Only the Moon Howls

by Connie Senior

  She repeated the sound, this time with a note of interrogation: she was asking whether she should give the shake of her powerful neck that would kill Vlad. Looking around at his enemy’s gashed and whimpering minions, cowering back at the fall of their leader, Caleb called her off.

  They flanked Vlad then, growling low in their throats, letting him know that next time he wouldn’t get off that easily. The scraggly black wolf shook himself, rounded up his followers, and fled.

  The Fives sat down to lick each other’s wounds and finish eating their fish. But they’d scarcely settled in when their rivals were back, sneaking up through a grove of aspen.

  The fight went on till dawn. Vlad had noticed Lupeni’s inexperience with rear attacks, but Lupeni caught on quickly and managed to give Vlad a nasty chomp in the hamstring. They may have been outnumbered, but the Fives were strong and healthy, and only single-minded determination made Vlad drive his exhausted allies into the fray time and time again.

  As the sky began to lighten, Caleb led his pack back towards Grigore’s cottage. He didn’t want them to be stranded and hurt when they transformed back—but Vlad was relentless. The Sixes continued to attack all the way, nipping at their heels, lunging for their shoulders.

  Dawn came at last. The Fives had prevailed, and Caleb watched the Sixes trudge away through the trees, limping and miserable. He quickly turned his attention to his own pack, glad that he’d spent the week stocking up on healing herbs and potions.

  “Is everybody OK?” he asked, before even taking stock of his own injuries.

  There was a chorus of “yes”es; the Fives seemed almost proud of their wounds, their fight, their victory. Caleb went to the shelf for potions, thinking how lucky he was to have werewolves for patients. No matter how terrible they looked now, he knew from experience that they’d be up running around by the next day.

  “Who needs a poultice?” he asked, carrying the flask of potion over to the hearth where Liszka had started a blazing fire. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

  Grigore held out his arm. “Here, I got bitten.”

  “Me too,” Liszka admitted, pulling the blanket she was wrapped in off her shoulder.

  Caleb cast a look over at Bela. He was nodding off to sleep in front of the fire, seemingly unhurt. Maybe Liszka was right; for an animal, he was almost fully grown. She was right an awful lot. “Do you think we’ll see them again?” he asked, applying the potion to the teeth marks over her shoulder blade and neck.

  “No,” she declared firmly, “they’re no match for us.”

  She gasped slightly as the poultice entered her wound, then interrupted Caleb’s sigh of relief with a scowl. “But don’t think you’ve seen the last of Vlad. I’ve known him since I was ten years old, and all that time I’ve been waiting for the chance to kill him.”

  There was no anger in her voice, for she had asked Caleb’s opinion and followed it willingly. She just sounded slightly wistful, and he had to ask himself yet again whether he had done the right thing.

  Book IV

  23. Interview with a Vampire

  The day had been hot, unusually hot for July in the mountains, but after sunset, the air turned cool. Vlad enjoyed the breeze, which made the leaves of the tall aspen around him whisper softly. That was about the only thing he enjoyed as he limped down the dusty road to Catunescu in the darkness of the new moon.

  Vampires like the new moon; werewolves do not.

  Vlad was going to meet a vampire and was feeling none too pleased.

  After the rout of his pack by the Fives two weeks earlier, Vlad had become increasingly desperate to rid the local mountains of Lupeni. None of the members of his own pack understood. They had taken to avoiding the subject when they met him. In fact, he suspected that the other Sixes had been avoiding him altogether since the full moon, but he didn’t care.

  As the moon waned, he searched the mountains for a vampire, any vampire. The vampire he finally found, sleeping in the loft of an abandoned barn, had been quite surprised that a werewolf would seek him. The surprise turned to shock, however, when the vampire heard Vlad’s request to set up a meeting with the most powerful vampire in the region.

  The meeting had been arranged, relayed through the vampire-intermediary, for the spot where Vlad had first met Cuza. At the new moon. Vlad had no say in time or place, and was forced to make a twenty-mile journey on foot on his least favorite day of the month.

