Please let this work, Eric silently pleaded with the universe. Please. I just can’t bear this any more.
The elder had explained that it would. Absolutely no doubt about it. The hrrrrgrAWWWR ceremony she was organising with Josse and the REVIENS committee was foolproof; there was categorically no way at all that it could fail.
Even the back of her head looked confident, he thought as he watched her through the dog barrier of the car on the way to the forest.
There were feathers, antler tips and delicate bones woven into the shaggy grey mane that she had swept over her shoulder as she settled in the passenger seat. All this adornment seemed like a waste of effort to Eric, given that it would all just fall out when she transformed. Unless of course it was actually a wig? Maybe the elder’s hair came off as easily as her cloak, which appeared to have been assembled from the furs of many decades’ worth of prey.
Definitely a wig, on closer inspection, not that he cared one way or another. What he did care about was getting back to normal. Bloodthirsty monster on full moon nights by all means, if the shift really couldn’t be avoided, but reliably inconspicuous, amiable accountant from sunrise, thank you very much. None of this lycanthro mishmash.
Living with partly lupine features in the bright light of day was bad enough, although some of them were easily concealed. The permanent rage, though. The near-irresistible urge to gore people. The inability to work his gamepad with his “paw hands”. It had to stop.
***
Please let this work, the elder silently pleaded with the great cosmic she-wolf. Please. Everyone’s been briefed; they all know what to do.
Obviously she had to project certainty. That poor moonstuck pup had to have faith; the hrrrrgrAWWWR only worked reliably for believers. In fairness, it rarely failed, but there could be… well… side effects.
You wouldn’t want to summon some otherworldly alpha inadvertently, or release the patient while getting everyone else moonstuck in the process. Or flatten half the forest with an uncontrolled discharge of concentrated were energy.
Tunguska. Not a meteor.
***
Please let this work, Josse silently pleaded with no one in particular. Please. Eric’s had enough, and we’re all sick of this situation. Plus, I won’t be answerable for the consequences if I have to read through the minutes of another REVIENS meeting.
Just driving a car with the elder inside was bad enough. The stench from that cloak… She was an impressive, wise, charismatic woman, and of course she had to embrace and embody werewolf culture. It was hardly her fault he found the entire idea of hunting abhorrent.
He opened his window and leaned into the flow of fresh air as discreetly as he could. No wonder the vampires, with their keen sense of smell, had all chosen to follow in separate vehicles.
***
This had better work, Adelphine silently told the ghostly coven from which she derived her talent, much of her training and a good share of her strength. I’m done babysitting this ingrate.
In response, her personal posse just smiled at her, from where they had assembled at the edge of her consciousness. Along with the aunties and godmothers and tutors who continued to watch over her from beyond the grave, a number of her most powerfully gifted ancestors had turned up. A good witch is always keen to learn.
Ingrid had entrusted Adelphine with the logistics on site: a suitably sized clearing that the REVIENS scouts had suggested, large enough to accommodate the ceremony but small enough for the alley’s assembled were energies to encompass, deep enough in the forest to avoid prying eyes but near enough to one of the wider dirt tracks to take all the gear there by car.
One hour before sundown, Adelphine had Eric tethered in the middle of the clearing and all other participating werewolves positioned around him in a rough circle, each with their backs to a tree. The committee-approved heavy-duty chains and restraints that would keep them securely tied up once they reached their full-moon size still hung loosely from their human frames.
All would be perfectly safe throughout the entire event, under the watchful eyes of their fellow residents, and each had been provided with one of the wide garments run up by the lutins’ textile workshop. You wouldn’t want to go through the change in your favourite pair of jeans.
Turning in tight clothes could prove fatal either to the trousers or to the were. In the privacy of their usual hide-outs, lycanthros would undress while they waited, but with outsiders present…
The makeshift “modesty smocks” were essentially lengths of cotton from old curtains and bedsheets, hemmed together and loosely gathered at the neck. With a bit of luck, the bound and shackled wolves wouldn’t be able to shred them entirely, and there’d still be enough fabric left to conceal the wearers as they shifted back in the morning.
Only the elder had refused one of these smocks, choosing to transform in her vast cloak instead, and Ingrid didn’t need one. A tablecloth had instead been draped over the cage where she now sat cross-legged playing sudoku while she waited for the moonlight to claim her.
Once again, her diminutive were-size had played in her favour, much to her relief when the lutins had revealed the smocks’ improbable designs. The committee had provided all the specs, from width and length to stitch size and thread type. But it hadn’t occurred to anyone for even a minute that the lutins might decide to recycle brightly patterned fabrics for this purpose, and the capped jesters had made sure no one found out until the very last minute.
Every one of the smocks was cut from a different colourful print. Flowers, mostly, although there were also a few pyjama-clad bunnies, and one particularly fetching ensemble featured tiny rocket ships.
***
“I told you this would work,” Frouch whispered excitedly as he watched the lycanthros transform under the bright light of the moon. The lutins were delighted with their little prank; the weres’ outrage as they discovered the garments’ playful styles had been worth all the weeks of covert ops. REVIENS had checked on the tailors’ progress regularly, but had been fobbed off with a neutral decoy.
That said, the tiny conspirators had taken great pains to ensure that the smocks were fit for purpose. The garments were ample and comfortable; their ruffled necklines adjusted to the wide, hairy were-necks perfectly, without constraining the beasts’ breath or blood flow.
And while the smocks had turned out slightly too short, with hairy hind legs gradually emerging under the hemline as the wearers grew to their full-moon height, they still did the job of hiding most of the bone-twisting, claw-extruding, fur-sprouting carry-on underneath.
The gut-wrenching whimpers, though. The shifting eye sockets. The wandering nostrils. The crunching jaw realignments.
“We should have added hoods,” Zou thought out loud. “We did have enough fabric.”
***
Let’s hope this works, Azélie had remarked to the attending vampires. None of them were necessarily the caring type, in particular when it came to werewolves – the wars might have ended nearly a century ago, but it would take many more generations to turn the fragile truce into trust and acceptance.
That said, everyone at the impasse was a resident first and foremost, honour-bound to look out for each other, as were the undead neighbourhood friends they had brought in to lend a hand. Under no circumstances would the vampires let the side down. Not on her watch as head of security.
Three dozen grim, black-clad flyboys and batgirls had volunteered for forest deployment, while the remainder had stayed behind to keep an eye on the alley. She had posted two each right behind every one of the werewolves, just in case one of them did come loose. Four more were patrolling the grounds, and several others had hunkered down on high branches to monitor the situation from above.
It had been a long, boring night of watching matted mountains of muscle rage against their restraints. The malodorous mutts’ determination to break free was impressive, even if they didn’t stand the slightest chance. But it did occur to Azélie belatedly that no one had considered the strength of the trees. One of them appeared about ready to topple, after several hours of relentless tugging by a brute with the strength of an elephant.
Luckily, the night was nearly over.