But... It was not in there. The pouch was empty. He turned it inside out. How could that be? Frantically, he started going through the mounds of papers and other valuables. He took everything out of the safe. It was gone.
He did not understand. What could have happened to it?
Chapter 33
“Well done, Cynthia. I knew I could rely on you.”
Alistair took the cat charm and placed it in his inside pocket.
“And now, my dear, you shall have your reward.”
Cynthia trembled as Alistair traced her face with his long fingers. For the second time that week, she surrendered to his touch, a touch she had craved every waking hour (and many a dreaming hour too) since he had left. She was desperate for him, clawing at his clothing with her scarlet nails.
“Now, now, my dear,” he laughed. “What would David say? Maybe I should take you with me, Cynthia. Would you like that?”
“Please...” moaned Cynthia hoarsely.
“No, no,” said Alistair. “That would never do.” And then he bent forward and kissed her with an intensity that took her breath away. And in her mind, Alistair’s voice echoed: “Listen to me, Cynthia. I never came here today. You never gave me the charm. You didn’t even know it existed. That is very important.”
Cynthia blinked, and Alistair was gone.
Chapter 34
Miri and Danny sat alone in the common room at P.A.W.S. Danny had his guitar with him and was singing an Irish folk song. It was beautiful. Miri closed her eyes and lost herself in Danny’s music.
“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
“Which I gaze on so fondly today,
“Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,
“Like fairy wings fading away.”
She could feel his emotions very strongly when he sang. The first time Danny sang to her, his emotions threatened to overwhelm Miri, but recently she had begun to learn to control her power and could enjoy his music. Miri could feel a deep longing in Danny’s heart as he sang. His voice was pure and strong.
“Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
“Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
“And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
“Would entwine itself verdantly still.”
He finished his song and smiled at Miri. “It’s beautiful, Danny,” she said. “Where did you learn it?”
“From my mother. She used to sing it to me when I was small. She learned it from her mother in Ireland. When Jessamyn sings, you can actually see the green fields of Ireland form before your eyes. It’s truly amazing. Of course, the illusion fades after the song. But still, for a while, you can actually smell the shrubbery and feel the mist on your skin.
“It’s leprechaun magic, you know, illusion, bound to Ireland and the Irish. In Ireland they take magic for granted, like rain and Guinness!”
Miri smiled.
“Hey, I feel like getting some fresh air,” said Danny.
“Do you want to go out into the park for a bit?”
“Sure,” said Miri, though in truth she would have been just as happy to stay there and listen to Danny sing and play more songs.
They made their way out of the Jewel Box. The moment they reached the top of the stairs, Danny shifted into his feline form. “Bet you can’t catch me,” he taunted.
Miri took up the challenge. Within seconds she had changed and darted across the park after him, a black streak running after a large tabby Maine Coon. It was exhilarating. In cat form she could run in a way she could never as a human. They darted around trees and bushes, startling squirrels and pigeons. Suddenly she realized she couldn’t see Danny anymore. She went more slowly now, gingerly peering around the sides of benches and trash cans, avoiding the strolling park visitors.
A little girl spotted her. “Kitty!” she shouted, pointing. But Miri dodged behind a tree quickly so that the girl gave up trying to follow her and focused her attention on some ducks instead that were waddling past on their way to the lake.
Miri stopped to catch her breath for a minute behind the tree. Pow! Danny, flying through the air, landed directly on top of her – twenty pounds of Maine Coon meow!
“Gotcha!” he said. He changed back to human form, and Miri followed suit. He caught her in his arms, and she looked at him. He looked gorgeous, she thought, disheveled from the chase, with a few loose leaves in his hair that she brushed away as he kissed her. She felt his love coursing through her, and she used her magic to amplify it and return it. It felt like there was a rainbow exploding inside her, its myriad of colors bursting and blending every which way. They lay on the grass together and she was so happy. She wished deeply that she could stop time and hold this moment forever.
Chapter 35
The alchemist and magician Quentin Frakes turned the amulet over in his hand. He took out a jeweler’s glass and placed it in his eye. He studied the carvings – beautifully done. Whichever magician had originally forged this charm had been a master but not the original master, not Merlin. Quentin knew that. The only existing charm forged by Merlin hung around his own neck. And he knew this because it was given to him by Merlin himself so many centuries before, when he was Merlin’s apprentice. But the alchemist had surpassed his master in magic. He had discovered the elixir that kept him alive and vigorous all these centuries later.
The source of the elixir was standing in front of him now. He had met Alistair the first time in the forests around Transylvania. They had both been after the same thing. They were looking for vampires. But as they were later to discover, vampires were truly a myth.
Oh, no, there were no vampires in the wilds of Transylvania. There was something far more dangerous.
Why did they search for vampires? The age-old quest for immortality. Quentin believed that if there were indeed vampires, he would be able to perfect a potion using the vampire’s venom that, if imbibed, could extend his life indefinitely. Alistair’s quest was far more straightforward; he simply wanted to become a vampire. So they made a pact. He would help Alistair locate the vampires and protect him with wards so that the vampires could only turn Alistair, not kill him. And in exchange, Alistair would share his venom with Quentin so they could both live forever.