  Still favoring one leg because of a bite that was slow to heal, Vlad came in sight of the little church in the deserted village of Catunescu. The building loomed suddenly, a luminous white monolith like the face of a corpse. Its tall roof towered above the decrepit houses of the village, although the cross that once adorned the very top had fallen off. More of the building had crumbled since Vlad had last come this way, he noticed as he approached the large wooden door. Ever since his chance meeting with the vampire fifty months before, he had avoided the ruined church. Now desperation drove him here.

  Vlad grimaced to recall that he had barely survived his first meeting with Cuza, but he knew tonight that he had information that the old vampire wanted—enough for a trade, he hoped. He carried a wooden stake in his pocket just in case he needed it, because he intended to survive this meeting, too.

  The door itself was shattered, hanging open. Vlad pushed the remnants aside and stepped into the dark interior. The cloudless night gave only starlight for illumination, so he paused just inside the door to light a small torch of wood and pitch. The yellow, smoky flame provided a small circle of light, showing the jumble of broken benches near the door and the deep shadows of the ruined altar at the far end. He stayed close to the door, not willing to venture further inside.

  Overpowered by a sudden gust of air, his torch went out and the church filled with a gravid darkness. He swore loudly and threw the useless torch down, just as he heard crisp footfalls approach. A looming figure materialized before his face, the features dark and unrecognizable, the very negation of light. But Vlad recognized the voice; a lifetime would not be enough to forget that steely drawl.

  “Well, the dog has returned,” said the voice of the vampire. Vlad could picture the sneering face, but could not see anything except the outline of a head at about his own height.

  “You will excuse my preference for darkness,” Cuza said, drawing to within several feet of the werewolf. “I would not like to call too much attention to this meeting. Certain individuals seem bent on finding me, and I have no desire to be found.”

  As Vlad’s eyes adjusted, he could make out the pale, angular face and the dark sockets that held terrible, empty eyes. He felt grateful that he did not look upon the eyes of the vampire directly. Somehow this enabled Vlad to retain his courage, enough to say, “Yeah, maybe they’ll catch you one of these days, you rotting corpse.”

  “Mmmm. I see that your manners have not improved since our last meeting,” said Cuza in a soft, nearly pleasant tone as he circled around the werewolf. “But you are hunted yourself, are you not? I saw you limp as you came in. A dogfight, perhaps?”

  Vlad said nothing, holding his temper, remembering why he had come.

  “You came because you need my help,” Cuza whispered harshly at Vlad’s back, “but I do not wish to involve myself in wolf business. Do you have something of interest to me?”

  “Yeah,” Vlad replied stiffly. “You said you wanted to know who lives in the castle. Well, I can help you on that score.”

  “Indeed?” laughed the vampire, continuing his circuit and returning to face Vlad. “You knew something even four years ago, didn’t you? Now it is worth your while to tell me. Why is that?”

  “He lives in the castle,” Vlad began. “A werewolf, I mean.”

  “Make yourself clear, dog,” snapped Cuza. “You ask me to believe that a werewolf lives in Castle Arghezi?”

  “He’s not like the rest of us,” countered Vlad. “He’s foreign, from America. He’s been at the castle for, um, sixty-one months.”

/>   “Does this mysterious American werewolf have a name?”

  “Lupeni. That’s what we call him,” Vlad said weakly, then continued, “I don’t know what his real name is.”

  “A rival of yours, this Lupeni?” asked the vampire curiously.

  “Bastard,” spat Vlad. Cuza chuckled softly and came closer, within a foot of the werewolf, who stiffened but held his ground.

  “I see how it is,” mused the vampire. “Now, what else can you tell me about the castle? Others live there, yes?”

  “Yeah. Two other wizards, I think. One goes down to Stilpescu sometimes. I’ve never seen the other one.”

  “Foreign wizards, like this Lupeni?”

  “I don’t think so.” Vlad shook his head stiffly. “The guy who comes down to the village, he talks like he’s from around here.”

  “But you have never been to the castle, have you?” Cuza asked shortly. “Your information is of little use to me, dog. I already know that there are several wizards living at the castle. Why should I care that one of them is a dog like you?”

