Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves)

by Morris, Steve

  ‘You were a fool to trust me,’ said Snakebite. ‘And a fool shouldn’t expect to live very long in this world. In fact, your time’s already run out.’

  For a moment nobody moved. Then Adam’s body seemed to blur. He moved so fast even Warg Daddy didn’t see how he did it. He had already turned and run several paces before Warg Daddy became aware that he had gone. Incredible. He’d had no idea Adam’s reaction times could be so fast.

  But Snakebite already had the rifle aimed. He pulled the trigger and Adam’s dash for freedom came to a halt as abruptly as it had begun. He stumbled and fell, his life spilling on the ground before them.

  The rich smell of blood rushed up to meet Warg Daddy and he twitched his nose in response. But he would not eat the body. Even Adam deserved better than that. ‘Good job,’ he said to Snakebite. ‘Well done.’

  Snakebite lowered the gun. ‘It was a pity, really,’ he said. ‘He could have been useful to us. But the risk was too great.’

  ‘It was,’ agreed Warg Daddy. ‘Will you miss him? You two became quite good friends in the end.’

  Snakebite shrugged. ‘I did what I had to do,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I’ll miss him a little. But no regrets, that’s always been my motto. What about you? Any regrets?’

  Regrets? It was something Warg Daddy had been mulling over a lot lately, and there was no harm now in letting Snakebite know what was on his mind. ‘I miss the old days,’ he said. ‘Before we became werewolves. Before my head began to hurt so much. Before the world began falling apart.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Snakebite in astonishment. ‘But you always dreamed of being a werewolf. It’s why you brought the Wolf Brothers together. It’s why you named yourself Warg Daddy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ admitted Warg Daddy. ‘That’s true. But life was simpler back in the old days, before we met Leanna.’ His problems had been easier then, the solutions less painful. He rubbed his head once more. The headaches had only begun after she had turned him lycanthropic.

  Snakebite nodded. ‘I think I understand,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Warg Daddy. ‘I don’t think you do. You can’t really know what it’s like to be a leader unless you’ve been one.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Snakebite. ‘There’s only one Leader of the Pack, isn’t there?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Warg Daddy.

  They stood together for a moment, looking at Adam’s body lying on the frozen ground, watching the fire that still raged in the hospital. Snakebite’s red beard glowed bright in the firelight as if it were afire itself.

  Warg Daddy broke the silence. ‘Adam was right about your plan, you know. It was smart. Very smart.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Snakebite.

  ‘But perhaps a little too smart,’ concluded Warg Daddy sadly. ‘You’ve become clever, Snake, these past weeks. Cunning, devious. Much too clever all round.’ He raised the shotgun and pointed it at Snakebite. The big man started to move, but his reaction speed was nowhere near as fast as Adam’s had been. Warg Daddy fired the gun.

  The recoil from the blast was much more powerful than he’d expected. It blew him back several feet before he regained his footing on the icy ground.

  Snakebite’s body jerked backward before crumpling and falling. His arms swung out to each side and he toppled heavily like the giant he was. He didn’t move again.

  Warg Daddy stooped to examine the remains. The shotgun had blasted a large hole in Snakebite’s head, and his entire torso was peppered with shot. Blood oozed from dozens of entry points and trickled out onto the snowy ground. His face was almost entirely unrecognizable, save for his red beard.

  Warg Daddy slung the combat shotgun over his shoulder. It was a good weapon. He could grow to like it.

  He picked up the rifle that Snakebite had dropped and turned away with regret. Snakebite had been a good companion, the nearest he’d ever had to a friend. But when you were leader, you couldn’t really afford to have friends. It was lonely at the top, but someone had to do it. He had started to depend too much on Snakebite to do his thinking for him, and that would never do. A leader had to think for himself and not rely on others. And a man as clever as Snakebite had become could never be trusted. He was better off with grunts like Slasher and Meathook, simple men who did exactly what he told them, even if they had no particular talents other than their love of violence.

