Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  “There must be something we can do for him,” Tasha sighed.

  “Silver,” Amy muttered to herself. Lara had been treating her own condition with it for months now. Just like in the old stories, silver was a lethal to a werewolf but used in small doses, it helped Lara keep the wolf suppressed. Maybe the same would be true for the injured cameraman.

  The only problem now was where to find some. Her last silver-tipped bullet had been confiscated along with the big handgun it was chambered in. All of their pockets had been turned out, the contents taken away. No silver, not even a copper penny.

  Griffin cocked an ear in her direction. “What did you say?”

  “Silver,” Amy repeated. She shot to her feet and crossed to where Lara lay on the cold floor. Maybe the strange militaries hadn't taken everything. She tugged Lara's shirt up to expose her belly. Pierced through her navel was a thick ring of brilliant silver. “We can treat Jay with it.”

  “Silver?” Griffin guffawed at her. “Like in the movies?”

  “Yup.”

  Tasha knelt beside her. “How does it work?”

  “It's a pure element. It has to come in contact with the blood to fight infection.”

  “Jesus,” Tasha said, leaning in for closer look. “How many times has your friend changed her piercing?”

  The flesh around Lara's navel was pockmarked with scar tissue. The original idea for a silver piercing had been Amy's but her dad was the one who had administered that first pluck into Lara's skin. A messy affair. It was clear from the scar tissue circling the navel that Lara had removed the ring and re-pierced the silver a number of times. The wound would have healed over, lessening the efficacy of the metal.

  She reached for the ring to detach it but then stopped. What if removing it put Lara at risk? Without the balm of the silver, would the wolf in Lara's heart uncoil and emerge?

  “What are you waiting for,” urged Tasha.

  She'd just have to take that chance. Amy threaded the ring through until she found the clasp and unsnapped the ornament. Tugging it out proved tricky and when she finally plucked it free, a thin trickle of blood welled up in Lara's bellybutton.

  They scuttled over to Jay and Amy held the piece in her hand, unsure of where to apply it. Griffin soured. “What are you gonna do, give him a piercing with it?”

  “It just has to be in contact with his blood,” Amy said.

  Tasha lifted the injured man's blood-soaked shirt and peeled it back to reveal a puckering wound left by giant teeth marks. “There's no shortage of that.”

  She was right. Amy took a deep breath and pressed the ring into the goriest tear of open flesh. The injured man shuddered as if chilled as it touched his open wound. Amy pushed it in with her thumb and blood spurted out and Jay's shuddering turned violent and sharp. He spasmed, teeth clenched fast.

  “Stop,” Griffin barked. “You're gonna kill him.”

  Amy pushed the silver in deeper, the sucking wound closing over her thumb and the hot blood staining her fingers. Jay kicked his feet and Tasha pinned his arms down to keep him still.

  Griffin barked at her to stop and Tasha hissed at him to shut up. And then the flailing man went still and didn't move, as if a switch had been turned off. Within a few heartbeats, his breathing leveled out and color bloomed back into his face. The mask of pain melted away, replaced with the open-mouthed slack of someone in a deep sleep.

  Griffin blanched. “Is he dead?”

  Tasha pressed the back of her fingers to Jay's brow. “He's out but the chill has gone. He's warming up.” She looked up at Amy and smiled. “You did it. You saved him.”

  Amy sat back and flattened her palms on the stone floor. “I didn't save him. We just postponed anything nasty from happening.”

  “Well, he's resting anyway,” said Tasha. “Nice job.”

  Even Griffin seemed to relax, sliding his back down the stone wall until he slumped on the floor. They sat watching Jay for a moment until a noise behind them broke the stillness. The metallic click of a lock unbolting made them all look up. The door swung open and a young man in shirtsleeves and suspenders entered the prison with a cauldron in one hand and clay bowls in the other.

  Amy squinted at the young man, trying to place his face. It was the man who had attacked the wolf with a sickle.

  “Hello,” he said in accented English. His gaze latched onto Amy, ignoring the other people in the room.

