Silver Collar

by Gill McKnight

  Now Marie Garoul’s silvered hair hung over the open pages of the almanac. She read intently, sitting slightly offside so Connie could read over her shoulder. Emily fiddled with her coffee cup and stared surreptitiously at Connie. She knew her, well, knew of her. Had even seen her shopping a few times in Lost Creek, or visiting the library there. This was the famed Connie Fortune, the reclusive wildlife artist whose work adorned gallery walls, and glossy magazine covers, and about a million billion T-shirts. It was obvious she and Marie were more than work partners. The air around them hummed with an energy that made the tiny hairs on Emily’s arm stand at attention.

  So this was what being in a relationship with a werewolf looked like. Basically, like any other healthy relationship Emily had known. The normality of their home, of sharing a meal with them, watching them try to help her…Emily had not expected this. Luc’s family was not what she expected at all.

  The yellowed vellum crackled, and Marie sighed. Emily was disconcerted by the weightiness of it. She caught Marie sharing a conspiratorial glance with Connie.

  “What? What is it?” Emily asked. She wanted them to know she had caught the look and nothing was to be kept from her. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, prepared for either a lecture or an argument. Instead, she received a sympathetic look and her bluster faltered. She had a feeling she was not going to like their news.

  “This spell.” Marie’s long finger tapped the opened page. “Silver Collar. This is definitely the one you used?”

  “Spell?” Emily said. “That’s an alchemic formula. Okay, so there are elements of medicinal herb lore in it, but they’re mostly allegorical.”

  Connie gave a grin that lit up her whole face. “Well, you’re not wrong,” she said, “but that’s only the surface value. There’s a whole strata of subtext here. As with most things Garoul, you never get what you think you will. Unfortunately, these guys have hidden depths.” She squeezed Marie’s shoulder.

  “What subtext?” Emily asked. This was not making sense. She knew what she had read, and it was alchemy. The text was alchemical in its entirety. She was not mistaken in that.

  “This is not an alchemic silver bullet,” Marie said. “It’s a coded text for something else entirely.” She tapped the text. “Emily, this is a love spell.”

  It came upon her in waves of slow motion. Emily felt her jaw slacken, her eyes widen. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides. She knew she looked like an idiot. Sweat began to bead on her scalp. She was slipping, losing control, and nothing could stop the wild tilting.

  “It is not,” was all she could manage to say.

  Connie gave an ungodly snort of laughter, and Marie tried to suppress a smile under a very convincing frown.

  “I’m afraid it is,” she said. “You’ve cast a love spell on Luc. She’s bound to you whether she likes it or not. Whether you like it or not—”

  “I d-don’t like it. I don’t like it at all!” Emily could hear the scratchy panic in her voice as her chest closed over, trapping the last of her words. With a shaking hand, she grappled at her pocket for the Lexotanil. Connie watched with growing concern.

  “Are you okay, Emily?”

  But Emily was beyond speech, beyond stammering. She was on automatic now; she had to pop her pill. Had to. Her hands were shaking. The foil wrapper was fidgety and awkward in her slick, sweaty fingers. She just needed a pill. One goddamn pill! How hard was it to pop one fucking—

  “Here.” The coolness of Connie’s fingers brushed against her own and the packet was gently pried from her hands. A pill was dispensed into Connie’s palm.

  “How many do you need?” she asked.

  Emily grabbed at the pill and gulped it down dry, shaking her head at the offer of another. One should do.

  “Drink this.” Marie appeared at her side with a glass of water. She took the foil from Connie, and with a cursory glance at the wrapper, pushed it back in Emily’s pocket. “Come and sit down.”

  Emily was guided to a soft, squishy couch that all but swallowed her when she sat on it. Connie fell in beside her, and Marie took a nearby armchair.

  “How long have you had the panic attacks?” Connie asked.

  Cooling sweat glazed Emily’s skin and she shivered. She shook her head, not prepared to answer.

  “It’s not as bad as it u-used to be,” was all she said. “And I felt this one building on me all day. Once I’m on a roll, it’s easy to tip over. And believe me, I’ve been on a r-roll for days.”

