Werewolves of the Other London

by Amy Cross

  I sigh, looking up at Margaret's blank eyes. "I don't think so, Walter," I say. "Can you do me a favor and call an ambulance?"

  "Is she dead?" he asks.

  "No," I say, putting one of my hands on her frail little hand. "But I think something's very wrong with her and she needs urgent medical attention. So can you please call an ambulance and ask them to hurry?"

  "Alright," Walter says, and he disappears back into his apartment.

  "Help's coming," I say to Margaret. "I don't know if you can hear me, but help is coming. Okay?" I stare at her, hoping for some sign of a response. "You'll be okay," I say, unconvincingly.

  I look over at the night-stand, at the box that Margaret is staring at. I've been in her room a few times and never seen it before. I lean over and pick it up, looking at the unusual, elaborate design on the lid. It looks old, really old, maybe an antique or something. Might be worth a bit of money, and Margaret doesn't have any family that I know of. Worth keeping my eye on this box in case...

  I suddenly realize that Margaret has moved a little. Looking up, I see that she has kept her eyes fixed on the box even while it's in my hands.

  "Nice old box," I say to her, smiling. "Can you hear me, Margaret?" Nothing. She's still almost catatonic. I wave the box around, and she moves her eyes so that she's always looking at it. "You like this old box, eh?" I say.

  Suddenly she moves her eyes to look directly at me. The effect is a little unnerving.

  "Alright, Margaret," I say. "What's in the box?"

  She stares at me for a moment. "Take a look," she says slowly, her voice hoarse. As she opens her mouth to speak, the skin on her lips cracks and peels as if her mouth has been shut for many days.

  I look down at the box and open the clasp, lifting the lid.

  "There's nothing in here, Margaret," I say, looking into the little wooden space.

  "I let it out," she says slowly.

  I nod, not really understanding. "Let what out, Margaret?"

  She's still staring at me. It's almost a full minute before she speaks again, and when she does, it's just a single word.

  "Ecotone."

  Jess

  I lean down and drink from the river. It's cool, clean water, but I kind of miss the chemical taste of the tap water back in London. I guess that's just me, though. I'll have to learn to live without a lot of the things I had before, in my old life, when I was human, when I still spent most of my time walking about on two legs instead of four. Things are so different these days. I don't think I've walked on two legs in more than a week. Every day, I feel more and more comfortable in my wolf form, and I miss being human - looking human - less and less.

  But there's still a human side inside me. A voice at the back of my mind that tells me I'm... not really a wolf. Though I walk on all fours, and though I try to behave like a wolf, I still feel like an imposter. Somehow, this all feels wrong. Of course, I could never tell Duncan that this is how I feel. I guess it'll just take time. After all, I've basically switched from one species to another. It'd bound to be a difficult process. I just have to stick with it. My human side will fade away soon rather than later. And that's what I want. I think...

  After I've drunk enough, I walk along the side of the river for a while. All around me, there are smells I never would have noticed when I was human. Other animals, creatures, the weather, distant towns... everything has a distinct scent, and I can pick it all up, separate each scent out as if I'm unpicking strands from a ball of wool. I swear, I could close my eyes forever and still get about just fine. That's what has changed the most since I became a werewolf: I sense the world in so many different ways, it's hard to believe I was ever restricted to my old human perceptions. Being human is so... small, so... narrow, that I'm not sure there's any point in ever going back to that old life.

  In fact, sometimes I forget that I have a human form at all. I spend day after day running and walking on four legs, and it doesn't occur to me to shift back into my human form, especially now that Duncan remains as a wolf all the time. We just spend our days and nights in the forest, and I suspect that Duncan is allowing me this time to get used to my new life. He seems protective, as if he wants me to have as much time and as much freedom as possible to learn to explore my new body. Sometimes I realize he's watching me. I don't know what he's thinking, but sometimes I get the sense that something is troubling him. There's a look in his eyes, as if he knows that this time of freedom won't last forever.

