The Secrets of Blood and Bone

by Rebecca Alexander

  “Hello, Knowle Castle, Mrs. Ellison speaking.”

  “I thought—” Jack cleared her throat again. “I thought you should know, there was a lot of howling up past Grizedale, in the wolf compound. I thought I heard someone shouting.”

  “I’m sorry, could I have your name? I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about—”

  Jack grimaced. They had her number now anyway. “My name is Jack Hammond, I heard someone shouting for help. Please get someone to check that everything is OK.”

  She rang off, feeling in the dark for the painful cheekbone where Powell had hit her. The flesh seemed spongy but the bone was sound. An exploration of her teeth with her tongue suggested she’d chipped at least one tooth. As she drove the car toward Bee Cottage her hands started to shake. She gripped the wheel more firmly and took the turning for the village.

  Despite her natural tendency for seclusion, she had become known at the small supermarket, at least by sight, and the local bank, where she drew money from Maggie’s account every week with a card. Not having any formal identity sometimes had its limitations, but cash still worked for most things. The locals had shown a lot of interest in both Jack and Sadie, the girl chatting to the shopkeepers with her story. She—Sasha or Rhia or Tara depending on her mood—was recovering from being ill, and was off school being home-educated until she got better. Jack tried to laugh off some of the more outrageous fabrications, but there was something about Sadie that made older women cluck around her.

  She turned onto the road to the cottage, and contemplated arriving covered in mud and blood. Felix, Maggie—she reviewed what she had said. She had never lost her temper like that before, she didn’t even feel so angry normally. Maybe it was the new hormones.

  Felix’s car wasn’t parked on the verge, and paradoxically she was immediately angry again. Tomorrow he was off to do some more research, and this was one conversation she needed to finish. She drove past the house, turning around in the next farm lane, and set off for the town.

  Chapter 28

  I seized my opportunity and persuaded a guest in our house, a brave soldier, to come with me to the cemetery to find the tomb. So we went off before cockcrow, the moon shone like high noon. Among the monuments we came: he to search among the graves and I to sing. Then I looked at my companion, and he stripped himself and all his clothes by the roadside. My heart was in my mouth, I stood like a dead man. But he stood unclothed and forthwith he transformed into a wolf. I would not make a joke of it, I would not tell an untruth, upon the grave of my father. After he had turned into a wolf, he fled into the woods and began to howl.

  —PETRONIUS (27–66) Satyricon CHAPTER 62, believed to be around AD 61

  Enrico came to fetch me for the formal reception upon the following afternoon, dressed in a fine suit of blue. I had within my bags a burgundy doublet of French design, much embroidered, and with new hose from a tailor in Prague I felt myself peacocked enough for even Contarini’s guests. Enrico indicated that the company was assembled upon the terrazza so I followed him outside.

  The terrace ran the whole length of the front of the mansion. Broad steps of limestone led to a formal garden within a mosaic of paths. There were clipped hedges and shaped trees, and ordered lines of flowers created into patterns. They were attended by three or four gardeners, snipping, watering and training. Within the center of flower beds in the shapes of crescents, ovals and diamonds, all created with low hedges, was a pool, many yards across. It featured a fountain dropping a spray that played over the shivering surface of the water.

  “Master Kelley!” It was my host, stepping toward me as graceful as a dancer. He offered me his arm and I took it, aware of his great height towering above me. “I hope your investigations were satisfactory?” he said, with a smile.

  He had a very long jaw, I recall, and a thin nose. I still could not judge his age. We walked to the end of the terrace where a framework of wood covered an area with shading vines, the brown stems gnarled and as thick as my wrist, as yet unleafed. There several benches and wooden chairs were covered with cushions with finely dressed ladies and gentlemen upon them, or standing and talking to each other in their native language. A table with a snowy cloth, covered with decanters and platters of sweetmeats, stood to one side. Servitors discreetly shuttled back and forth with glasses or plates.

