by M. V. Stott
Rita screamed.
She could feel it.
Feel the beast within her.
The dark magic manifesting, pushing aside her sense of self, her memories, her everything. Pushing it under the black water and drowning it. Silencing it.
‘Please!’ she yelled. ‘It’s coming, it’s coming!’
‘Beast, hear me!’ screamed Bob. ‘I am your master, now. Not the moon, not the one who gave you life, just me!’
Rita felt her skin ripple. At any moment it would tear open and the wolf would start to push its way out.
Too late.
Too late.
It was over.
The exorcism had failed.
Rita wanted to cry, but was in too much pain.
So she whimpered.
But the whimper began to turn into a feral growl. The wolf was almost out. And the things in the shadows crowed and clapped and cheered.
Rita could not see the moon from inside the flat, but she could feel it. She could hear it. It called to her, to what was inside her.
It was too late.
‘Dog, you are mine!’
She heard Bob say the words, just barely, and wondered why he was still fighting.
But Bob had not failed. Had not lost. Not yet.
He picked up the drill, kissed it, touched it to his forehead, spoke a single word that she could not hear, and then thrust the sharp end directly into her chest.
Rita howled. It didn’t sound like her. It was the monster.
Bob began to turn the drill, Rita’s flesh ripping beneath it, her rib cage cracking.
‘Out! I cast you out!’
The drill glowed, tendrils of red washing around it as he drilled deeper and deeper. Finally—his face dripping with sweat—he yanked the drill free and threw it aside. The tool skittered away across the floor boards, leaving a bloody trail behind it. ‘You no longer belong. You are of the dark and I send you back there.’
It was too late. Rita knew it. Could feel her teeth starting to itch, to change. Why was he still trying?
Bob stuck his fingers into the gaping wound he’d created and pulled something out of Rita’s chest. It was alive. It writhed and shook, it was bone and teeth and dark fur, and it screamed, tried to cling to her insides, but it was no use. Bob pulled it free and threw it into one black corner of the room, where the unseen things caught it, tore at it, feasted upon it.
Rita could no longer hear the moon. Could no longer feel the wolf trying to suffocate her. Trying to rip its way out of her.
‘It’s done,’ said Bob, and he clapped his hands together. The unnatural dark lifted and the unseen things were gone.
The curse was lifted.
Rita tried to open her mouth to thank him, but instead she saw static and fell unconscious.
27
Tina was the first to feel it.
She’d felt off ever since the party the previous night. The spiked drinks. That’s what everyone thought. Some sort of group hallucination. It could happen, Brian said he’d read about it. The other option was absurd; some strange woman with big teeth biting them all, because firstly, that was make-believe. That was something that happened in a film, not in Blackpool. Secondly, none of them had any bite marks. Not even a bruise where they remembered being bitten. No, all they had was a rotten hangover.
John reckoned some member of staff with a grudge had done it. Maybe getting back at their boss, a little fuck you before leaving. Had to be something like that. Had to be.
Tina touched the place she remembered the woman with the piercing blue eyes sinking her teeth into. No mark, no wound. A little tender to the touch, perhaps, but what did that prove?
Tina’s friend Marion was scared. It was getting dark and she couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop the fist in her stomach from tightening with each passing minute. Marion remembered the woman with the blue eyes. The one they all agreed they’d imagined. But Marion had spoken to her. Had sat down and shared words. That didn’t feel like she’d just imagined it. She’d been there. The woman with blue eyes had been there, surely. But just like Tina, and Brian, and all the rest. Yet there was no bite mark on her skin. She looked in the mirror again, touching the wound that wasn’t there, remembering how it felt as the blue-eyed woman’s teeth had torn into her flesh.
Brian could hear the moon. He tried to ignore it. The aftereffects of whatever had spiked their drinks, that was all. Must be. Just like the hangover that seemed to be getting worse as the day went on. A hundred times worse, the darker it got. Brian could hear the moon. Tina was upstairs. She’d crawled off to bed early, and Brian didn’t want to disturb her. Anyway, he wanted to hear what the moon had to say.
His muscles aching, Brian got up off the floor. He’d been curled in a ball, trembling, sweating, for the past hour, but he couldn’t ignore the moon any more. So he ignored his complaining body instead, ignored the fearful voice in his head, and he made his way stiffly over to the window. ‘I can hear you,’ he said, his voice hushed.
The moon was full. Brian opened the window a little. He wanted to hear more clearly what the moon had to say.
What it had to say was this: Now. Now. You are born. Run. Feed. Be glorious.
There had been twenty people at Tina’s party, plus four members of staff.
They were scattered in homes all across Blackpool, and all of them could hear the moon, now. They hadn’t realised it could speak before, but now they did.
Magda could feel them all. All of her children. She stood in the street, looking up at the full moon she had demanded, and basked in its glow. It warmed her, caressed her, made her strong.
One by one, a new voice, a new vision, was available to Magda. Each of the turned were falling to the floor, were screaming. It was such beautiful music. She could see what they saw, now they had become for the first time. They were part of her now, they were family. And they were just the first.
