Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  As I pushed open the glass door, a bell jingled. I saw an empty receptionist desk and a few token chairs for people waiting. I doubted much of a crowd ever entered the Greybull town hall. Hallways led back into the building on either side of the reception area and, as I balanced the car seat on a chair to wait, I heard footsteps coming down the left-hand hall. Not the clicking of Lily’s boots, the footsteps instead turned out to belong to a police officer, one of the tallest men I’d ever seen. Standing at least six foot six, he looked even taller because he was so thin—like someone had taken a guy of average height and stretched him an extra eight inches. He appeared about my age, probably in his late twenties, with his brown hair in a military-inspired cut. If I hadn’t been looking closely, I would have missed the slight widening of his eyes as he approached me and Carson.

  “I’m Officer Hardy, ma’am,” he said, making it sound like he addressed one of his mother’s friends over for tea. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m here to meet with Mayor Lily Rose.”

  The officer nodded, obviously expecting that answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of the mayor herself, down the opposite corridor.

  “Julie, thanks for coming. Right this way,” she gestured. “Bill, please wait out here.” Lily’s implied “in case I need you” caused me to narrow my eyes briefly, but I followed Lily down the hall.

  Lily’s office turned out to be a very formal room indeed. Facing the door, a broad cherry-toned L-shaped desk held a large flat screen monitor and several stacks of papers. Full bookshelves lined the left-hand wall. On the right, two large windows with sage curtains drawn back and an oblong table matched the desk. Lily pulled out a chair from the table and motioned for me to do the same.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  I put Carson’s seat down on the floor gently, positioning him near my foot so I could rock the seat if needed. I sat straight in the chair, focused on Lily, who lounged across from me and flashed her perfect smile once again.

  “Go ahead,” she said, just as I opened my mouth to speak.

  “How did you know Carson… How did you know about Carson?” I asked.

  “Obviously, because I am also a Werewolf.” Lily flared her delicate nostrils. “And Carson smells like a Werewolf. It’s unmistakable.”

  “You’re a… And you smelled him, all the way from your office? No,” I interrupted myself. “The pharmacist. He must be one, too, and he called you.”

  “Yes. And a few others in town. You created quite a stir,” Lily said. “And it’s okay to say the word, you know, especially to me, especially here. Werewolf.”

  “How?” My voice rose an octave. “How is this possible? How can Carson possibly be—how can you be—a Werewolf?”

  Lily looked at me for a moment, considering. Without segue, she asked, “Where are you from, Julie? Where does your family live?”

  “Oregon. Southern Oregon, Jacksonville, actually. Although, my parents now live in Arizona. Why?”

  “And before then? Were your parents raised in Oregon?”

  “No, my mom is from the Midwest, from Ohio, near Cleveland. My dad’s family is from Indiana.” I shrugged, “Why? What does that have to do with…this?”

  Lily said, “I don’t know of any wolves in southern Oregon. Any werewolves, that is. But there are some packs in the Midwest and one in particular near Cleveland. So perhaps that’s your familial connection.”

  “My family? Carson’s a Werewolf because of my family? That’s not possible.”

  “It must be, Julie. For Carson to be a Were, he must have inherited the gene from both his parents. You’re here in Greybull, obviously, to find his father’s family—I assume Roger was the father?” I nodded. “And you must also bear the recessive gene.”

  She paused for a moment, but I just stared at her.

  Lily continued, “Roger would have been very proud to know his son had already changed, at such a young age.”

  Suddenly, something clicked.

  “Why are you talking about Mac—Roger in the past tense?” I asked, bolting out of my chair. Without intending, I leaned over the small mayor, practically shouting in her face.

  Lily’s brows rose in surprise. A look of chagrin passed fleetingly across her face, although she showed no distress at my standing over her.

  “Julie,” she said, gently. “I think you need to sit down. Roger MacGregor is dead.”

