Andee said nothing, but slowly shook her head.
He smiled.
“Still not convinced?”
She shook her head.
“Hmmm,” he mused. “Tough crowd.”
“An intelligent one, at least,” she grinned.
He smiled and shrugged.
“Perhaps the most complete story is the one of Lycaon.”
“Lycaon?” she asked.
“Yes, Lycaon,” he repeated. “According to legend, with some mention in ancient histories, Lycaon was the king of the city-state Arcadia in old Greece. In an effort to find out if Zeus was truly a god and all-knowing, Lycaon had one of his sons butchered and offered to Zeus for lunch.”
“Oh,” Andee wrinkled her nose. “That’s awful.”
“Not to worry,” said Alwyn. “Zeus saw through the trickery and as punishment, changed Lycaon into a wolf. Later, he restored the son to life and turned Lycaon back to a man. Inadvertently, Zeus had given the king the ability to change forms and be returning the son to full health, given the ability for accelerated healing.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Lloyd shrugged again, as if to indicate her belief or not was not required.
“Many werewolves prefer to be called Lycaon’s in honor of who they consider to be their original parent.”
“You’re kidding. People out there,” she waved in the air, “claim to be werewolves?”
Alwyn patted the air with his hand in a motion telling her to be patient.
“King Lycaon,” he continued, “is recorded to have founded the city of Lycosura in Greece, as well as the Lycacan Games, which were precursors to the Panathenaic games and thus the Olympics. In addition, the Greek City Nonakris is said to be named after one of the man’s wives.”
“He had more than one wife?”
“For Nonakri’s sake, I hope so. After the incident with Zeus, the man had fifty more sons.”
“Okay, we agree on one point, anyway,” Andee laughed. “Still, all you’ve told me are just stories. You haven’t provided anything of value that might help solve the murder.”
Alwyn studied her for a moment, and then said, “Class isn’t over yet.”
She shook her head.
“Think about it, for just a moment,” Alwyn said. “Lycaon, according to the story, had fifty sons. That’s a lot of wives to find. He isn’t credited with starting a university where people sit around and debate. He started the precursors to the Olympics. These were the most important games in Athens.”
“Now, no matter the culture, the country or the time of the reference, everyone agrees werewolves are stronger, faster, have more stamina, and recover quicker than regular men.”
Andee caught movement out of the corner of her eyes. She looked up and saw a blurry dark spot, a shadow, cross in front of them.
“What was that?” she asked? She searched the evening sky.
“Just a bat,” he said, “looking for insects. They’ll not trouble you.”
She lowered her eyes and turned her head. He was looking down. At the ground? At the fish pond?
She smiled. No, he was looking at her legs.
“Thank you, Miranda,” she said quietly.
He raised his eyes. “I’m sorry? Miranda?”
“She loaned me this dress. She said you’d like it.”
If her admission caused the slightest bit of discomfort for him, it didn’t show. He smiled.
“Yes, indeed. Thank you, Miranda. Now should we get back to the lesson?”
“I think we better,” she sighed.
He nodded.
“We left old Lycaon with fifty sons. Is it possible the old man started the games in an effort to showcase the abilities of his sons and therefore attract wives?”
She lowered her chin and studied him.
“Old Lycaon’s own meat market, I guess,” she smiled.
He ignored her comment.
“Throughout history, there continue to be references to a man-beast who is violent, cunning and extra strong. Shakespeare, in his play ‘Julius Caesar,’ claimed Marc Antony said, ‘Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.’ Is there a dog more suited for war than a wolf?”
“But,” she started, but he held up his hand.
“All societies that held bravery and military fighting in high regard paid homage to the wolf. The Danes, the Vikings, the Celts, all of them honor the wolf by placing its likeness on shields, banners, family crests and so on. As did most of Europe. On one hand, the wolf was considered a vicious predator of livestock and men, given the chance, but he was also regarded with a level of respect. Many times, the bravest or most ruthless units of the military were named in honor of the wolf.”
“Professor...”
“Alwyn,” he corrected.
“Alwyn,” she nodded, “everything you have said is nothing more than folklore, myths, rumors that keep repeating themselves. Where is there any evidence such an animal ever existed, let alone exists in present day?”
“You are right, of course, but that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The myths and folklore just won’t go away. Instead every generation has a new twist to add to the werewolf story.”
“All right, we have writers with twisted imaginations,” she grinned. “But you’re telling me there is a possibility that werewolves actually lived.”
“Which is bigger, a werewolf or a pyramid?”
She rolled her eyes and replied, “Quiz time, huh? Okay, I’ll play. Pyramids. What’s your point?”
“Pyramids have been seen by people all around the world. There’s even photos taken of them from space, but we still don’t know how they were built or by whom.”
“Make your point,” she said, standing. “What’s that got to do with werewolves?”