  The moon had vanished completely behind the clouds now and Warg Daddy didn’t think he’d get a chance to be a wolf again tonight. He began the long walk home, alone.

  It had been a good night, all things considered. A job well done. And two of his biggest problems had gone away too. He quickened his pace at the thought of it. The walk back to the house in Kensington was long, but sometimes it was good to spend time on your own. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but his headache was starting to hurt less than it had done for a long time.

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  West Field Terrace, South London, wolf moon

  Rose sat in the chair after Vijay had gone, sobbing uncontrollably. Her shoulders quaked and she wailed as the grief took her and threatened to burst her heart wide open. She had known that Vijay would come. She had known for a long time what he would say. She had seen it on his face often enough, and in his eyes too, and had waited patiently for him to say the words, and now he had. If only she could have told him that she loved him back. But she couldn’t. Her words would have killed him.

  Everyone she loved was doomed to die.

  The dreams had shown her that. First the dogs at the kennels had died. But that had been just the beginning. The dreams had grown darker, showing worse to come. Her parents’ bodies, twisted and bloody, cast aside like piles of rags. Oscar too, torn to shreds by some unknown horror.

  The dreams were coming true. The dogs lay dead and buried. Wolves stalked the streets. Soldiers shot and killed. She had seen it and it had happened. Now her parents had been taken. She would not see them alive again. Only Oscar remained, and the dreams had shown her his fate. Even with the medicine Vijay had brought, he would not live. She had seen it. She knew it.

  To save Vijay she had turned him away.

  If she had told him the truth, that she loved him too, he would have become like the others. He would have been cursed. And he would die.

  She sobbed again, the knowledge of her dreadful choice battering at her heart afresh. He had proved his bravery to demonstrate his love for her, but she had been braver still, to deny her love and send him away. And he would never know the sacrifice she had made.

  She would never see him again, but at least he would live.

  ‘Rose?’ Oscar’s voice cut through her grief. ‘What’s happened? Why are you crying?’ Her brother spoke to her from his wheelchair in the hallway. ‘I heard Vijay’s voice,’ he said. ‘And then I heard you crying.’

  ‘Come here,’ she said, beckoning to him, still sniffling, trying to stem the tears.

  He pushed the wheelchair toward her and she leaned forward to hug him. He hugged her back as tightly as he could, but his arms were limp with weakness. He coughed violently, and his whole body shook.

  ‘Look what Vijay brought for you.’ She showed him the medicines.

  Oscar’s eyes lit up. ‘Wow. Awesome. I should take them right away, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. She dried her eyes and stood up. She must be brave still, for Oscar’s sake. ‘I’ll fetch you a glass of water. Wait here.’

  She walked steadily to the kitchen and filled a glass. She needed to calm herself down and focus on Oscar, on the medicines. There was still a slender chance that the dreams had lied, that Oscar could be saved. Vijay had braved danger to bring him this chance. The least she could do was take it with both hands. If there was any chance at all, there was still hope.

  And if the dreams proved to be false, she could go to Vijay and explain. She could still do that. All was not lost, yet.

  A loud crash shook the house as a heavy weight smashed against the fron
t door. The timber of the doorframe began to split. Another crash broke the lock, and the door flew open.

  Rose screamed. A figure from her worst nightmare stood in the doorway.

  She dropped the glass of water and flew to Oscar in the front room. ‘We have to get out of here,’ she cried. She turned the wheelchair and shoved it toward the door, but it was already too late.

  Mr Canning blocked their way.

  The dreams had not lied. The man she had thought was dead had returned, just as her nightmares had warned her.

  The headmaster had changed. His hair, always neatly combed and parted, now stood like a forest. A thick and unruly beard covered his chin and neck, right up to his ears. But he still wore a dark suit with a waistcoat and tie. And incongruously, a black patch over one eye, like a pirate.