She went from wolf to wolf in her mind, speaking to them, soothing them, making sure they weren’t scared, that they knew how special they were and that she loved them very much. Would care for them, lead them, feed them, protect them.
One was missing.
Magda frowned. Could it be that she was resisting her somehow? Magda searched again, washing around all of her wolves, but no. Rita wasn’t there. A tear formed in the corner of Magda’s eye and raced down her cheek. She had lost her. A death in the family.
Not to worry.
She would be remembered. Even as she had somehow thrown off Magda’s gift to her, she would be remembered. Magda carried all of her turned ones in her heart.
She pushed the sadness aside, wiped the damp trail from her cheek, and smiled.
The pack was on its way to her.
Tonight they would run free.
Tonight they would be alive.
Tonight they would not hide, fear, or be ashamed of what they were.
For a short while, it wasn’t alone. It could hear something weak called Ben Turner screaming, thinking, shaking, but it was strong and it pushed Ben Turner away until it could no longer hear him.
The moon.
The moon.
The moon.
It called to it.
I hear you, it thought, and it howled, throwing its big head back and opening its mouth wide to inhale air into its powerful lungs before unleashing its freedom call.
It paced the room it was in. No windows, no way to see outside, no way to see the moon.
Stone floor, walls, roof, a couch, a locked door.
It threw itself in a blind fury against the door, desperate to leave, to go outside, to feel the moon warming its fur, to run with the others. But the door held strong.
It whimpered and tried again, again, again, until it could taste its own blood on its big, sharp teeth.
Why was it being kept like this? Wanted to, needed to, had to run free and wild and eat, eat, eat.
Its ears pricked up as it caught its breath, readying
itself for another attack on the door, as new sounds could be heard beyond.
Crashing.
Screams.
Cries.
Howls!
Its tail wagged and it paced in excited circles.
‘It’s okay,’ said the voice of its master in its head, ‘Calm down, free soon.’
More noise, chaos beyond, and then a click and a clunk and the door opened to reveal a woman. A woman it knew, loved, would do anything for.
‘Hello,’ she said, then threw back her head and howled. It howled in reply, then ran to her, nuzzling its head against her, enjoying the feel of her hands stroking its fur.
‘They kept you locked in here like you were worthless,’ said its master. ‘You are beautiful.’
Others like it surged into the room and there was blood upon their fur. Not their blood, the blood of others.
‘Come on,’ said its master, ‘night is here. Our time. Let us go and greet the moon.’
It had taken Rita almost two hours before she’d recovered enough to leave Bob the exorcist’s hovel of a home. Formby had been so concerned by her weakened, shaky state that he’d shared some of the food he’d liberated from Bob’s shopping.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ asked Formby, as Rita pulled the car to a stop next to the blind alley that lead to Big Pins.
‘Yeah,’ she said, but the truth was she was badly shaken. She put a hand to the place Bob had used the drill upon. It was tender and had left a cold, deep ache in her chest, but the hole had knitted back together thanks to some more potion and secret words. She’d rarely been more terrified in her life. She thought she was done, for sure. That it was all too late, that the wolf was upon her and every full moon from then on she was going to have to go through the terrifying, agonising process of changing. Of being submerged, pushed aside so a monster could take over.
It didn’t take long to realise something bad had gone down in their absence. The front door of Big Pins had been turned to splinters. Formby slid back behind Rita as she removed the axe from her belt and slowly stepped inside, the magic-dampening bubble parting around her as she stepped inside.
Big Pins was a mess. Tables and chairs broken, windows shattered, glass shards littering the place, blood splatters everywhere. The place seemed empty of the living, but there were a few ripped-up corpses scattered around, one of which belonged to Tusk, the green-skinned monster she’d tangled with a while back.
‘Holy shit,’ said Rita, slowly taking it all in. Then a terrible thought struck home, ‘Ben...’
Rita raced across Big Pins and past the bar, taking the door that lead down to the basement. The door to the room Ben had been locked in for the night lay wide open.
‘Ben? Are you down there?’ Rita wondered why she’d even asked. It was a full moon – if Ben was down there then he wasn’t Ben anymore and she was in deep trouble.
She stepped into the basement, but the only person she found was Linton, sat on the couch, stitching up a wound on his stomach.
‘Linton, are you okay?’
Linton looked up at her and frowned, then nodded, ‘Mostly. I’m a tough bastard.’
‘What happened? Was it Ben?’
‘No. Others came. The woman you’ve been looking for, and a pack of werewolves at her side. They came here, ripped through the place and set your man free.’
Rita remembered Magda saying she was connected to those she’d turned. She knew where Ben was because Ben knew where he was, so she came to collect him.
‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit!’
‘Mm,’ replied Linton.
‘Wait, why didn’t the magic dampening bubble thingy help?’
‘Help what?’ said Linton. ‘Different kind of magic. Not controllable by anything. But you already felt that, yes?’
Yes, Rita had felt the wildness of the lycanthropy magic. It could not be tamed, even with the axe she wielded. An artefact of Heaven.
Rita checked her watch; it was a little after midnight.