  Today, I've been down at the river for hours, running and exploring. I used to hate being out in the woods when I was a human, but I love it now that I'm a wolf. Maybe it's because in my human form I felt ungainly and awkward, as if I didn't belong. Humans are made for cities, but wolves are made for the natural world. So I spend my time like this, and the old days - of London, and the Underworld, and the carnival and all of those things - seem so long ago that they might be someone else's dream. The only thing I miss from that time is Darla, but I know that she's happy back at the carnival.

  Heading up from the river, I make my way back to the cave entrance where I usually find Duncan. But today he's not there, so I sniff around some more and wait for him. But after a moment, I become aware of a nearby sound... voices... human voices... My ears stand up as I listen, and for a moment I panic, but then I recognize one of the voices as Duncan. He must have turned back into his human form, but who's he talking to? Cautiously, I follow the sound of the voices and soon I find Duncan in a nearby clearing, kneeling over a man who is flat on his back.

  “It's just the blood," the other man is saying as I approach. "You have to key away from the blood." He sounds concerned and scared, and weak, and at first I assume he's injured. But as I get closer, I realize that he's not injured, he's just weak, as if he's ill. "Who's that?" he asks, looking over at me.

  Duncan turns. It's so strange to see him in his human form again. "This is Jess," he says. "She's one of us. Jess, come and meet Garvey."

  I step closer, sniffing the ground. Garvey smells different. He smells of London, of blood, and of adrenalin. For these reasons, something about him makes me nervous. It's as if he's a reminder of a world that I thought I'd left behind forever, even if I knew that some day my new world would be interrupted like this.

  "Jess," says Duncan," you need to shift."

  I look at him. Does he really want me to be human again? After all this time? I pause, but there's a serious look on his face, so I sigh and shift my body back to my human form. I stand up straight, and it feels odd to be like this again. I stretch, and it feels as if my body has been asleep for years.

  "Are you okay?" I ask, looking at Garvey.

  "He's infected," Duncan says. "A patho-virus of some sort. Very specific. Worryingly specific."

  "It's okay," Garvey says. He coughs. "It's only spread through blood, so you're safe." He coughs again, and this time a little blood comes up. "Just keep back a little," he adds.

  "What kind of virus?" I ask. "What kind of virus affects werewolves?"

  "This one," Duncan says, a dark quality to his voice. It's as if this is the dark cloud he has been expecting for so long. "It's designed specifically to attack werewolves."

  "Designed?" I ask. "By who?"

  "The humans," Duncan says. "I knew this would happen one day. They've genetically engineered a virus that kills werewolves."

  "Kills?" I ask, looking at Garvey.

  "It's okay," Garvey says. "I've lived a long life, longer than most. We all have to pass on some time, to go over to the other side and join Lacanth."

  "Lacanth?" I ask, even more confused.

  "Ignore him," Duncan says. "Superstitious nonsense." He stares at me. "When we die, we die. That's all there is to it."

  "I hope to -" Garvey says, before breaking into a long coughing fit. "I hope to prove you wrong," he says eventually.

  Duncan takes a deep breath. "How did they infect you?"

  "The oldest trick in the book," Garvey says. "Poisoned meat. Th
e virus is harmless to humans and other animals, so they just spread it among the population and waited for werewolves to feed." He reaches up and clasps Duncan's shoulder with his hand. "I've seen so many of our species, dying in the streets. I've seen their agony. You must go. You must get away from here as fast as possible and you must never come back."

  "Go?" Duncan asks. "Go where?"

  "The estates," Garvey says. "You'll be safe there."

  "No we won't," Duncan says. "They'll come to the estates and destroy us in our own homes. You're an honorable wolf, Garvey, and it serves you well, but the one disadvantage is that you expect the same honor in others."

  Garvey smiles, but it's a weak, defeated smile. He gasps, and Duncan reaches down to put a hand on the side of his face. They're clearly old friends.

  "Why did you come to find me?" Duncan asks. "You could have gone anywhere. You could have gone home to die. Why here?"