  Mr Canning stroked his bushy beard. ‘I do apologize for my appearance,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been allowed to shave for a long while. They seemed not to trust me with a blade for some reason. But then, look what you did to me, armed only with a ballpoint pen.’ He lifted the patch and showed her the place where his eye had once been. He laughed hollowly before covering the empty socket again. ‘Do you like my eye patch?’ he enquired. ‘I took it from a costume shop on the way here. My suit’s new too. I liberated it from a gentlemen’s outfitters that was being looted. Just because the world is ending, there’s no reason not to keep up appearances. Quite the contrary, in fact.’

  Rose backed away from him, drawing Oscar with her.

  The headmaster advanced into the room.

  ‘You didn’t expect to meet me again, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But I have thought of little else these past weeks. I knew I would escape one day, and I knew exactly where to find you. You didn’t think of leaving?’ he enquired. ‘No, why would you? You imagined you were safe. The adults around you reassured you of that. Too bad they lied.’

  He took another step toward her.

  Oscar coughed and the headmaster regarded him sympathetically. ‘That’s a very nasty cough you have there, young man,’ he said. ‘It’s the time of year for sickness, isn’t it? It was always the same at school.’

  ‘You’re a werewolf,’ accused Oscar when he had finished his coughing fit. ‘Rose told me.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr Canning in a conversational tone. ‘But you know what – and this might surprise you – becoming a werewolf was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve always hated kids, you see. Now I get to eat them.’

  Rose backed toward the window. If she could just keep the headmaster talking, perhaps there was a chance. She had escaped from him once before, and this time the stakes were even higher.

  Mr Canning certainly seemed happy to talk. ‘It’s hard to believe I ever became a headmaster, isn’t it? Do you know why I first went into teaching?’ He gave Oscar a lopsided smile that showed his long teeth. ‘I thought I could make a difference.’ He turned his attention back to Rose, watching her with interest as she searched the room for a weapon, an escape route, a chance to live. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s pathetic, isn’t it? The beauty is that now I really can make a difference. The difference between life and death. Extraordinary. So everything worked out all right in the end. For me, at least. Not for you. Definitely not for you though, little Rose. You should have killed me when you had the chance. I’m sure you realize that now. You’re such a bright girl.’

  Rose grasped at a vase on the mantelpiece and gripped it tightly. It might buy her a second if she smashed it over his head.

  ‘But you didn’t kill me, so I won’t kill you. I can’t be fairer than that. But you took something valuable from me.’ He lifted the eye patch again so that Rose could see the empty eye socket beneath. ‘So I’ll take something from you in return.’

  He lowered his eyes to Oscar.

  ‘No,’ pleaded Rose. ‘Not Oscar. Take me instead.’

  Mr Canning shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t be fair. And you know me. I’m a stickler for fairness. You stole my sight, so I’ll take your brother in return. I’d say that’s more than fair.’

  The headmaster moved quickly, shooting out his arm and grasping Oscar’s neck in a choking grip.

  Rose lifted the vase and brought it down over his head, but it was as if she’d brushed him with a feather. Oscar’s face turned purple as the headmaster continued to throttle him.

  Rose dashed herself against him, screaming like a banshee, struggling to dislodge his grip, but Mr Canning stood like an oak tree with unyielding arms. She battered him with her fists, but his fingers dug in to her brother’s throat like iron roots. Oscar struggled for breath, and his eyes bulged as Rose grappled with Mr Canning. The headmaster stood unflinching as Oscar’s life slowly ebbed away.

  When her energy was finally spent and her voice was too hoarse to scream, he finally unlocked his fingers and allowed Oscar’s body to slide to the floor. ‘There,’ he pronounced. ‘It’s done.’

  Her brother had spent the entirety of his short life fighting to breathe. Now his battle was over. Rose fell to the floor, prostrate over Oscar, unable to see him through her tears.

  ‘You won’t ever see me again,’ said Mr Canning as he left her. But Rose knew with a cold certainty that she would see him every time she closed her eyes to sleep.