  The vampire bared its teeth at him. Even in the dim starlight trickling through the door, Vlad could see the expression of disgust on the waxy, Undead face. Vlad licked his lips nervously, fingering the stake in his pocket.

  “He’s a vampire-killer,” he blurted out. “Maybe they all are. Grigore’s seen him kill a vampire.”

  “Ah. This begins to interest me. Who is this Grigore of whom you speak?”

  “A werewolf,” continued the nervous Vlad, “in Lupeni’s pack, but I talk to him sometimes. He tells me things because he’s not very happy. With Lupeni, I mean. He’s been inside the castle and last month he was with him when he killed a vampire at the Petrosna caves. Grigore watched the body being burned.”

  “Emil! I—” Cuza broke off angrily and took several sharp steps, pacing behind Vlad who turned to stare at the vampire, satisfied that his information had unsettled him and seemed especially valuable.

  “At the Petrosna caves, you say?” muttered the vampire. He vampire returned to face the werewolf, an undercurrent of anger now present in every word.

  “Can you get into the castle?” he snapped.

  “N-n-no,” faltered Vlad. “Grigore told me there’s more than one enchantment to get through. He learned how to do a gate spell, but there were other spells, some of which even Lupeni doesn’t know.” Vlad halted and screwed up his courage in the face of the grinning vampire. “Look, wouldn’t it be a start just to get rid of Lupeni? I mean, he’s hunting your kind and all.”

  “A start, you say,” replied Cuza thoughtfully. He was silent for a long while. Vlad tried to suppress his nervousness, fondling the stake and calculating the number of steps to the door.

  “You will need my help to kill this Lupeni,” the vampire said at last. “I can see that you have tried and failed, you miserable dog. But I will help you and we will not fail. That will be a good start, indeed.”

  24. Siren Song

  “Alexandru, it is good to see you,” beamed the old man as the two wizards approached him. He sat on the low wooden fence marking the boundary to a small farm.

  “You look well, Lucian,” returned Alexandru. “Hard to believe that it has been nearly sixty years.”

  Lucian was near in age to Alexandru, and his hair and long beard were shot with white. He jumped off the fence spryly to embrace his old friend. Caleb hung back, taking in the small farm still visible in the lingering light of the clear summer evening.

  Tonight they were hunting a vampire who chose the new moon to prey on the living.

  “I am so glad that you came,” said Lucian, stepping back and taking in his old friend. Dropping his voice, he continued, “Mihail said that you could help us with our problem.”

  “Please, tell me what is troubling you,” Alexandru urged. He gestured toward Caleb. “You may speak freely in front of this man. He assists me in these matters.”

  The old farmer sighed, relieved to unburden himself. Clasping both hands together, he began, “My grandson Stefan has been troubled by fever this summer, it seems. Twice after the new moon he has been sick for a day or two, weak and unable to rise. He feels fine after a few days, but we notice he has bites, some on his neck. We question him, but he knows nothing, says he gets bitten by a lot of things.”

  “Have you or anyone else noticed anything on these nights?” Alexandru asked thoughtfully.

  “It is summer,” shrugged Lucian in reply. “Stefan sleeps in the hay barn.”

  “I would like to see your grandson and examine these bites,” Alexandru said promptly, although it was clear to Caleb that he had made up his mind about their origin. Lucian led them down a dirt track toward a one-room farmhouse where he lived with his son, daughter-in-law, and their four children. With so many in the house, it didn’t seem strange that Stefan might choose to sleep in the hay barn.

  “A relatively new vampire,” murmured Alexandru to Caleb as they walked, “who hunts primarily on the new moon, I should think.”

  “And you believe the vampire will attack the boy tonight?”

  “The pattern seems clear,” he responded. “I do not believe you have been in this situation. I must warn you that when he attacks, it can be… difficult to separate the vampire from his victim.”

  “Oh?” Caleb was intrigued. His previous hunts with Alexandru had been confined to rousting sleeping vampires. It was unusual to have the chance to catch a vampire in the act.