He raised in hands, a show of getting irritated with her, “Simply this. The blueprints, if we can call them that, of the pyramids are said to have been stored in the library in Alexandria. Estimates of the number of scrolls contained there are as high as 400,000. Think of the knowledge of the ancient world that we lost when it was burned.”
“And you think the history of the werewolf was in that library?” She sounded astonished.
“I’m saying I think it could have been and in addition, the genesis of the species as well. But that’s it, isn’t it? We don’t know what was in there. In essence, we don’t know what we don’t know.”
“You can’t seriously believe that.”
He bounced his eyebrows and his expression masked, “That’s pretty close-minded for a person who is trained to look for the unexplained, the hidden.”
“I’m trained to look for clues, for evidence.”
“So you say with all the different races, variations, tribes and clans of humans, that there is no room for one that also carries the genes of the wolf? Only a few years ago, we stumbled over yet another tribe of Indians in the rainforest of Brazil. You can’t seriously believe there aren’t new discoveries to be made.”
“But…” she started again, and again he held up his hand.
“But none of what you have said proves the creature exists,” she continued anyway.
“True,” he agreed, “but that is not my objective. My objective is to try to help you solve a murder. I simply start where I start to lead to this point.”
“Oh, so you are getting to a point,” she teased.
“Yes,” he said, taking a moment to admire the darkness of her eyes. He focused.
“Suppose, just suppose, that the story of Lycaon holds a fraction of truth. Just suppose, fifty families, all with what we will call the wolf gene, spread across the world and fight to survive against the hate, fear and anger that follow them. Jews, one of the most persecuted of all races, are only 0.2 percent of the world’s population. The descendants of Lycaon, if they exist, would make up a group maybe half that size.”
“And you believe such a group actually exists?”
He sidestepped the question.
“If such a group lives, the only way would be to join together. The families would realize they could not survive by themselves, and they would form a loosely connected sort of alliance or government, a senate, if you will. Each family would send one representative to hold council concerning the affairs of the Lycaon community.”
“One of the obligations would be to debate and hold court on those wolves who violate the community laws. These trials are in held in secret, and when the verdict is decided, an individual, one who has been prepared his entire life for the responsibility, is called upon to hold the violator accountable. Punishment is varied, but can and often does include the death penalty.”
She studied him for several seconds and quietly asked, “Are you telling me you believe there is a society of werewolves who found Eduardo Ferreira guilty of a crime and had him executed?”
“I’m saying there is an individual who believes it.”
She stood and paced with her chin on her chest and looked at the flagstones on which she stepped. Three or four steps in one direction, then she’d turn and step the return trip. He said nothing as he gave her time to work through what he had told her.
He watched her pace. He enjoyed the ripples of the fabric as it swayed around her hips and thighs. He watched her legs, strong and fit, as they stepped off in this direction and then that. He liked the way the hem of the dress billowed when she spun a 180 to start the walk again. He watched her feet and noticed she never stepped on the joint between the large flat stones.
He smiled, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...”
After half a dozen trips, she stopped and looked at him. His eyes raised to hers. She canted a hip to one side and rested her fist on it.
“Really, Professor, do you ogle all your female students this way?”
She wanted to put him on the defensive. She wanted to grasp a tiny bit of control. She failed.
He looked at her and the intensity simmered in the blue eyes. He was the predator. She felt the surge of desire ripple through her the way the fabric rippled around her body mere moments before.
“They don’t have legs like yours, Special Agent Trakes.”
Her breath caught. She inhaled. She failed. If he wanted her, she would be at his mercy.
“I can’t get my head around this werewolf stuff,” she stammered, attempting to change the subject. “How can someone, anyone, believe such a thing? I’m giving myself a headache. I’m going to go to bed.”
He studied her and nodded, “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s not far.”
He nodded again. “As you wish.”
They parted without another word. She turned away from him, picked up the discarded shoes and started back toward the house. She felt him watching her. Part of her wished he’d call her back. She’d respond. Part of her wanted him to stop her from leaving. He didn’t.
At the back door was a small cement porch, where three steps led up to the doorway. Once there, she turned and looked back at the garden. She could see his silhouette, alone, where she had left him. She controlled the urge to return to him. She studied him for some time, unwilling to break the emotional bond that had formed. Then she turned and entered the house. She closed the door behind her without another backwards glance.
She climbed the stairs, confused about what he had told her. Were werewolves real? He hadn’t said so, but it seemed he believed they were. Could such things actually exist in the modern society? Why hadn’t he kissed her? She would have let him. Why hadn’t she kissed him? She’d wanted to. No, she was an FBI agent, on assignment. She gently shook her head, as if doing so would clear it.
She pictured herself briefing Hubbard, saying “Yes, sir, the professor was an extremely good kisser.” She chuckled at her silliness. That was what she needed, a little silliness.