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Brixton Village, South London, wolf moon

  James’ energy was all spent. The moon change that had fed him so much power and enabled him to fight off Leanna had drained him of every last drop of his strength. It was all he could do to hold himself upright against the hallway wall. He tried to take a step unaided but stumbled and fell, unable even to support his own weight. He sprawled helplessly on the floor.

  Melanie crouched at his side. ‘James!’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he assured her. ‘Just weak.’ It wasn’t his injuries from the battle that had weakened him. They were superficial, just bites and scratches. It was the hunger that left him so drained. A whole month had passed without feeding. He hadn’t eaten since he’d killed that young woman at the firework display on New Year’s Eve. He had vowed not to touch human flesh again, and had kept his promise. Now he would pay the price.

  He hadn’t realized before how much energy the change demanded. To transform from human into wolf and back again was exhausting. When he had changed previously, blood and flesh had powered the change. This time he was running on empty. He wanted simply to lie down and sleep.

  Melanie shook him gently. ‘Come on. We have to get away from here. The people who imprisoned Ben might be back any moment. We have to flee.’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘You go. Leave me here. I’ll be all right.’

  She shook him harder. ‘No,’ she said, more insistently this time. ‘If you think I’m going to leave you behind after everything we’ve been through, you must be out of your mind.’

  He allowed her to pull him upright so he was sitting on the floor. He realized he was stark naked. He shivered, noticing the cold for the first time since becoming lycanthropic. He had thought that werewolves couldn’t feel the cold. ‘My clothes,’ he said. The clothes he had worn were nothing more than rags strewn over the floor now.

  ‘I think I have a solution to that problem,’ said Ben. ‘Wait a moment.’ He ran off down the stairs to the basement room. Angry shouts came from below but after a minute Ben reappeared with a bundle of clothing in his arms. He grinned. ‘Mr Stewart very kindly offered to give you his clothes,’ he said.

  He allowed Melanie and Ben to dress him. They hauled him to his feet and put their shoulders under his arms to half-drag, half-carry him.

  ‘Can you walk if we support you?’ asked Melanie.

  He took a few tentative steps with Melanie and Ben taking most of the weight. ‘I feel like a slab of meat,’ he complained.

  ‘Just one step at a time,’ said Melanie.

  He let them lead him out of the house and across the street. He was too weak to resist.

  ‘This way,’ s
aid Ben. ‘Richard and Jane’s house isn’t far. But I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to the children. The boy is ill. How are they going to manage without their parents?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Melanie. ‘Maybe we can help.’

  It wasn’t far but they made slow going of it. James wondered how long it would take to get all the way back to Richmond. Hours, at this rate. As they entered West Field Terrace, James smelled burning.

  Before long the others smelled it too. ‘Oh God, what’s that?’ asked Ben. A red glow lit up the far end of the street. Black smoke poured from one of the terraced houses. ‘Come on,’ said Ben urgently. ‘I have a dreadful feeling about this.’

  They trudged grimly along the pavement toward the fire. By the time they reached it, there was no longer any room for doubt. ‘This is the Hallibury’s home,’ said Ben, aghast.

  Fire had already consumed the building. Bright flames danced from windows upstairs and down. Black smoke billowed into the night sky, and high above, bright sparks dashed from the chimney stack. The front door was still in place, but inside the house was a sea of flames. A crowd of neighbours watched as the building burned.

  Ben set James down against a wall and hurried forward. ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted at the people gathered in the street. ‘There are two children in that house!’ He rushed to the front door, but already flames were licking through the letterbox. The heat of the fire was intense. ‘Have you called for a fire engine? Why aren’t you doing anything?’

  One of the neighbours appeared with a garden hosepipe and started spraying water onto the base of the fire. Another emerged clutching a bucket of water, but their efforts were futile. Other people were carrying valuables from the neighbouring houses, hauling items to safety in case the fire spread.

  ‘We called for a fire engine,’ a woman said. ‘They are coming, but it’s too late to save the children.’

  A man gave Ben a shove. ‘I recognize you,’ he said. ‘You’re one of the werewolves. What are you doing here? What do you care about the children?’