  “Observe!” called out my Lord Contarini. “We have amongst us a great thinker from England, colleague to Dr. Dee himself, friend of the emperor and a sage amongst men.”

  I was flattered, a little, but most of what he said was true. The emperor, while oftentimes friendly, did presently have a warrant for my arrest within the empire and an attainder upon my belongings, but would no doubt forgive as he has always forgiven. Meantimes, he was a good host to my wife and stepchildren. I bowed low to the company, and some did bend their heads to me, also.

  A lady, taller than most, and with hair the color of ripe barley flowing about her in a way that we would think of as immodest in England, stepped forward. “Master Kelley?”

  I bowed, and Lord Contarini spoke. “My wife, Lady Lucia Contarini. And these young men are my sons.” Three young men, one as fair as his mother, stepped closer. They looked about five-and-twenty years old, and yet they introduced me to their children, some of whom were already youths and maids of marriageable age. Truly, I thought, there is something ageless and powerful about these people.

  As we progressed slowly around the group I was dazzled by their beauty and strength. None looked much above thirty, yet there was maturity in the questions they asked. They were interested in Lord Dannick, the task he had set me, and asked questions about the “English tablet.” I felt small among the company, as they sometimes spoke above my head in Venetian or Italian, and laughed, and made merry. Servants offered me wine, and held little trays of sweetmeats, which I declined lest they return the flux.

  One of the men, with a trace of gray in his beard yet as young looking as the others, asked me a question in his own tongue. Contarini spoke to him, and he repeated the question is slow Latin.

  “It is said that Dr. Dee knows great sorceries.”

  I bowed and replied. “Indeed, he is my mentor. He is an adept at the art of magic.”

  “And speaks to demons.” A little flutter upon the listeners, who turned their heads toward me.

  “Dr. Dee and I have had conferences with angels.” My own voice was uncertain. I had doubts now about the nature of the beings that had spoken through me, and refused steadfastly since to allow another to do so. Instead, I heard only whispers into the back of my mind. But they were always there and I could not prevent them. “I know not of demons, and doubt that any Christian man would have business with them.”

  There was a ripple of nodding and a seated woman crossed herself. It was she who spoke next.

  “What know you of people who are possessed?”

  Contarini waved at a cushioned chair, and I sat upon it.

  “I know little but what the church teaches, and what is said in holy verses,” I said in answer. I looked at the woman again, seeing upon her face what I did not see in the others. She was beautiful but the skin on her face was softened by lines, the skin loose under her chin. Even her hair, mostly confined under an embroidered hood, had not escaped a few silvery strands.

  Her voice softened. “We have stories here, of people possessed by the spirits of beasts until they kill their own children. They run through the streets biting and clawing the people they meet.”

  “That sounds like a madness, my lady,” I said.

  She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with tears. “It is a terrible fate.”

  Contarini handed me a goblet filled with wine. “It would be. But such people, close confined, may recover.”

  I agreed, sipping the strong, sweet golden wine. “I have known that to happen. But madness is not possession.”

  Contarini lay back in his chair. “The legend I believe Lady Ziani speaks of is that of a man—or woman—fill
ed with the spirit of some noble animal. A lion, perhaps, or a wolf.”

  I had no sense of nobility from my few encounters from wolves. I would rather be locked in a room with a madman than a wolf. I thought back to the tablet. “I do not understand.”

  “She speaks of people who live for a few hours free of the restrictions of society, who encourage an animal nature to fill those hours with the wild hunt.”

  I recalled Lord Dannick speaking in similar terms of a hunt, a time of freedom and closeness to nature. I felt a coldness shiver down my back. “Do you speak of—daemonium lupum?” I looked around. There was a coldness about these people, the way a wild animal who is not hungry looks at you, with indifference.

  “Demon wolf?” Contarini said, smiling, holding his hands out to the company as if to invite them to mock me. “What is this, Master Kelley?”