And it worked... except there were no vampires. The vampire myth had arisen when a number of children had been taken from an isolated village in Transylvania. Some of their bodies had turned up later, consumed and drained of blood. Others had disappeared, never to be seen again.
Alistair and Quentin prowled the forest around which the bodies had been found. Quentin also spent hours staring into his silver scrying bowl, silver wand in hand, uttering spells in the ancient language, trying to locate the vampires.
For the first three weeks, they stayed there in a boarding room they had rented in the village. But still they found no trace of vampires and were beginning to believe that their quest was pointless. Maybe some crazed murderer or wild animals had been responsible for the killings?
But in the fourth week, on the night of the full moon, everything changed. As the moon rose, the sound of howling wolves echoed through the forest. Quentin was scared and wanted to stay inside their room in the village. But Alistair insisted that they seek out the wolves in the forest. Were not vampires supposed to have a hold over wolves, he reasoned.
As they walked into the forest, the howling intensified all around them. And then, all of a sudden, a tremendous black wolf appeared in front of them. Quentin was terrified. But despite his fear, he kept his side of the bargain. He rapidly placed protective wards around Alistair. Then he invoked Merlin’s charm, chose a raven’s form, and flew up into the trees and watched.
He watched as Alistair not only did not shrink from the huge wolf, he walked towards him. The wolf waited on his haunches until Alistair was just a few feet in front of him, and then he pounced.
Alistair did not cry out. Rather, he let the wolf tear away his shirt and bite into
his chest. The alchemist no longer could bear to watch. He flew back to the village to the room they had been sharing these last few weeks. There, he returned to human form and climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head. He was shaking all over, the terror of what he’d seen eating up his insides and spitting them back out.
He never expected to see Alistair again. He decided that night that he would leave Transylvania in the morning and never return. Immortality was not worth this price. Yet in the first rays of the dawn, there was a knock on the door. Cautiously, Quentin opened it, and there stood Alistair. Blood coated his shirt – and he had a huge grin on his face.
Quentin thought Alistair was crazy. That had obviously not been a vampire that had attacked him, and he was bleeding profusely. The alchemist wasn’t convinced that Alistair could even survive such an attack, yet he used all his healing powers, potions, and salves. And amazingly, Alistair did not merely survive, he thrived, appearing more full of life than ever before.
Quentin assumed, now that Alistair was better, they could leave the village, but Alistair had other ideas. They stayed in that room for another month. The morning of the following full moon, Alistair woke up feverish and agitated. At midday Quentin went out briefly to the local grocery store for supplies. When he returned to their room, Alistair was gone.
It had been raining. Quentin noticed Alistair’s footprints in the mud leading out of the village towards the forest. He did not follow. The alchemist had no wish to meet the monsters of the forest again. That night the howls from the forest could be heard throughout the village. In the morning it was discovered that two young boys were missing. Their bodies were never found.
Quentin left the village that day. He changed into a crow and flew all the way back to Vienna, where he kept a small apartment. He tried to forget about Alistair, but it wasn’t possible. Images from that first full moon replayed in his mind over and over and infiltrated his dreams.
Years passed, and the alchemist grew older. It seemed that his search for immortality would be futile. Maybe, like Merlin, he too would succumb to old age. Then one day he was visited by Alistair. When Quentin had left him, Alistair had been barely a boy. Now he was a man, strong and tall. Quentin wondered if he still bore a scar from the horrendous attack he had suffered at the jaws of the wolf. He had no idea how Alistair had found him.
“Hello,” said Alistair smiling. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course,” Quentin stammered.
“I made a promise to you,” said Alistair. “I’m here to keep my end of it.” He passed over to Quentin a small vial of red liquid. The alchemist flinched and did not take the tube.
“Are you a vampire?” he asked, trembling.
“Oh, no! Vampires don’t exist. I am something much better than a vampire. I am a shapeshifter like you now. My new form – a wolf. Would you like me to demonstrate?”
Panic rose in Quentin’s throat. “No, no! That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, such a shame!” Alistair exclaimed brightly. “I dosolike showing off my powers.”
“But I don’t understand. If you are not a vampire, then what is in the vial?”
“In this vial is a sample of my blood. Every month at full moon I consume the flesh and blood of a human – usually a child, as they are so much more tender. The more I have consumed, the stronger I have become. I’m not sure of it, but I believe that if you were to make a potion from my blood, you may finally discover the immortality you once craved.”
“There is another way, of course. I could change you into a werewolf too. Imagine the power you would achieve if you could combine the magic of Merlin’s amulet with the strength and endurance of the wolf.”
Quentin stared at him, horror in his eyes, wishing more than anything that Alistair would simply disappear. He was sorely tempted to change into a bird and fly through the window, but he found that he could not move, that he was mesmerized by Alistair.
“So which will it be?” Alistair asked conversationally.