  Garvey tries to speak, but he can't. He gasps and splutters, but nothing comes out. Finally, he strains to speak. "The humans have always been aggressive to our species. But lately there is something new about them, some new level of hatred that I can't explain. It's as if they see us as vermin."

  "Which is exactly why the estates won't be safe," Duncan says.

  "I came to tell you..." Garvey whispers. "Don't throw your life away for a fight you can't win. When the time comes, don't let honor lead you to death. Run, Duncan. Find somewhere safe and live a long and happy life. Don't do what I did. Don't let honor be your downfall. Sometimes it's braver to run than to stand and -" He stops speaking. We wait for a moment for him to continue, and then I realize there's nothing more to come.

  He's dead.

  Duncan reaches down and gently closes his eyes.

  "Was he -"

  "Don't speak," Duncan says firmly, not looking up at me.

  "Sorry," I say.

  He looks at me, anger in his eyes. "Don't speak!" he shouts. Almost trembling with rage, he picks Garvey's body up. "I'll be back shortly after sundown," he says, and with that he turns and walks away.

  Part of me wants to go after him, to make sure he's okay. Another part of me wants to tell him never, ever to speak to me like that again, especially after what I went through recently to save his life. In the end, as he disappears into the distance, I decide to follow him discreetly.

  He walks for almost an hour, until he reaches a small hill overlooking the forest. It's getting dark now and the sun is low in the red and orange sky, with the moon slowly becoming visible. We're so far from civilization, there are no artificial lights anywhere to be seen, and the stars are bright. As I watch from a distance, Duncan sets Garvey's body down and then stands for a moment before shifting his shape. At first I assume he's taken his wolf form, but then I realize something strange: the light is bad and all I can make out is a silhouette, but whatever Duncan has become, it's neither human or wolf, it's... some kind of mix of the two.

  And then he howls to the moon. It's a shocking, stunning sight. I peer at him, trying to make out exactly what he has become. I'm desperate to get closer, to see this new, third form that he has taken, but I know that I don't dare let him know that I've followed him like this. In fact, as I watch him mourning his friend, I realize that I have no right to be here. I turn and head back toward our cave. He'll come and join me soon enough. But what did I just see? I always assumed werewolves had only two forms: wolf and human. But there's a third...

  Darla

  It rained all day and it's raining all night. Taking shelter under the awning of a shop, I watch from the shadows as humans tumble in and out of pubs. They're shouting and screaming and laughing and arguing and brawling, drunk and delirious, acting as if they own this city. It's as if they all think they're indestructible, as if they don't for a moment consider the possibility that their lives could be snuffed out in just a moment or two. Perhaps that's how they react to terrorism. When bombs go off in London, the people of Britain drown their sorrows in beer. The more brutal the reality, the more desperate the lie.

  One of the humans stumbles out of the pub alone and heads along the street. He looks strong, but also drunk. I silently follow him, making sure to keep well within the shadows. There are humans everywhere in Edinburgh, and I really don't want to be spotted. They'd rush over and pet me, telling me how cute I am, and I'd have to hold off from ripping all their throats out. So it's best for me, and for them, if I keep to myself. Nevertheless, the urge to teach them a lesson is strong. This human, wandering alone and drunk through Edinburgh's dark, twisty streets, is a perfect target. I can kill him without anyone interrupting.

  I stay on his trail for a few minutes, until I'm sure that there's no-one about. We're in a less busy part of town now, and although his screams will bring people running, I'm confident I can do the job and get away before anyone spots me. So I catch up to him a little, keeping a few paces behind, watching him... learning how he moves... understanding something about him from the way he walks. Although killing him won't be a challenge, I like to remain professional and clinical. Just because I'm a wolf, doesn't mean I have to be a beast about things.

  But I'm delaying. Putting off the strike.

  This won't do.