  ****

  Several minutes later, I still sat numbly in Lily’s office. A cup of coffee appeared after Lily stepped to the door and spoke to Officer Bill Hardy in a hushed voice. The cup sat untouched in front of me. Carson slumbered on at my feet, oblivious he’d just lost his father—a father he’d never even known. It seemed so unreal to me, even more so than the whole Werewolf business which, after all, I actually witnessed. One minute, Mac was alive and I had every opportunity to contact him, to introduce him to his son—maybe even reconcile with him. Yes, now, at this point, I finally admitted part of me, a large part of me, had expected we’d end up together again. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I’d felt betrayed. And so I had acted with utmost immaturity, hiding my pregnancy and our baby from Mac. I think deep down I knew Mac would have been full of joy to know about Carson. I’d been spiteful, spiteful and unfair not to contact him earlier. And now it was too late. I’d never see him again and he’d never, ever meet Carson.

  Lily placed a box of tissues in front of me, and I blindly reached out to wipe my face. I blew my nose, loudly, and then dissolved into tears again, as I remembered Mac teasing me about how blotchy and snotty I became when I cried. I took off my glasses and blotted my eyes.

  Dammit.

  “When did…” I cleared my throat. “When did Mac die?”

  “About three months ago.” Lily sat back down, next to me this time. “Actually, I hoped you’d have some information about it, but I…I guess not.”

  Three months ago. Carson was one month old.

  “What do you mean? How did he die?” Every time I uttered the word, another dagger stabbed my heart. Yes, a melodramatic metaphor, but that’s really how it felt.

  “We’re not sure, exactly.” Lily looked at me, her doll-blue eyes assessing. “He was murdered.”

  “Murdered,” I echoed. “Murdered? How does someone murder a Werewolf? Don’t you have, ah, superhuman strength and stuff? Vulnerable only to silver and garlic and…”

  Lily smiled. “Kind of. We heal quickly, and we’re stronger than humans. It’s true silver weapons affect us more strongly than steel. Not the garlic thing, though, thankfully, since I love a good shrimp scampi. Anyway, don’t they say garlic is for Vampires?”

  Her voice turned serious. “We’re not immortal, though. And whoever killed Roger knew full well he was a Werewolf.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lily looked down, not meeting my gaze. “Let’s not go into the details right now, Julie. I promise you, I’ll tell you the full story later, once the news has settled in a bit.”

  After a few moments of silence, Lily leaned across the table and took my hand.

  “It’s good you’re here, Julie. It’s good you knew to come to us. Roger’s parents will be happy to meet you and Carson.”

  I nodded, silent but grateful.

  Chapter Three

  I let Lily walk ahead of me as we approached the farmhouse and forced myself to loosen my nervous grip on Carson. The modest two-story home sported a fresh coat of white paint with dark green trimming the windows, the lawn and flower beds meticulously maintained. The house sat on several acres of land; mostly scrub grass, sage brush, and reddish dusty soil. I saw a hen house in back, but it didn’t seem the MacGregors had an operating farm—more like almost everyone had some sort of livestock in a place like Wyoming. We’d taken a narrow road off the highway and then followed a gravel lane for nearly a mile before arriving. I couldn’t see any neighbors and wondered what it would be like to live somewhere this remote. Seemingly oblivious to the
momentous occasion, Carson looked blearily up at the blue sky and opened and closed his little hands as if grasping for the sun.

  Before Lily could even knock, the door flung open to reveal a middle-aged woman who practically pushed the small mayor aside as she stepped toward me.

  “You’re… And this… Oh, my, oh my…”

  The woman closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and then looked at me with one of the most generous and sincere smiles I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m sorry, excuse me. I’m Erin MacGregor and you are most welcome here. Please, come in.”

  As I stepped inside, the coolness of the air conditioning met me and the contrast from the strong sun left me momentarily blinking in the tiled entry way.

  “I’m Julie Hall and this is Carson. Um, Carson Roger Hall.”

  “Carson Roger?” Erin swallowed once more and shut her eyes for a split second before continuing. “He’s beautiful.”

  “Isn’t he?”

  We exchanged a smile.

  Impulsively, I offered, “Here, why don’t you hold him?”

  “Oh! Oh.” She took Carson gently into her arms. “Hello, sweet boy. Hello, Carson.”

