looked unsure, but she nodded. “Come this way, Lord Cross.” They walked back towards the house.

  Julian stayed behind in the garden. There was a lot of work ahead before Rosemary and her companions could feel they were truly home, but with Cross on their side, they would be provided for. Of that he had no doubt. For now… Julian shut his eyes, feeling the afternoon breeze chill his face. He breathed in deeply, feeling the December air fill his lungs.

  His chest was full to bursting, happy and sad at the same time. Not even the pleasure of having Cross and Scott restored could entirely assuage the sting of Dian’s abrupt farewell. Julian’s mouth twisted. Had he really advised having feelings? He would not do that again.

  Outside in the street, wheels and hooves clattered to a stop. His other self pricked his ears out of habit. Julian, absorbed in melancholy, didn’t do more than note the sound of boots on the footpath. Easy for Dawson to say this would pass! He had Scott. Julian was alone—

  A familiar scent teased his nose. Julian breathed in warmth, belonging, and home. He looked up.

  Pip, wrapped in a scarf two sizes too big for him and with a travelling rug draped over the arm of his coat, stepped through the gate. His face was pinched with worry, but as he caught sight of Julian, the lines on his forehead eased. He dropped the rug and held out his hands.

  Julian cannoned into him without a second thought. “Father!”

  “Easy, Julian.” Pip stroked his hair. “I do need my ribs, you know.”

  Julian nuzzled his father. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Clearly someone needs to be here to supervise you and Thomas.” Pip’s arms settled around Julian. “Speaking of…?”

  “Inside,” Julian said. “Organising.”

  “Naturally.” Pip’s tone was fond. “I have missed you.”

  Julian felt something inside him settle. For this moment at least, he and his other self were in perfect harmony. “Father, I’ve got something important to tell you.” He took a deep breath, summoning his courage. “I’m not very good at behaving like a gentleman.”

  Pip’s laugh was pure relief. “That’s all right, Julian. Neither am I.”

  epilogue

  Pip eased the door of the hotel drawing room shut behind him. “Asleep,” he announced. “All tangled up in his nest of blankets.”

  Cross folded up his newspaper and put it aside. “About time. I did not think he would ever let you go.”

  “You cannot fault Julian for affection.” Pip took his usual place on the sofa.

  “He missed you greatly.” Cross walked to the table where the tea things stood ready.

  Pip watched him measure tea leaves into the pot. “Thomas, you don’t have to. My health is much improved.”

  “I want to.” Cross applied himself to making the tea with the same concentration he gave his business affairs. As he poured hot water into the tea pot, he cleared his throat. “Julian was under the impression that if he failed to keep his lycanthrope nature a secret, we would send him away.”

  Pip looked up sharply. “What on earth made him think we’d do that?”

  “Boarding school. He thought he was being punished for not behaving as a child should.”

  Pip worried his lip. “I hope you dissuaded him of that notion.”

  “I did my best.” Cross poured two cups of tea. “I propose we have another conversation with him on the subject…and on that of your hobbies.”

  Pip took his cup of tea with a rueful grimace. “I did what I thought was best.”

  “I’m not suggesting otherwise. But it strikes me that a child as unique as Julian would benefit from examples of decorum that are outside the usual.”

  Pip raised both his eyebrows. “I do not know what you are implying.”

  Cross snorted, taking the second cup of tea and sitting beside Pip on the sofa. “Don’t you?”

  “No. And I would appreciate—”

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted them. Scott stuck his head around the door. “Lord Cross, Mr Leighton. May I have a moment?”

  “Certainly.” Cross indicated an armchair. “Care to join us for a cup of tea?”

  Scott remained standing. “No thank you. This is not a pleasant task. I’ve come to give my notice.”

  “Give notice, Mr Scott?” Cross repeated.

  Scott nodded. “Effective immediately.”

  “This is most irregular.” Cross stirred his tea. “The contract you signed indicated a period of two weeks—”

  “I’ll take wages in lieu. Or not at all.” Scott waved a hand. “But I can’t stay.”