  I leap onto his back, knocking him to the ground. He's drunk and confused as I bite down hard on the back of his neck, and he lets out a little cry, but not enough for anyone to hear. He's so intoxicated, he can barely even fight back, and as I tear at his flesh it occurs to me that I should have picked a more worthy opponent. His blood flows into my mouth and I drink it deep, thinking of all the werewolves who have died at the hands of humans. Killing this miserable wretch doesn't even begin to compensate for all that horror.

  "Get away from him!" shouts a voice nearby.

  I look up to see two men racing toward me. Where did they come from? I swear I didn't hear anyone nearby. For a moment, I'm not sure what to do, but then I get my senses back and I turn and run. The humans have no chance of catching up to me, of course, and I'm soon up and over a wall and safely away. When I finally stop running, I taste the man's blood in my mouth and I feel good. I'm not certain that I managed to kill him, but I know I did some damage and he lost a lot of blood.

  I don't even care that other humans saw me. Let them see me. Wolves have been watching as humans kill other wolves for centuries, so why not turn things around a little. These humans deserve to die. If I can bring to them even a fraction of the pain and anguish that they've brought to my people over the years, I'll be doing a good job and they will suffer nightmares for the rest of their pathetic little lives.

  Filled with courage and high on adrenalin, I look up to the moon and howl. I don't care if the humans hear me. It's time for them to be scared. It's time for them to know what it's like to be hunted. I won't rest until Edinburgh's streets run red with the blood of the human race. They will know our pain.

  Jess

  "The ecotone," Duncan says, his face illuminated by the single flickering candle we have burning in the cave," is the region of transition between two biological entities. It's where the habitat of one creature overlaps with the habitat of another. It can be permanent, or it can be..." He pauses, and looks at me with a deadly serious look on his face. "It can be the moment when one species takes over and destroys another."

  I don't know what to say. He seems so sure that something bad is happening, so sure that we have to be prepared for the worst. It scares me, but I can't dismiss his fears. "One species destroys another," I say slowly. "So... humans. And werewolves."

  Duncan nods. "Humans and werewolves have had an uneasy truce for many centuries. But lately... human governments seem far less willing to consider working with the werewolves, even though..." He sighs. "Even though we gave into every demand they have." He seems angry now. "Every time they changed the terms of the agreement, we accepted it. Every time they went back on their word, we accepted it. And now... Now it's the endgame. The point that's been coming for so many years. I warned them.
I said this would happen and now here it is."

  "Who?" I ask. "Who did you warn?"

  "All of them," he says. "The old fools. The elders of the estate. I told them that the humans could never be trusted, and do you know what they said to me? They said I was wrong. That I was too cynical. That I should trust the humans. But now look. They're exterminating us. All of us. All the werewolves." He looks at me, shock in his eyes. "Thomas Lumic was right."

  "Lumic?" I ask. "He was insane!"

  "He was right about the humans," Duncan says. "He always said we shouldn't trust them. He always said they're filth, that we have to keep away from them. He was wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about that." There's a level of intensity to the way that Duncan is staring at me, a level of anger and rage, that I've never seen in him before. I understand that he's mourning his friend's death, and that he's bitter, but it's hard to see how he could be saying these things about humans.

  "I was human once," I say.

  "But you're not now," Duncan spits back at me. "Thank God. If you were, I swear..."

  "What?" I ask.

  Nothing. He just looks at me.

  "What would you do?" I continue. "If I were still human, would you leave me? Would you hate me?" I wait for him to answer, but he doesn't. "Would you kill me?"

  He looks away. "Humans and werewolves don't mix. They can't. I was wrong to leave the estate and go to London. Lumic was dead right." He turns back to me. "I'm going back," he says.

  "Going back?" I ask. "To Scotland?"

  He nods. "Back to the estate. It's the one part of Britain that werewolves are still allowed to inhabit. I'll go back there, and I'll live my life happily among my own people -"

  "That's segregation," I say. "You're segregating your species, you're limiting yourself."

  He shakes his head. "I'm being realistic. It's wonderful up there, Jess. There's plenty of space. And no humans, just other werewolves."