  “As this is the third attack,” Alexandru said slowly, as if lost in a dream or perhaps an old memory, “the victim, this boy Stefan, will resist us. He may try to help the vampire, in fact.” He pitched his voice even lower, making it difficult for Caleb to make out his words. “Contrary to what you may think, it is not painful to be bitten by a vampire. I am told that it—that there is a certain pleasure…”

  Once again, Caleb wondered where Alexandru had come by this information. There was a melancholy to Alexandru’s demeanor when he spoke of such things, as though he had learned them first hand. How could that be? Caleb debated whether he should press for answers—but they reached the door of the house and there was no time for questions.

  The tiny kitchen was full of the family finishing their supper. Both men were introduced as old friends of Lucian’s, nothing more. Stefan, a robust boy of sixteen or seventeen, cheerfully shook their hands. As Caleb made small talk with the boy, Alexandru watched him closely, inspecting his neck, no doubt. Once they had been introduced all around, the family went back to clearing dishes. Stefan excused himself to finish a few chores and get ready for bed.

  The two vampire-hunters went outside with Lucian and sat on rough wooden benches at the rear of the farmhouse, in sight of the hay barn.

  “Well?” asked the old farmer nervously.

  “You were right to call on me,” Alexandru replied. “I believe that your grandson has been bitten by a vampire, one that we have missed somehow. We will station ourselves in the hay barn tonight. I would ask you and your family to stay away, no matter what you might hear.”

  Lucian nodded solemnly. Caleb’s mind drifted to his long-ago home in Maine and how much his life had changed; he could not imagine an American farmer, no matter how isolated, inviting wizards into his barn to catch a vampire.

  The two wizards silently entered the barn before the boy finished his chores in the house. After inspecting the ground floor and loft, they hid among the bales of hay near the nest of blankets that served Stefan as a bed. They heard him climb up the wooden ladder to the loft and settle himself in with much creaking of the boards, his breath revealing that he had fallen rapidly into a deep sleep. Caleb wondered how long they would have to wait and fingered some of the items in the bag he carried: stakes, sunstone, a long rope of braided garlic.

  The wait was not long. Soon after the boy fell asleep, the soft whisper of bat wings fluttered in the rafters. Alexandru tensed, gripping Caleb’s arm. Both got out their stakes, but as usual Caleb waited
for a cue from the older wizard. Alexandru took the garlic braid in one hand, but otherwise remained still, listening carefully.

  Soon after the beat of wings died away, they heard another whispering sound from above, a voice chanting or singing softly. The loft creaked, although they could not see anything from their spot directly below. Someone moved above them, the singer of the song. The boy moaned in response, turning heavily above them. Fear? Pleasure? Caleb was not sure, particularly after what Alexandru had told him earlier.

  Caleb could distinguish no words in the song, yet, he understood it, or thought he did. A welcome release. An opening into another place—dark, secret, and mysterious. The promise of—

  His hand closed around the sunstone, gripping it tightly as if to push away the wordless, tuneless song. Poor boy, he thought, he’s not much older than Bela. Of course, Bela would never be bitten by a vampire, which made Caleb feel even more for Stefan.

  A nudge from Alexandru’s elbow brought his mind back to the barn. They exchanged glances and emerged from behind the piles of straw.

  Who was more shocked, the vampire or the vampire-hunters? The boy, lying down and only semi-conscious, was perhaps the only one not surprised by the sudden appearance of two men kneeling next to him. Caleb took his feet and Alexandru the head.

  A woman crouched over the boy, head bent low. Caleb should not have been startled to find out that the vampire was female—they had killed several in the last five years—and yet the figure of a strange woman preying on the boy shocked him nonetheless.

  She froze, her long brown hair brushing the boy’s bare chest like an icy waterfall, and her face twisted into a grimace of fear and hatred. A dark void filled with loathing, her soulless eyes regarded the two strangers. Then she moved, raking her hands down the boy’s body and raising her arms, and Caleb realized just in time that she meant to turn into a bat and escape.