‘Okay. So Magda and her doggies of death have hours to run riot through Blackpool. That’s a cheery thought.’ She tried not to think about how many more deaths Ben might have on his conscience by the time the sun rose again.
‘What to do?’ asked Formby.
‘Well,’ replied Linton, standing, his wound now stitched up, ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to clean up my bowling alley.’
‘Right, thanks for the help,’ said Rita as Linton left them. ‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas, Moley Molerson?’
Formby frowned. ‘Perhaps a bite to eat, then consider all options.’
‘Great. Brilliant idea.’
Formby grinned.
‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘Hm. So, do we eat or not eat?’
Rita sighed and slumped on the couch, head in her hands. ‘I don’t know what to do, Formby. They’re out there and I can’t stop them. I can’t use this stupid axe because it can’t control the magic, it’ll just infect me again. We’re screwed.’
Just as Rita was feeling sorry for herself—sorry for Ben and those he would encounter through the night—the last thing she expected to happen, happened.
‘Rita.’
Rita’s heart skipped. She knew that voice. She looked up to see a third figure was now sharing Big Pins basement with herself and Formby. A figure she knew all too well. A figure who had been murdered a few days previously.
‘Hey, Waters,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ replied Dan Waterson, and then he ran at her and stepped into her body.
28
The wizards were worried.
Actually, that was a severe understatement. They were terrified.
The moon was full again. Had been forced to rise full. Just there, just in Blackpool. Such powerful magic, magic beyond the capabilities of any in the area.
‘Something must be done!’ said one.
‘What? What can be done?’ asked another.
The previous time, the spell had faltered—a test run, they assumed—but this time, this night, they could all feel it. Could feel the magnitude of the spell. Of the Uncanny disruption to the natural order. This night, the moon would stay full and the wolves would run amok.
Bullets of panicked conversation ricocheted about the Wizards’ Chamber.
‘Has he answered?’
‘You know L’Merrier, he answers in his own time.’
‘Push him!’
‘He must see the pattern. Must see how she is building.’
‘He’ll have to face her eventually if she is not stopped here.’
The cave echoed with fears, with fury, with questions but no real answers. The Chamber had rarely been so full. Two dead wizards, the master werewolf with magic in their home, they were all at risk. They needed a wizard of L’Merrier’s magnitude to deal with a situation this dire. A master werewolf without magic, as they should be? Any one of them could have dealt with such vermin, but this? This woman? This woman engendered only fear and doubt.
‘We should form a union.’
‘A union?’
‘All of us should connect, become one, we could best her then.’
‘A union has not been attempted in five hundred years. It is far too dangerous. Far too difficult to control.’
‘It almost punched a hole in reality the last time it was tried. It cannot be risked again.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
They all felt it, a sudden cold that caused the skin to prickle. They turned to see they had unwelcome guests.
‘So this is where you hide,’ said Magda, her wolf pack at her side.
But no! This could not be. The cave was impenetrable. It had no entrance, had no exit. Chaos erupted as the wizards attempted to flee. Magda and her family did not try to stop them. The wolves remained still as Magda slowly circled the chamber, taking the place in.
‘He showed me, the one who is sometimes Ben. He visited here and began to change, and I saw you all. Saw t
his place.’
The wizards were in a panic; they could not leave. Again and again they said the words, their own exit pass, but when they stepped forward they were rebuffed. Try as they might, the chamber would not allow them to leave.
‘What have you done?’ begged Ulner, the wizard in the blue, snug suit who had brought Ben into their sacred meeting place, unaware of what lurked within him.
‘What have I done?’ Magda replied. ‘I have done the impossible. I have become a master werewolf with a greater grasp upon magic than any of you, and I have told this place not to let you leave.’
‘Outrageous!’ screamed the tiny wizard in the high-collared robe. He lifted the golden staff he held in one hand and pointed it at her. The end of the staff swarmed with orange light, orange light that blasted towards Magda.
Magda did not leap out of the way. Did not cower behind her arms and whimper. Did not even blink. The orange light, the burning spell summoned to reduce her to ash, paused a foot from her face, then turned back, back towards the tiny wizard, who then became an even tinier pile of grey ash.
The other wizards stepped back, reconsidering any rush to attack.
‘You defile this place,’ said Ulner.
‘Yes. I do.’
The wolves began to growl, baring their jagged teeth, drool dripping on to the ground beneath their huge paws.
‘You and your kind, you have called us vermin for centuries. People like me. My family. You have hunted and killed and thought it good.’ Magda turned her back on the gathered wizards, showing how little she feared them, how contemptuous she was of them, and nuzzled with her hand the chin of the wolf that was once Ben Turner.
‘What is it you want?’ asked Ulner. ‘No wizard in this place has hunted your kind, I can promise you that.’
Magda did not turn back to them. ‘I don’t care.’
‘What do you want?’
Magda thought about her dead mother, laid out in their bathroom. Murdered. Slaughtered like a rat. She wondered just where her father’s body had been left.
‘I want only one thing,’ replied Magda, ‘one simple, small thing. An end to all wizards; for you to run in fear like my kind have done for centuries. To feast on your magic as my wolves feast on your bones.’