  “I’m sure our news didn’t help,” Connie said. “So you have a history with this?”

  “S-since my dad died,” Emily said. “I also stammer if I’m stressed. I’m low on the PDSS scale.” She used to be a lot higher, but she didn’t want to share that.

  “Panic disorder severity scale.” Marie brooded over the words. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere. “And you use Lexotanil.” It was a statement not a question.

  Emily nodded but turned her attention back to Connie. Already, she felt calmer, and she’d rather not talk about her health. There were far more urgent problems to discuss.

  “I did not cast a love spell on Luc. I d-don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo anyway. I made a replica of an artifact from that goddamned book—”

  “A silver collar that enthralls the beast you place it on,” Marie said. “And you dedicated it to Luna, our moon goddess.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did, whether you know it or not,” Marie said, straight to the point. “Luna is the soul of a Were being. She is the power that draws out our secret nature, our true selves. And every time Luc mutates into her Were being, you become irresistible.” She sat back in her chair and stared at Emily with a mixture of admiration and censure. “That is not how the recipe is supposed to be used.”

  “How is it supposed to be used?” Emily was angry at her own misunderstanding. Her queasiness was subsiding, and if she could concentrate on this argument, the residual symptoms of her attack would recede still further. Her stammer had already slipped away unseen.

  “It’s an ancient recipe. Out of use for well over a century. Where the hell did you find that almanac?” Marie asked.

  “A dealer tipped me off. Lucky for me, it was a quiet day at the auction, and I was able to get it for an affordable price. And you’re telling me it’s some sort of grimoire?”

  “It’s not a grimoire. The Garoul almanacs accumulate knowledge over generations, and we send a coded copy out each year to respective family members. It’s our clan lore book, if you like. It changes each year. Some content is more relevant to the way we live while other stuff falls out of fashion and is omitted. Like silver collars.”

  “What is a silver collar supposed to do then?” Emily asked.

  “You were right in guessing it’s a containment spell. But it’s medicinal. It’s for a loved one to manage a werewolf in pain. If it’s in enough agony, a wolven is a crazed thing. Imagine a silver collar as a sort of analgesic. It enthralls the beast within.”

  “So tell me how to stop this obsession thing. What do I have to do to get Luc off my scent?” Emily was growing impatient. She had to resolve this and soon.

  “Take the collar off,” Connie said. “And good luck with that, by the way.”

  “Can’t you help me?” Even as she asked, Emily knew the answer.

  “I’m afraid there is little we can do. You put it on, and you have to take it off.”

  “There’s a key. It’s part of the spell. But I’d have to get close enough.” Emily was worried about this. Luc wasn’t that approachable these days.

  “Is there a ritual for using the key and opening the collar?” Marie asked. “There’s usually a reversal procedure with old stuff like this.”

  Emily looked at her blankly. Her ratty old almanac seemed like a joke now compared to the pristine article on the table before them. So many pages were missing she had no idea if there was a special ritual for using the key. She hadn’t seen anything written about i
t. She felt ill again.

  “Remember. We know very little about this, and you can’t break a spell and not pay a penalty. Luna only knows the price you may have to pay for breaking this one.” Connie’s voice was soft, making her warning all the more dire.

  “Then how the hell am I supposed to get the collar off?”

  Marie tapped the almanac. “Research,” she said. “Research and bait.”

  “Bait?” echoed Emily.

  “Yes,” Marie told her. “Bait. And that would be you.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Luc was furious.

  There were Garouls everywhere, guarding Emily’s den, barring her from it. Not that she would go within a hundred yards of the place now that they were there stinking it up.

  Adding to her foul mood, Emily’s RV had gone. Emily had driven off and Luc had missed seeing her go. Was anyone with her? Had she packed up and gone for good? This made Luc panicky. And to top it all, there was a new dog at the house. A big, mean bitch of a thing that had a slight cystitis infection, judging by her urine, which probably made her even meaner.