She stood in the darkness of her room by the window that looked over the garden. Alwyn was gone. The moon was full, and its reflected light caused shadows behind the plants, benches, ferns and small trees. The walkway and the flagstone looked alabaster. Her mind returned to the man who only minutes before stood in that moonlight beside her. They had stood together, and their shadows had joined. Their shadows casted by the moon. She shook her head. She felt a slight intoxication. She didn’t like it, but the longing she felt for him was real, and it was uncomfortable. She wondered if she should ask to be reassigned. Would her feelings for the man interfere with doing her job?
She saw a figure move through the orchard. She couldn’t recognize him in the patchwork of dim light and shadow, but she knew it was him. She knew it was Alwyn. He crossed to the edge of the woods, now little more than a darker spot in the mist of subdued light. She stared at him. She felt guilty for watching him, but she couldn’t stop. She asked her eyes to open wider that she might see more of him.
He did a strange thing. He removed his shirt. As she continued to watch, he disappeared into the wilds of the natural growth.
Trakes opened the window, then stepped away from it and silently vowed to get her act together. She undressed, threw on a cotton sleep shirt and lay on the bed. She thought back through the day and the days before. She smiled in the darkness when she realized the gruesome death of a man in a park had led her to this wonderful and weird family. Her eyes closed as the breeze from the garden washed over her and with it, the menagerie of scents and sounds.
As she drifted into sleep she heard it. Her eyes sprung and she blinked into the darkness. There it was again. The howl of a wolf.
The following morning, Andee descended the stairs to find the house empty. At least, almost empty. Gennadiya Lloyd sat in the breakfast nook drinking tea. The woman sat tall on her chair, and striped shirt of red and white over a pair of white pants.
“Good morning, Andee,” the woman said. “I can call you Andee, can I not?”
“Of course.”
“Good, and you can call me Auntie Gennie, at least until you call me mother.”
Color shot to Andee’s cheeks, and Gennadiya laughed.
“Look at you, blushing like the bride you hope to be.”
“Wait, wait a minute,” Andee said, “I didn’t come here to become a bride or find a husband. I came here to find a killer. Not that I think Alwyn is a killer.”
The woman baited her, “You don’t hope to become a bride, someday?”
“Someday, yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Frankly, I haven’t thought about it.”
Gennie shrugged, “That will disappoint Miranda. She has made it her duty to find a wife for my Alwyn. I believe she has gone so far as to take an oath in the matter.”
Andee smiled, “Well, your son is a fine man.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled.
“Oh, my Alwyn is more than a mere man.”
“How do you mean?” Andee asked.
“What mother doesn’t think her offspring is more than just ordinary?”
Andee sat down after filling a glass with water.
“Do you mind if I ask you something? It’s about Alwyn.”
“What mother minds talking about her son?”
“Last night, at dinner, while you, Miranda and several others had wine with your meal, Alwyn drank only water. The salad and vegetables were wonderful, yet I only saw Alwyn eat meat. Does he not like vegetables?”
“You have keen eyes, Andee,” Gennie smiled. “It’s obvious you are a good agent. But did you not see Alwyn put vegetables on his plate?”
“I did, but, as I said, he didn’t eat them.”
The older woman’s periwinkle eyes bore into the agent until Andee felt uncomfortable.
“Not one guest in a hundred would notice such things, and yet you did,” she said calmly. “As I said, you are more than you first appear to be. Do my son’s dietary habits bother you?”
“No, it’s not that, but it is a question.”
Auntie Gennie sipped her tea and studied
the agent. When she spoke again, her voice was reverent.
“Alwyn is my only son. He is a son promised by the moon and stars. His birth was foretold. He was born for a special purpose, and to this purpose, he has dedicated his life. His diet, his habits, his way of living is a sign of respect for this purpose and his dedication to it.”
“I don’t mean to be rude or insulting in any way,” Andee said, scowling, “but I thought Alwyn was a history professor.”
The woman laughed with so much energy, she spilled her tea. Then, seeing the mess, she laughed some more.
“You have much to talk to Alwyn about. I will have Miranda take you to his office.”
“Thank you,” Andee said as she stood, “but first tell me where I can find a cloth to help clean this.”
Again the eyes studied Andee, looking for indications of trying too hard to impress. They didn’t find any. Her offer to help was sincere. Gennie Lloyd told her where to find a cloth.
The ride to the campus was as wild as the ride from it the previous evening. The entire distance, Miranda tried in vain to persuade Andee to stay the weekend.
“Come on,” she begged, “even Special Agents deserve to take time off. Alwyn likes you and if you stay the weekend, by Sunday night, he will adore you. I know he will; I already do.”
“Miranda, I have to get back. I have a case I have to work.”
“What is the bother? He will be just as dead on Monday as he is today.”
“Please, I have obligations, and besides, my dog misses me.”
“You have a dog?”
“Yes, his name is Kelsey.”
“What a cute name. Is someone taking care of him?”
“Of course. He continued, his voice modulated. My neighbor dog-sits when I have to work. I wouldn’t be able to keep my little guy any other way. And speaking of things that leave tiny paw prints, what’s with the tattoo of the cat tracks?”
Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves Page 9