  Lily moved restlessly in the doorway, breaking Erin’s reverie.

  “Oh, Full. I’m sorry, come in, come in.” Erin ushered Lily into the house. “Full, Julie, let’s go into the living room where it’s more comfortable.”

  “Full?” I echoed, as we followed her into the house. Erin still cradled Carson, who grabbed hold of her thick, graying braid.

  “Full. My title, as head of the pack.”

  I stopped short. “Head of the pack?”

  Lily turned toward me and raised a perfectly-shaped brow.

  “You’re the head of the pack? The pack of Werewolves? The local group of Werewolves? You’re the head?”

  “Yes.” Lily’s mouth quirked. “I’m the pack’s Full. As in: full, waxing, half, waning, crescent, dark. And the head full moon wolf is the Full. Which is me,” she said, slowly and clearly, as I stood looking at her.

  “Oh.”

  “Expecting someone—hmmm, let me guess—someone bigger, taller, stronger, male-er? Some burly, hairy brute of a man?”

  “Well. Yes. I guess.”

  Lily shook her head. “Julie Hall, you have a lot to learn about Werewolves.”

  ****

  In the next two hours, I didn’t learn much about Werewolves, but I did learn a lot about Mac and his family. Mac’s mother and I clicked instantly, and we both soon cooed to Carson about “Grandma Erin.” She pulled out piles of baby pictures, and we happily engaged in the game of Who Does Carson Look Like. We agreed, with the curls Mac and I both shared, Carson’s hair would only get curlier as it grew. Right now, he had that baby male-pattern baldness look, where his hair was worn away on the sides. At the nape of his neck, though, were a couple undeniable curls. Erin thought Carson’s eyes might end up blue like Mac’s and hers, but I thought they tended toward the brownish side. Or maybe green. We both agreed he had Mac’s mouth and chin, and we blinked away watery eyes. At some point during all of this, Lily made her excuses and left us to it.

  As the afternoon drew on, Mac’s brother Ian came home. Ian was seventeen, almost ten years younger than Mac. He slouched into the house and barely met my eyes. After a halting exchange of awkward social pleasantries, he escaped up to his room and turned on some very loud music.

  Erin sighed.

  “He’s been having a very hard time since Roger’s death. Ian’s always idolized his older brother. I hope we don’t lose him.”

  “Lose him? Are you worried he’s suicidal?”

  “No, not exactly. But he spends a lot of time as a wolf. And sometimes I worry he won’t…come back.”

  I rocked back on my heels. For a brief moment, I had forgotten.

  Carson lay on top of a blanket on the floor, kicking and flailing his arms. Erin and I sat on the carpet next to him.

  “I don’t know much about all of this, about Werewolves,” I admitted. “When I saw Carson had…changed…I freaked out.”

  “I bet you did.” Erin shook a rattle in front of the baby.

  “Um, so, are you a Werewolf, too?”

  “Yes, and so is Liam. And both boys. Although none of us manifested this early. You’re going to be a strong little full moon wolf, aren’t you, Carson?”

  I was disconcerted to hear her coo to Carson about being a Werewolf.

  “What exactly does that mean? A ‘full moon wolf’?”

  “Well, let’s see. We classify ourselves in five categories, depending on strength. A full moon wolf is the strongest, then waxing, half moon, waning, and crescent moon wolves.”

  “And what about dark moon wolves? Lily said something about that?”

  “You’re a dark moon wolf, dear. Someone who bears the gene, but cannot change or call the moon. I forgot you basically don’t know anything.” Erin sat back and started again. “As you know, Werewolves respond to the full moon by changing shape, from human to wolf. Folklore has that much correct. Almost all Weres must change at the full moon; it’s only a choice for the very strongest of us. Most can change voluntarily at other times, as well, all except for the weakest, the crescent moon wolves. Weres are also stronger than humans, and we heal very quickly, unless injured by silver. Or unless the injury is too severe.” A frown briefly crossed her face.

  “Okay. I follow you so far.”

  “Now, when I refer to ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ wolves, I don’t mean physical strength, I mean strong or weak in their ability to call the moon.”