  25

  SILENCE SETTLED OVER THE prison like dust. Amy and the others took a step back, wary of the young man.

  Silas raised the pot in his hand. “Are you hungry? I brought you something to eat.”

  Griffin puffed up. “You have to let us out of here.”

  “I can't do that,” said Silas.

  “Who's in charge?” Griffin demanded. “This is kidnapping and the cops are gonna come looking for us.”

  “The Bishop will come when he's ready. If the English constables come, then maybe they can sort it out.” Silas shrugged. “It's not up to me. Here, eat something.”

  Amy studied the young man and how his eyes kept darting back to her. As if she was in charge and not the blustering male. She moved closer. “What do you mean 'if the police come?”

  “They won't come here without permission.” Silas turned and met her gaze. “Do they know you are here?”

  “Yeah, they know,” snapped Griffin. “And then there's gonna be trouble. We didn't do anything wrong.”

  “Wrong? You trespassed into our village and shot up the town with your guns. Heedless to the bystanders. You caused a fire that destroyed a house and now a family is without their home. You are not innocent.”

  Amy watched the young man bristle at Griffin, clearly holding back his anger. Griffin's bluster would try anyone's patience. She hazarded a guess that these people were, like other Amish, non-violent but then she remembered the men with the spears and how savagely they butchered the wolf. “I'm Amy. That's Griffin and this is Tasha.”

  The young man bowed, his eyes softening at Amy. “Silas Hostetler.”

  “Silas, is there a doctor here? Our friends need medical attention.”

  “There is no doctor. Families treat their own here.” He looked down at the two on the floor. “Are they badly hurt?”

  “Extremely,” interrupted Griffin. “And if they die, you people are going to be in a world of trouble so you better call an ambulance.”

  “Three people were killed last night,” Silas said. “One of them a child of thirteen. Six others were injured.”

  “Six?” Amy reeled at the number. Six injured meant six more were infected. Half a dozen potential lycanthropes in the village. The prone cameraman on the prison floor made seven.

  “Yes.” Silas's voice lowered to a whisper. “My brother is one of them.”

  “I'm sorry. Is he badly hurt?” Amy instinctively reached out and touched the young man's elbow.

  He flinched, as if jolted by her touch. “He's like these two here. As still as stone and unreachable. Near death.”

  “Maybe Amy can help him,” Tasha suggested. “She cured Jay. See?”

  “Cured? Show me.” Silas moved closer and knelt beside the injured man.

  Tasha laid the back of her fingers against Jay's brow. “He was failing badly but Amy treated him. The fever’s broken. He's back to normal and resting. He's cured.”

  Silas studied the man on the floor then swung his gaze up to Amy. “How did you cure him?”

  “I didn't cure him,” Amy countered. “I treated him with silver. It lessens the effects but it's not a cure.”

  Silas straightened up and gripped Amy by the hand. “My brother. Can you help him?”

  “There's no guarantee it will but—”

  “Please. He's just a boy. He doesn't deserve this.”

  Amy saw the young man's eyes welling up. How could she say no? “I can show you what to do. Do you have any silver? The purer the better.”

  “You must do it. I'll find the silver and com
e back for you.” He turned to go but nodded at the pot he had brought in. “Here, eat. I'll be back soon.”

  Amy followed him to the door. “Hold on. We have to get out of here. Can you talk to whoever is in charge? Or let me make a phone call?”

  “I'll try.” Silas put his hand on the door then hesitated. He sought her eyes and lowered his voice. “You saved my life last night. Why did you do that?”

  Amy shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?”

  The young man went still, as if flummoxed by the question. Then he turned his face away and reached for the door. “I'll be back.”

  Amy heard him gasp. She looked over his shoulder to see the imposing figure of the Bishop looming in the door frame.

  ~

  Boots rang on the flagstones as the tall man stepped inside the gaol. One of his watchmen followed and stood at his flank. Amy stepped back and when she glanced at Silas, she saw raw fear in his eyes.

