You’d think that a night in the forest watching over a pack of activated, chained, howling werewolves would be too bizarre for anyone to fall asleep. And yet. By 4 a.m. everyone except the vampires was snoring in the cars.
Josse had set an alarm for an hour before sunrise, just in case. He found himself slumped over the steering wheel when it rang, forehead on the rim, arms dangling limply to either side. Sitting up straight seemed like too much of an effort, so he merely lifted a hand to scrabble for his mobile on the passenger seat.
Instead of smooth plastic, he ended up grabbing a tiny warm body. It wriggled out of his grasp instantly, swearing under its breath.
The diminutive critter had brought friends, and Josse decided he’d probably best open his eyes after all. As he’d half suspected, a snooze pile had formed by his side, and his attempts to silence the alarm had partly dislodged it. He looked on while the assemblage of lutin limbs and caps and bare feet readjusted to compensate for the onslaught. Sleepy giggles and drowsy yelps of surprise emerged from the heap as it shifted, along with the now muffled cursing of his little victim, who had burrowed deeply into the pile for safety.
Presumably, they hadn’t bothered to move the mobile before they huddled up. It would be a shame to wake them, if only because they were far less trouble asleep… Josse was still wondering how to retrieve the device without causing a stir when the object of his concern suddenly emerged from the squirmy mound, which then crowd-surfed it towards him on a sea of small hands.
Problem solved. Now shut the F up and let us get back to sleep.
***
The scene in the clearing had now developed a distinct “morning after” vibe. The werewolves were still railing at their restraints, but their efforts had settled into a weary routine. The flowery gowns mostly hung in tatters; two of the trees were partly uprooted. Languid vampires had settled on logs and in trees, observing the spectacle with bored disdain.
Adelphine had drawn back Ingrid’s table cloth and opened the rear door before she curled up on the back seat in her sleeping bag. The were squirrel was doing its nut in the crate, shaking the sturdy mesh with tiny fists while simultaneously attempting to gnaw through the wire.
To what end, exactly, Josse wondered? Do were-squirrels hunt? Or maybe they enjoy a good fight?
***
Half an hour later, he had moved into position next to the slavering elder, just beyond her reach. He’d seen a lot of scary stuff over the years, but an activated werewolf close up remained an uncomfortable sight… even if you know you’re perfectly safe, some ancestral coils of your psyche simply refuse to engage with it.
In fairness, the elder was likely fearsome even to her own kind. Far bigger than other lycanthros for a start, possibly wilier and deadlier, probably much stronger; her claws seemed sharper, the fangs even longer. Her hide bore the scars of a lifetime of battles. All of which she had evidently survived, but there was barely any fur left.
And she seemed even bloodthirstier, which wasn’t technically possible – all werewolves operate at peak fury when the moon is full. Something to do with her size, no doubt, Josse mused as he held his mobile out to her and pressed play. Given the same level of rage per cubic metre of muscle, it stands to reason that more such bulk means more ambient ferociousness.
The recording she needed to hear at precisely 35 minutes before dawn began to ring out. It turned out to be an inhowlation she had prepared for herself: a string of bays, growls, yips and barks that seemed random to him, but which she had asked him to play on a loop until she had her human brain back. Which she would signal by yelping out the first notes of “Formidable”.
***
At daybreak, the elder howled out the opening sequence of the hrrrrgrAWWWR conjuration. One by one, the assembled weres joined in as they came to their senses. The piece had been practised sequence by sequence – never in its entirety, for safety reasons – and they had all learned the trickier parts by heart.
The important ones. The ones where mistakes could spell disaster, or that were crucial to the ritual’s success. The ones needed to amplify the combined were energy to the point where it would coalesce in the dawn’s early light, shimmering above the pack like an incandescent drone display.
The manifestation took shape soon enough. A snarling werewolf outlined in a triumphant bright red, standing on his hind legs while taking swipes at an unseen foe, the effect barely marred by the apparition’s bushy squirrel tail and adorable ear tufts. Lines of energy tethered the phenomenon to each of the participating weres – the wolves tied to their respective trees, the patient kneeling in the middle of the clearing, the chittering were-sciurid in the back of the estate.
There is something about a pack howling in unison that reaches right into the deepest recesses of the soul. Even for those who don’t actually have one.
“OK d’accord,” one vampire remarked to another. “Ça en jette.”
“Hhhhmouais, pas faux,” the other replied. “Faudra juste jamais le leur dire; ils sont déjà assez pénibles comme ça.”
***
As the weres’ reversion progressed, the tendrils linking them to the apparition gradually detached. Only Eric’s remained stubbornly stuck. When just his strand remained, the elder initiated the second ceremonial howl, a faster, louder, less melodious sequence interspersed with imperious barks.
The shining dawn-were twisted around to inspect the remaining tether, then grabbed it with both front paws and yanked itself free. Within an instant, it began to dissipate in the cool morning breeze.
Below, in the clearing, all weres had fully reverted to human form and were now wriggling out of their restraints. Ingrid emerged from her cage draped in the tablecloth that had again hidden her morphing from view and walked straight over to Eric, who lay sprawled on the grass.
Hands, feet, lots of pink skin and a perfectly presentable face – the nightmare was over. Or it would be, as soon as he could get out of this ridiculous peony print.
“No more chocolate, I swear,” he grinned up at her. “Well, not on full moon nights, anyway!”