  “Julian’s not that bad a pupil,” Pip protested. “And the events of the last week are unusual. It’s very unfair to judge him—”

  “It’s nothing to do with Julian.” Scott turned to Pip. “Or yourself or Lord Cross. As employers go, I have been remarkably fortunate.”

  “Then may we know why?” Cross said.

  “Time,” Scott said simply. “With Lord Dian returned to his realm, I can no longer count on having as much of it as I need. If I have a limited span of days, I want to spend those in the company of those dearest to me.”

  “Referring to Mr Dawson?” Pip hazarded.

  “Frank is a good friend,” Scott said. “And he has been through hell. I want to support him, and I can’t do that on two weeks holiday a year and an afternoon off every other week.”

  “A worthy sentiment,” Cross announced. “But I cannot accept your resignation.”

  Scott looked up sharply. “You can’t reject it. I’ll walk off the job.”

  “And be in breach of your contract?”

  Scott clenched his fists. “If I must.”

  “Very well, Mr Scott.” Cross picked up his cup of tea. “If you still feel as strongly on the matter tomorrow then I will accept your resignation.”

  Scott drew himself up. “Nothing that could occur between now and then could change my mind.”

  “A pity. We will miss you at Foxwood. I was counting on your company for Julian’s new drawing teacher.”

  Scott stared at him. “Drawing teacher?”

  Pip hid his smile behind his cup of tea.

  “Mr Dawson has favoured me by accepting the position,” Cross said blandly. “He indicated a desire to start as soon as possible. I was going to suggest that we take a break from lessons tomorrow that you might assist him wrapping up loose ends, but of course, if you have tendered your resignation—”

  “I’ve reconsidered.”

  “I am delighted to hear that. Was there anything else, Mr Scott?”

  “No,” Scott said faintly. “No, that was all.” He backed out of the room and shut the door.

  “Thomas,” Pip said at once. “You mustn’t tease people like that.”

  “Tease? Who is teasing?”

  Keeping a straight face was impossible, so Pip applied himself to his tea instead. “You’re incorrigible. Which reminds me—my books.”

  “Rather fortunate that they were left behind in Pa
ris,” Cross said. “We would have been in difficulty otherwise.”

  “I don’t know if I would describe a renewed acquaintance with the works of Cicero as fortunate—but that’s not what I’m curious about.” He narrowed his eyes at Cross. “How did a box that was in Julian’s room get mistaken for a box that was in mine?”

  “Accidents happen.”

  “This was no accident,” Pip said. “Admit it. You did that on purpose.”

  Cross shrugged. “It occurred to me that Julian’s current reading material was somewhat lacking…”

  “What about my reading material?”

  “You were supposed to be resting. What is more conducive to sleep than a Roman orator?”

  Another knock at the door. Rosemary entered, dressed in a modern dress of a simple cut. She’d replaced her scarf with a bonnet she had not removed despite the fact she was indoors. “Forgive me for calling so late, Lord Cross. You wanted my report as quickly as possible.”

  “Thank you.” Cross took the report and scanned it. “A request for a loom?”

  “You’ve found trades for the men,” Rosemary said. “Why shouldn’t a woman support herself?”

  “A fair point, though I fancy that the loom is a thing of the past. We shall arrange an apprenticeship with a milliner.” Cross closed the register. “I will make a note of your figures for my records. Mr Leighton will entertain you.”

  Rosemary smiled thinly and nodded. She refused the chair offered her but took a cup of tea.

  “You’re quite decided you won’t remain in Paris?” Pip asked. “You’ve been a great help to your fellows. They will be sorry to see you go.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Rosemary said. “Especially with all the arrangements Lord Cross has made for their wellbeing. Paris is pleasant, but I won’t rest until I’m back home.” Her mouth twisted. “Or to whatever’s left of it.”

  Pip studied her. Rosemary snapped if asked anything that might be construed as personal. She’d spent a considerable amount of time investigating possible careers for her fellow travellers but had not asked for a single thing for herself besides the bonnet. Julian had been deployed to tactfully ascertain her plans and returned only with the information that she was returning to England as soon as she could raise funds for her fare.