  “A man who is enchanted to take on the form of a wolf,” I stammered, only Lady Ziani looking upon me kindly. “By sorcery. I have heard such legends in Poland and England, and in France they call such monsters loup-garou.”

  A little laughter spread among the listeners, and the shaking of a few heads. I noticed Enrico listening to his betters, looking from me to the others, then to the other dissenter.

  “How can that be?” asked Lady Ziani, clasping her hands to her body. “Such is surely the devil’s work.”

  “It is, my lady,” I answered, at least sure of my authority here. “Such would be condemned by the church, by all churches.”

  “I disagree,” said a darkly visaged man, dressed in a peacock blue jacket, and smiling at his friends. “There have always been a class of people born to lead and hunt, as there is a class of peasants who are destined to follow. Perhaps it is not enchantment, but simply revealing the man’s nature to lead the hunt, not to be hunted nor to watch. Such as we, the nobility, who lead troops into battle. We lead our peasants into productive work, make laws and punish the lawbreakers. It is our place. Is this not true?”

  The tablet’s images came back to me, and with a lurch within my belly, I suddenly knew what they and the Dannicks were looking for. “I could never help a man take on the nature of a wolf,” I stuttered. “It is not possible, and if it were, it would be insane. No man could constrain the wolf’s basest instincts to hunt and kill.”

  “Oh, I agree.” Contarini smiled. “There can be no transformation. Such would be contrary to nature.” He waved away a servant with a decanter of the scarlet wine. “But to take on the strength and agility of the beast, that is possible.”

  I thought for a moment, seeing the Lady Ziani staring at the fingers in her lap. “Any such would still require sorcery.”

  He shrugged, and turned, raising his glass to his fellows. “Our ancestors have called it sorcery, but our children will call it science.”

  Others toasted the sentiment, but I was left filled with doubts.

  “My lord Contarini.” I bowed. “What you propose might create a stronger person, perhaps, but what would transform him back? Would he not be left, not only with the power of the beast, but also with his ruthlessness, his single-minded pursuit of his base needs?”

  “My concerns, precisely,” said Lady Ziani, lifting her chin, I thought, as if to defy those around her. “I would rather be as a lamb, than a wolf. The church—”

  “The church, madam,” said Contarini, with one of those smiles that revealed his white teeth, “deals in myths and lies.”

  I was silenced, and my lady was also quieted by the words, and the conversation turned to the weather, and the scenery. The villa, which was more like a palace in my eyes, was set high upon a rise, its back to a forest. The trees here grew not close together, but studded into a green sward, and a few deer could be seen by sharp eyes cropping the grass at the edge of the trees. Paths led through the garden, which was set out before us like an embroidered apron, with double gates leading to the forest itself. Beside the house, I judged, were some walled kitchen gardens and orchards, where servants came and went carrying tools and armfuls of greenery.

  But my thoughts ran on apace. The house of Marinello, even with its proximity to the countess and the watchful Inquisition, seemed strangely secure now. I watched the group, their lithe limbs, their strange youthfulness, and wondered what sorceries had wrought them. I could not imagine that nature had preserved all from the touch of the red pox, the passing of years, the burden of age and disease that mark us all. I resolved to get my notes and the drawing away from all of these unnatural people and back to Dee.

  Chapter 29

  PRESENT DAY: BEE COTTAGE, LAKE DISTRICT

  Many seasons ago, the old witch Thomazine had grown weak, and her child sent his own daughter to care for the garden. She planted more trees, some of them new to the area, like the cherries and plums. She brought pigs to grunt and snuffle over pens in the plot, tearing up the roots and ripping at the established trees. They were only forgiven for the richness of their dung, in which new seeds sprang to life.

  The hotel car park was full so Jack parked on the street, walking to the lobby, each step building her rage. In a small corner of her mind, she knew the anger was at Powell, at Maggie, but Felix was closest and somehow the key to her new feelings. Under it all, she was shaking with reaction to the terror. She shrugged off the memory of the man’s strength, his weight, his rough hands digging into her skin—

  She rang the bell as the front door was locked, and a woman opened it, peering out.