  Luc didn’t know whether to roar her throat raw in discontent or huff silently up a tree. She decided on the latter where she could keep an eye on the house and on the motley wolven patrolling it. The stupidity of the Garouls amazed her. They didn’t look up even once. For them, the whole world was at ground level with the rustle of animals, and the smell of plants, and the pattern of paw tracks. That was only fifty percent of her kingdom. She was as mighty as a gorilla, as agile as a chimp! How she wished she could throw branches at their stupid heads and wake them up.

  She scratched her neck. The collar was getting itchy. Time for it to come off. She was cured now. The magic in the collar had taken away the virus; she was sure of it. Now she would take Emily into the woods and show her the tree nest, and bite her. Emily was strong and clever; she would not succumb to the virus. Luc’s ears flattened. At least she hoped not. But the time had come. Emily was the one for her. Luc had to turn her, to make her a full-blooded wolven mate, and then they would head for the border and home to Lonesome Lake.

  *

  “Can I see inside your RV?”

  Emily hadn’t seen the little girl approach. She looked up from her seat on the porch and smiled. “Sure,” she said. “It’s not locked.”

  She was surprised to see a child here. She had that definite Garoul look, all dark hair, sallow skin, and wild, black eyes. Their Nez Perce heritage ran close to the skin.

  Then again, the Garoul compound was nothing like what she had expected. A small vacation village would be the best description. There was a central meeting and eating area around a massive fire pit and barbeque, big enough to hold a heifer. And each cabin seemed to be well equipped for family living, some more permanent than others. Emily could see where some family groups, Marie and Connie for instance, lived here full-time while others came and went. Where children fit in, Emily was unsure. Did they attend Covington schools or were they home taught? She wasn’t sure how werewolf families operated over the minutiae of everyday living, but now that she thought of it, she was sure she had seen some of these men and women at the Covington Mall shopping for food and shoes and household products like everyone else.

  The child ran over to the RV and Emily followed.

  “The side door slides open,” she called.

  “Cool.” The kid’s nose was already pressed against the glass looking inside. Emily’s heart lurched at a memory of a very muddy Luc doing exactly the same thing. The kid even managed to leave grubby hand marks on the door as she slid it open with all the excitement of entering a secret cavern. Emily smiled.

  “If you check out that drawer to your right, you might find a bar of chocolate,” she said. The chocolate was found and devoured in two bites and the wrapper dropped anywhere handy. Emily frowned as she picked up the litter and placed it in the trash. She was having full-on déjà vu, and it involved Luc and her nasty habits.

  “This is great. Do you sleep in it? Where’s the bed? Hey, look, it’s the tiniest bathroom in the world. Is that the stove? What do you eat?” The kid’s chatter was incessant and soon had Emily grinning.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Mouse,” the girl said. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m Emily. I’m visiting Marie and Connie.”

  Mouse continued to poke in drawers and cupboards.

  “Luc was here, wasn’t she? I can smell her.” Her words were so matter-of-fact Emily was stunned into wordlessness. The smile dropped from her face. Of course, the child was a werewolf. Why should Emily assume they were all somehow initiated and not born into lycanthropy?

  “Um. Yes, Luc was here for a while,” she said faintly, aware the child expected an answer. Mouse was sniffing at the bench seat now, actually sniffing it.

  “She marked this,” she said with authority. “She says this is her RV, too.” Mouse seemed happy with this.

  “You know Luc?” Emily asked, and her chest tightened despite the Lexotanil. She could see what was coming and it felt like a slow-motion car crash.

  “Luc’s my mom,” Mouse said proudly.

  I knew that. I really did. They’re so alike.

  “Here comes Taddy.” Mouse had moved on to another topic, unaware of the bomb she had just dropped.

  Emily turned to see a small dog bustling across the compound to greet her.

  “Wilbur!” she cried, and scratched his head in welcome while his tail wagged itself ragged.

  “Wilbur?” Mouse asked.

  “He looks like a dog I once knew,” Emily said keeping her explanation simple. “You called him…what? Taddy? Is he your dog?”