  The Bishop, as Silas called him, would have been intimidating in any location. Well over six feet with wide shoulders and clad all in black, his presence was like a column of night poured into the room. Amy could barely make out his eyes under the brim of his wide hat but what she could see was not welcoming.

  “Are you in charge here?” Griffin barked, striding forward and demanding that the man let them go. The watchman shoved him back.

  “Schweigen,” the Bishop ordered before turning to Silas. Amy could see the young man quaking, clearly in fear of the tall man. Silas answered a question posed to him, nodding at the pot of stew left on the floor. Amy hazarded a guess that the Bishop wanted to know why Silas was here. The Bishop growled something in a curt tone and Silas marched for the door. He glanced once back at Amy before darting out of the prison.

  The imposing figure clasped his hands behind his back and studied the three prisoners before him then the other two on the floor.

  Griffin's eyes darted between Amy and Tasha. “What does he want?”

  “Ask him,” suggested Tasha.

  “Does he even speak English?” Griffin hissed back.

  “Be quiet,” the Bishop barked in English. He leveled his gaze on Griffin. “Why did you bring the wolf here?”

  “We didn't,” Griffin stuttered. “We were following it.”

  “Why? Who sent you?”

  “We were trying to catch the thing on film,” Griffin fired back. “Where's our camera? I'll show you.”

  The tall man turned his head towards the door and called to someone outside. A second watchmen trooped in bearing an apple crate in his hands. The Bishop hissed something at him and the watchman upended the crate, spilling its contents onto the floor. A clattering racket of broken plastic and glass as the smashed pieces of their equipment tumbled against the flagstones. The video camera and boom mic, recording deck and all of their cell phones were tossed in a mess of shards and wires, all of it destroyed.

  Griffin gasped and bent to gather up the fractured remains of his equipment but the camera was demolished beyond saving, its innards bludgeoned with a hammer. “The footage, the evidence we had…”

  The Bishop sneered at the broken debris on the floor. “Your faith is misplaced in such trinkets, lad. Learn from this.”

  Griffin's face blew hot. Without thinking he shrieked and rushed the towering man in black. To all appearances, the Bishop was old enough to be the young man's grandfather but he shattered any assumptions with a strength and speed that startled Amy. She watched the older man repel the charge and flatten Griffin to the floor with barely any effort. With the man's boot jammed onto his neck, Griffin yelped like a sick dog.

  “Stop it!” Amy turned to the Bishop. “You're hurting him.”

  The man lifted his heel from Griffin's neck. “Why did you come here? Which of you broke the seal to let the evil come in?”

  “We didn't lead it here. We were tracking it.”

  The Bishop swung towards Amy. “You. You tried to kill it. Why?”

  “It needed to be put down.”

  The man towered over her like a volcano about to erupt. Amy took a step back, thinking the man was going to hurt her. “You know about the wolves,” she ventured. “You’ve seen them before.”

  “There have always been wolves.” The Bishop turned his dark gaze away, as if there was no more to be learned from the girl. Stepping past her, he stood before the still form of the injured cameraman on the floor. He said something in German to his watchman at the door.

  Tasha moved closer, skittish as a bird about to alight from a wire. “He needs a doctor.”

  “We will bring you some linen and fresh water. Treat his wounds as best you can. The rest is up to God.” The Bishop gave a dismissive wave before turning his attention to the unconscious woman on the floor. “Who is this woman?”

  Amy moved closer. “She's my friend.”

  “What is her name? Her full Christian name?”

  “Lara Mendes,” Amy hushed.

  He scrutinized the woman but didn’t touch her or inspect her injuries. Kneeling down, he hovered in close over Lara and crinkled his nose as if smelling her. “There's something wrong about her.”

  “She needs medical attention.”

  His hand shot out like a rattlesnake, snatching Amy’s arm. “What is wrong with her?”

  “She’s hurt. Let go of me!”

  “Answer me—”

  His words were choked off by a hand snapping over his throat. Lara's hand. She struggled to get up, her hand locked fast over the man’s windpipe. The Bishop pushed the woman away but Lara’s grip was latched tight.