  “Call the moon?”

  Erin nodded. “Yes, this is the part I don’t think any of the lurid Werewolf stories depict. Our identity as Werewolves is tied to the moon—our own individual abilities even wax and wane with the moon in the sky. The moon is the catalyst for our shape-changing, as I said. In turn, we have the ability to call on the moon, to call on the power of the moon. I guess you might call it magic? Moon magic?”

  “So what can you do with this moon magic?”

  “Our powers depend on the strength of the Were, but calling on the moon means invoking its powers—powers of shifting light, tides, madness, illusion, creativity—most cultural associations of the moon have some basis in actual moon magic.”

  “What can you actually do?”

  “Hmm, an example will help most. So, let’s say there’s a drought and the crops suffer. A strong Were, a full moon wolf, might call on the moon and make the waters rise from the ground, similar to the way the moon affects the ocean tides.”

  “Wow.” I digested that information for a moment.

  “Yes. And Carson will be a very strong Were, definitely a full. The earlier the shapeshifting manifests, the stronger the Were. Most Werewolves don’t shift until they hit puberty, although some shift for the first time even in their late teens.”

  Erin smiled. “Roger, he was also quite strong. He shifted when he was six. He was a full moon. Ian is a waxing moon, fairly strong himself.”

  “What are you?”

  “Waning. Liam, my husband, is a crescent moon wolf, not strong at all. He has never successfully called on the moon for anything other than shifting the light a bit in order to stay hidden. The strength of a Were isn’t inherited directly.”

  “But being a Werewolf is somehow genetic? Some sort of recessive gene the child must inherit from both parents?”

  “Yes. We haven’t isolated the gene—or genes—yet, although I know there are some Weres in genetics research trying to do just that. Our power seems mostly hereditary, although the recessive gene can also sometimes be awoken from dormancy.”

  “How?”

  Erin looked surprised at my question. “Why, by being bitten, of course. A dark moon wolf bitten by another werewolf sometimes becomes a Were.”

  My heartbeat quickened with excitement. Become a Were?

  “Wait. Only sometimes?” I said, after her qualifier registered in my brain.

  “Yes.
Sometimes the dark moon dies.”

  ****

  Mac’s father Liam came home shortly after our conversation. If I hadn’t known ahead of time he was a “crescent moon wolf,” I would have thought he was the pack leader. A bit over six feet tall, he was broad shouldered, muscular, and had a mess of unruly curls that matched his in-need-of-a-trim beard. Unlike both boys, his hair was on the reddish side of brown.

  “Liam.” Erin stood as he walked into the living room. “Did you get my voicemail?”

  At Liam’s blank look, she continued with a flush, “This is Julie Hall. She was Roger’s girlfriend. And this is their son, Carson. Carson Roger Hall. Our grandson.”

  Erin dabbed at her eyes once more. Liam’s eyebrows rose.

  “An ex-girlfriend shows up with Roger’s child and you leave me a voicemail?”

  Erin gestured widely. “I’m sorry, Liam. I got distracted…” She crossed the room and took his hand, squeezing hard. He looked down at her for a moment, and they exchanged a small smile.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, and extended a hand to envelope mine. “I apologize, but I’m a bit taken aback. We didn’t know Roger had a son.”

  “Yes.” I looked down at the floor before meeting his eyes. “Actually, Roger didn’t know, either. We were—estranged—before I found out I was pregnant.”

  “I see.”

  The moment of silence seemed to last forever.

  “I’m sorry, dear heart, I should have tried harder to reach you as soon as the Full told me…I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just so…” Erin shook her head and shrugged. She held Liam’s arm and smiled up at him. “Isn’t he the cutest baby you’ve ever seen?” Erin picked up Carson, who promptly started to scream.

  Erin laughed and handed Carson to me. Liam’s expression was unreadable.

  “Um, I think he’s hungry,” I said.

  “Well, by all means, make yourself at home,” said Erin. “And, speaking of being hungry, I need to check on dinner. You’ll stay to eat, of course, won’t you, Julie?”