“No, no... don’t touch me,” said Quentin, terrified. “I don’t want it anymore. Go away and I promise I won’t call the police.”
“Interesting. You mean you wish to die? I can arrange that, if it’s really your request. You choose death over immortality?”
Quentin regarded the vial on the table in front of him and then looked at Alistair. Could it possibly work?
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll take the vial.” I don’t have to make the potion, he thought. I just need Alistair to leave.
“As you wish,” said Alistair, and he was gone.
***
Quentin kept that vial of blood in the back of his larder for several weeks. He was certain he did not want to attempt to make a potion with it, yet he also could not throw it out. He was afraid that somehow, if he did, Alistair would find out and would return.
Each day when he gazed in the mirror, he noticed a new wrinkle or a stray white hair in his beard. Then he would walk into his larder and look at the small vial of red liquid.
Would it really do any harm to try?
Quentin read his alchemy books diligently. The only mentions of immortality were connected with the fabled Philosopher’s Stone – magic that had been lost for centuries.
He made a basic healing balm and decided to add just a few drops of Alistair’s blood. What harm could it do? He drank the potion with shaking hands, expecting pain or sickness. Instead, he was surprised to be filled with amazing warmth and euphoria, a tingling that stretched from his fingertips to his toes. He felt better than he had for years. The effect lasted perhaps two weeks, and then he started feeling more and more run-down.
Quentin made more potion, adding more blood, and once again he felt better. The vial lasted for five months. By this point he was addicted to the potion, and he desperately needed to find Alistair. He needed more blood.
But he had no clue where to find him. He knew only his first name and had no idea of an address. He was not sure if he even was living in Vienna or was just passing through the day he visited Quentin. It occurred to him that maybe he had returned to Transylvania. Maybe he should make another trip there. He dreaded doing that, though, as even all these years later his dreams were still plagued with memories from that first full moon when Alistair was attacked.
Then, on the third day after he had imbibed the last drop of potion, Alistair once more turned up at the alchemist’s door with a wide grin on his face.
“Ah, my friend!” he said. “You do look well! It looks like my blood is indeed working wonders.”
“Yes,” Quentin replied. “If I could perchance procure a little more. Obviously, I will pay you.”
Alistair took two vials of blood out of his satchel. “I wouldn’t hear of it. Anything for such a good friend.”
Quentin grabbed the vials hungrily. “Thank you, then. Where can I find you if I need more?”
“Don’t worry about that.” said Alistair. “I will find you.”
So began a relationship that had continued for 213 years. After the Second World War, Quentin followed Alistair to the United States, first to New York and then two years ago to St. Louis. Over the years Alistair had asked for little in exchange for his blood. Occasionally, he would ask him to do a little spell work for him; to scry on the members of P.A.W.S., to place protective wards around his living quarters, or disguise the auras of his growing pack so that they could not be easily detected. Yes, Alistair’s requests had been trivial in comparison to the gift Quentin had received from Alistair, until today...
Chapter 36
“Can you do it?” asked Alistair, impatiently.
“Maybe,” replied Quentin. “It is very risky. As far as I know, no one has ever tried to alter an amulet.”
“But you think it can be done?”
“As I said, maybe. I need some time to work on it.”
“I have waited this long. I can wait a few days longer. I will return on Friday.”
After Alis
tair left, Quentin turned the amulet over in his hand. His heart was heavy. What Alistair was asking him to do was extremely dangerous. The first law of alchemy stated: Do not meddle with ancient magic. And this was very ancient magic. But Alistair’s blood had sustained him for all these years. Quentin owed Alistair his life, literally.
Yet if Quentin was to alter this amulet as Alistair wished so that he could wear it, who knows what kind of monster the alchemist would be helping to create. Alistair was already so powerful. Could Quentin really in all conscience do this? Maybe he could tell Alistair it was simply not possible? No, Alistair would know he was lying. And he could not risk Alistair’s wrath. Over the years Quentin had never been able to refuse Alistair anything. He had spied for him in his scrying bowl. He had protected Alistair and his pack with wards. He had turned the other way as they preyed on the young and the powerless.
Quentin knew he should refuse this new request and pay the consequence. He should destroy this amulet or return it to its owner. But he knew he would not. He was a coward. After so many years, he was scared to die.
Chapter 37
It was early morning on Thanksgiving Day. Hugo Hogsworth made his way up the spiral staircase that led out of P.A.W.S. He carried a small basket in one hand and held on to the rail with the other. He stopped to catch his breath halfway up the stairs. Hugo rarely ventured out of P.A.W.S., but today was a special day and only he could carry out this very special task.
He reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open. Just before he exited, Hugo transformed into his pig form. His basket transformed with him. He loved that part of being a shapeshifter. As long as the item was in his hand or on his back, it became part of him.
A heavy mist covered Forest Park. One could barely make out the trees and certainly not the buildings. It didn’t matter, though. For this job Hugo would only need his nose, not his weak piggy eyes. Hugo started sniffing his way along the grass. Yes, they were near. He could smell them.
P.A.W.S. Page 15