  “Taddy is short for Tadpole. He’s Hope’s dog. Come see Hope. She’s cool.” And Mouse was running away assuming Emily would follow. Tadpole went after her without a backward glance. Emily threw a quick look over her shoulder at Marie’s cabin. She had stepped out for a breath of fresh air while her hosts pored through the almanac. She supposed five more minutes in this fascinating place would do no harm and fell in behind the dog.

  Hope was the most welcoming person Emily could ever imagine. She was sunny and happy and had Emily drinking a glass of homemade lemonade minutes after saying hello. Hope’s cabin was small and cramped, but she soon explained it was a makeshift home until she and her partner, Jolie, finished building their own place down by the river.

  “Does Mouse live with you?” Emily asked, unsure of the family setup.

  “She lives with Ren. She stays with us sometimes if need be.” Hope shooed Mouse and Tadpole out of her kitchen with treats of their own to be taken in the other room. Emily noted she and Hope were now alone and braced herself for a serious conversation.

  “You know Luc?” Hope asked outright.

  Emily nodded but said nothing.

  “Everyone’s talking about this collar you put on her.” Hope fixed her with a steady, no-nonsense gaze. “By everyone, I mean the whole Garoul clan on two continents.” She smiled. “Werewolves are awful gossips.”

  Emily relaxed at the small joke. Hope seemed genuine. “Are you a werewolf?” she asked. She had to know.

  Hope shook her head. “Not all mates choose to be.”

  “Choose to be?”

  “Yes. Once you marry into the Garoul family, there is always the option to become wolven, but only if you want to.”

  Emily was amazed at this news. Here was a mixture of wolven and human, all living in the same community, and no one was savaged or eaten? Hope laughed at her expression.

  “I felt exactly the same way when I found out about Jolie. But you’re different,” she said.

  “How am I different?”

  “That’s what all the gossip is about. You didn’t wait for your Garoul to choose you; you chose Luc with your silver collar. It’s all very romantic and thrilling. Werewolves love a good romance. Not exactly the passive type, are you?”

  “Oh, it’s not like that,” Emily
hurried to explain. “The rumor mill’s got it wrong. I wanted to snare a werewolf. I can’t deny it. I found an old almanac and thought I understood a way to trap one, but Marie has just pointed out to me I got it slightly back to front.”

  Hope frowned. “You were hunting werewolves? Are you mad?”

  “I guess I had something to prove.” Emily felt no need to mention her father. That was water that would run under the bridge for many miles before she could bring herself to examine it again. And she knew she would, but not now. Today, she had another Garoul mess to untangle. “Marie is going to help me unlock the collar and release Luc.”

  “Is that because you want Luc to be free, or because you want to be free of her?” Hope made busy pouring more lemonade in an attempt to hide her expression. Emily knew her answer was important. She liked this woman, and in different circumstances, she’d have hoped they could be friends. She had a more intelligent and mature attitude to the Garouls than anything Emily had come across in an entire lifetime of studying them.

  “If,” she began, then sipped from her glass as her mouth went dry. “If Luc is happier, then it’s worth it. I don’t know her any other way than in the collar. To me, she’s a complex, totally stressed out entity. She’s also funny, and in a strange way has some charming quirks. I guess I’ll miss her. Miss the connection with her, I mean.”

  “The connection?”

  “I think the collar works both ways. There’s the collar wearer and there’s the key holder. I can’t say I’ve been unaffected by the experience.” Misery crowded in on her. The adventure was ending. She was glad the danger would be over, but sensed she was losing a lot more.

  Hope reached for her hand. “Silver clouds things, Emily,” she said. “If it’s smooth like a bowl, it never reflects true, but if it’s sharp, it can cut to the heart of the matter. The Garouls believe it draws out the soul. Perhaps once that collar is off little will have really changed?”

  “I’m not so sure about that. It’s been a day for hard truths.” She glanced toward the living room where Mouse and Tadpole were watching cartoon DVDs. Luc had a daughter, a history, a past that included other lovers. She thought of Marie’s revelations about her father, and her new honesty with Uncle Norm. The day had been full of lessons. The Universe had roared its lessons at her today. “Once that collar comes off, everything will change.”