  “Lara, stop!” Amy pushed them apart but was suddenly shoved aside as the watchman jumped in. The guard smashed an elbow into Lara’s face before ripping her grip from his Bishop’s throat.

  The Bishop rose, massaging his bruised voicebox. “The woman is tainted. Bind her hands and take her to the Penance Hole.”

  “No!” Amy snapped. “She's hurt. She doesn't know what she's doing.”

  He pushed the girl away as the watchmen lashed Lara’s wrists and hauled her limp form out the door. The Bishop wiped his palms down his jacket as if they were soiled. “The Jezebel is unclean and needs to be quarantined.”

  Amy swung her fist at the man but felt herself shoved back with a strength that surprised her. “Where are you taking her?”

  “To the place of penance. Where she can ruminate over her sins.”

  The Bishop turned smartly on his heel and followed his guards out the door. The heavy door clanged shut with a thundering boom.

  26

  THE DARKNESS WAS COMPLETE and almost tangible in its totality. Then, in the distance, a crack of light. It cut the pitch like a blade and there was shape to it. The form of a cross, beckoning in the night.

  This is death, she thought, and yet by some small grace salvation was being offered in this sliver of light. Her hand reached out for it but it was too far away and would always be out of reach. Purgatory was a word that came to mind. Able to see the light of salvation but unable to touch it.

  Lara Mendes blinked at the light, its shape swimming in and out of focus, until the scrambled fragments of her mind stitched themselves back together. The ground underneath her was solid, cold stone under fine grit. When she tried to sit up, the pain snatched her breath and she lay still until the worst of it ebbed away.

  Memory returned in mismatched pieces that needed to be fitted together until they made any sense. Chasing the wolf through the trees. The ghost-hunters in turn chasing them. The village of backwards people. The wolf turning to attack her. But where was Amy? A thousand other questions buzzed inside her head but these were pushed aside by the overarching question of Amy. She had to be alive. She could not have been killed by the wolf. The thought was too much and if she had failed the girl, then she deserved to be in purgatory.

  Noise. The scrape of wood against stone. Light flooded in bright and hot and she closed her eyes. She heard boots ring off the stone and a voice hissing in a language she d
id not understand. She was gripped and jerked upright, the pain savaging her nerve endings.

  When her pupils adjusted to the available light, she saw two burly men in wide brimmed hats propping her upright.

  Her voice cracked on the first try. “What is this place?”

  They didn't even look her in the eye. She struggled against their grip but the pain had sapped all of her strength, leaving her with the backbone of a jellyfish.

  “Dutch Narrows,” said a voice. Low and cold, it boomed around as if they were in an echo chamber. “As the English call it.”

  Lara's eyes swam up. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway with the sunlight hazing around him. For a tiny moment, the entrant seemed like some dark angel come to claim her. She tried to ask the stranger who he was but her larynx cracked and the question fell to the floor unfinished.

  “You have trespassed against us.” The man stepped closer and Lara could see the deep lines etched in his face and the gray flecking his beard. The contempt in his eyes was unmistakable. “You have no right to be here.”

  “Who are you?”

  “He is the Bishop,” hissed the younger man at her side. “You will address him with respect.”

  “Your name is Lara Mendes,” said the Bishop. “Yes?”

  She carried no identification with that name. So how did he know? He must have been told. “There was a girl with me. Where is she? Is she hurt?”

  “She is here. She is uninjured.”

  She wanted to shake off the man holding her but she had no strength at all, not even a show of strength left. “Why are you keeping us here? We haven't done anything wrong.”

  The Bishop towered over her. He bent lower, his teeth bared. “You have done everything wrong. You have tainted everything with your evil, woman.”

  Alarm bells rang through Lara's ears. Fanatic. Fundamentalist nutjob. With her vision acclimatized, she could see that she was inside some kind of dungeon. The only window was a cross-shaped hole chiseled high into the wall above her. The glowing light she had mistaken for salvation earlier.

  Something else wasn't right. Her pulse was spiking at the threat of danger, a surefire trigger to the wolf inside her. But there was nothing. It was as if the lobo in her heart had vanished. Or died.