  “Yes? Did you forget your key?” She looked again. “Oh. Can I help you?”

  Jack pushed past her. “I need to see Professor Felix Guichard. Now.”

  “It’s late. You can’t just barge in—I’ll call him, but if he doesn’t want to be disturbed you will have to leave.”

  Jack was pacing up and down the dimly lit lobby when Felix came down the stairs. He ignored Jack and turned instead to the flustered woman.

  “Thank you. Can we talk in the dining room? I would hate to disturb anyone else.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, or even look at Jack, but pushed through a door and disappeared inside, the lights flickering on as she followed him into the room.

  “Now, what—” He looked at Jack as the lights came up. “What the hell happened to you?”

  All the things she wanted to say collided in her throat. She stood glaring at him, tears of frustration and reaction gathering in her eyes. She rubbed her arm across her face, wincing at the pain radiating from her cheekbone.

  “I went to see Powell, I wanted to see the wolves. And he, at least, was clear about what he wanted.” The words were snapped out.

  Felix came closer, staring at her bruises, at the mud still dried on her face and matted into her hair. Then his gaze met her eyes, and a look of blazing anger seemed to light his green eyes. Jack took a half step back.

  “You tell me it’s too soon, you don’t want to rush—then you throw yourself at Powell. Did you get what you wanted, Jack?” His tone was bitter.

  The shaky feeling inside became cold.

  “He attacked me.” She wiped her shaking hand over her forehead. “The wolves defended me. I think they killed him.”

  “What?” He frowned, reaching as if to touch the bruised cheekbone, then pulled his hand away. “What happened?”

  “He tried to rape me.”

  Felix froze, staring at her, the muscles of his face bunching up around his mouth.

  Jack stammered on. “I managed to fight him off, then the wolves—” The memory of the crunching sound as the animals attacked him came back to her with a wave of nausea. “Can we go upstairs? I need to sit down.”

  “As long as you are quiet.” His voice was clinical and clipped. “I don’t want the hotel to call the police.”

  She followed him up the stairs, one hip tender now the emotions were fading from rage into something darker, more painful. She began to feel aches all over, from being thrown to the ground, pinned to the mud, grabbed by strong hands. He led her through the bedroom
straight to the bathroom and switched on the light. He leaned forward to start the shower running over the bath.

  “Take your boots off.” His voice was soft. He turned back to her, looking at her under the harsh light.

  She sat on the toilet lid to start undoing her laces, but the wet fabric had felted them together and her cold fingers were stinging and shaking. He knelt on the bathroom floor to tug at them, leaving her looking down at him, the silver hairs scattered in the dark curls, the whorl on the top of his head, the tense shoulders. He muttered something under his breath, pulled one boot off and started work on the other.

  Jack felt dreamy as the room steamed up and the feelings softened inside her. She reached out a hand, then saw the blood on it and hesitated. Felix pushed himself up on the side of the bath and looked down at her.

  “Get the mud off, and we’ll talk. My dressing gown is on the back of the door.”

  She could only stare up at him, the words jumbled in her mind. The encounter with Powell, however vile, somehow made Felix seem less like a benign teacher and more like a man. She was painfully aware that the only physical experiences she had had in her whole life were a few kisses from Felix, and brutality from Powell.

  “Can you help me?” She wasn’t sure what she was asking. He reached out his hands, the long brown hands she realized she loved, and she put out her own, greasy with mud and blood. “Please.”

  He pulled off her coat, helped her with the layers underneath until he paused at her T-shirt, the bruises on her arms and wrists revealed. She looked down at herself, and pulled the last layers off her torso. He turned her gently away from him, his fingers warm on her skin, and she could hear his breathing stop. She looked in the mirror over the sink, seeing the ring of purple marks on the side of her neck, another on her shoulder.

  “I didn’t even feel that,” she said, twisting further around to see the start of dark smudges in the small of her back. “I think he knelt on me.”