the bite. He had actually bitten her. The back of her hand held to her mouth, she started towards the retreating aristocrat and his thugs. I grabbed her arm, “Katie they are going”. A black SUV pulled to the curb and Sorvine and his men quickly climbed inside and were whisked away. As the four of us watched the black vehicle roar away Travis said “Well THAT was weird”. Suddenly Justin swung around to Katie, “Oh shit, Katie he BIT you!”. Katie looked at her brother as she sucked on the back of her wounded hand. Pulling her hand away, “Its not bad, he is just batshit crazy” she said showing the tiny mark and speck of blood on her hand. “No, you don’t understand, you have been BITTEN by a werewolf” he said. “Justin, he wasn’t a werewolf, just a weird European” I said, a lump of panic rising in my throat. Katie’s eyes widened as she realized what her brother meant. “No way…” she stammered. Justin’s cell phone rang. “Hello……yes….yes….I understand…when?.....” Justin flipped his cell phone shut. “Dammit, that was Sorvine” he said. Justin closed his eyes as he repeated what Sorvine had told him. He had indeed bitten Katie, she would now become one of his pack at the full moon, the full moon was only 4 days away, Sorvine offered to trade her life for the relic, and that he expected to hear from them in less than 4 days. Justin continued “he said we will be safe until the full moon”. “I think he means he won’t come after us in his beast form” Justin said. I felt my chest squeeze. Tears welled up in Justin’s eyes. Travis stared in disbelief. “Maybe we could clean it and get her some antibiotics?” Travis asked.
In the end we did not seek medical attention. We went to the most unlikely place but one that held the best chance of help. We found ourselves back on the creaking porch of Marie Ladmiraul. “Why you come back here?” the old woman asked as she opened the door. “I tol you I …….” She stammered as she looked at Katie. “Oh ma cherie, what dat devil man done to you?” she said as she reached out to embrace Katie. “Ma’am, we understand that this isn’t your problem, but I don’t know where else to turn” I said pleadingly, “Please help me save my daughter”. The old women took Katie’s face in her hands, searching her eyes for some answer. The old woman shook her head, “There is no power short of heaven dat can stop what is happening to your lil girl” she said. The old woman looked sad as she reached up to touch Katie’s face, “I am sorry babay” she said softly. “Now you got to GO!” she said suddenly. She stomped into the old wooden house and slammed the door.
We rode back towards the city in dejected silence. Katie stared out the window, in shock. We were in no shape to make the long drive back home. I believed that Sorvine would not come back for us again. This was a maneuver that required patience. We found another hotel and checked in. Katie was curled up on the bed facing the wall. “Anybody hungry?” I asked hopefully. Katie did not respond. Through the door into the adjoining room, the boys mumbled that they were not hungry.
I got a call from Lita. I didn’t tell her we were in New Orleans. I knew she would give me hell, but I didn’t need to drag anyone else into range of this danger. She told me she had found some old sources of information that helped. According to what she found, Travis’ research was correct, the only effective weapon against the werewolf was silver. It burned the skin and stopped a wound from healing. There were a few sources that claimed fire or decapitation would also kill the beast, but all agreed on silver. Lita told me about the information on the transformation. That it was painful and surprisingly quick. Newer werewolves became raving beasts with little or no control. They slaughtered any living human they could find, and any animals that happened to be close by. In other words, they were indiscriminate predators. And they were supremely good at it. The information she had found claimed much greater strength, agility, and heightened senses of sight and smell. Werewolves were also not immortal, but their aging process was slowed by the curse. As best she could tell, it was very gradual. Also according to some legends, the beast gained control over its transformation after about 50 or 60 years. At that point it could change on any night. The full moon will always effect it, but the transformation could be controlled. After 100 years or so, the beast could control its own transformation and that of the members of its pack. Some of the older werewolves were reported to be able to control those that they changed or infected. Yes, the movies got that part right. The bite of a werewolf was the main way to become one. There are scattered mentions of being changed into a lycanthrope by a spell cast by a powerful witch. But those sources were not specific. Age also controlled how quickly it healed. A newly turned lycanthrope would bear wounds for a few days after being hurt. When I relayed that we had watched this monster literally heal in seconds, she sighed “Then it must be a very old one”. The legends say the man is strengthened by the beast, even during the day. The exception to this is when the beast transforms back into a man. Both transformations must require huge amounts of energy, to say nothing of what is burned when it is in its beast form. The man will be very weak when he first turns back. It won’t last long, usually a matter of a few hours. But at least there is that weakness. Then she asked, “You said the guy’s name is Anton Sorvine?”. When I confirmed it, she told me she had found records of an Anton Scorsziny who was reported to be a werewolf and the leader of a “pack” of lycanthropes that slaughtered an entire village in what is now eastern Hungary. “Chris, this happened in 1745” she said gravely. “Most of the others had been caught and executed, but Scorsziny had disappeared into the Carpathian mountains” she told me. “So if this is the same man, he is very old and very powerful”.
I left my children in the hotel. For the first time since I left Vermont I was not afraid they would be attacked. I could have eaten in the hotel, but I needed to walk and clear my head. I had probably walked for about an hour when looked up and realized I had left the well-lighted tourist area and was now in an industrial section. Old warehouses, weedy vacant lots surrounded by rusting chain link fences and shadows surrounded me. New Orleans has some ugly parts.
The tall slender figure separated from the shadows and stared at me. I was instantly on guard as I realized I was alone in a strange part of the city. I instantly regretted leaving the pistols at the hotel. A distinctly feminine voice said “do not try to run, you would not make it far”. For some reason I did not doubt her words. The woman stepped into the lamplight and moved close to me. Suddenly I had to fight with every fiber of my being to keep from running. She was tall, with long dark auburn hair and a milk pale complexion. Wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and leather flats, she still had an air of elegance. Her hair hung on either side of her face, casting a shadow over her features. She moved with a grace, as though she had practiced this as a dance. “You are hunting a creature which hunts you” she said softly. “and you are overmatched’, she said as she glided closer. I could smell her perfume, light and exotic. My instincts screamed for me to run, even though I detected no threat. “I can’t stop until its finished” I told her, scarcely aware I had spoken. “Why do you seek this beast?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, “Are you yet another fool seeking fame and riches by proving a myth real?” I could only stare at her, not understanding what she meant. “My son is being hunted by this animal, and my daughter has been bitten by the man who becomes this animal” I explained. “If I don’t stop him he will kill my son and own my daughter” I said. The woman stared into my eyes as she absorbed this information. “A beast can be persistent, and THIS beast is older than any other I have seen”, she said, almost as though talking to herself. “But in its animal state it is little more than a rabid dog” she said with disgust. “Come with me” she ordered and she spun on her heel and began striding towards the black sedan parked down the street. “Damn big dog” I mumbled as I decided whether to follow her. I was perhaps 25 feet behind her and spoke under my breath, but the woman spoke over her shoulder “A big dog is still a dog, Mr. Hixon,
and a dog always needs a leash or a kennel” she said. Unsure if she was joking I simply followed.
In the car I tried not to be obvious as I watched her, waiting for her to explain where we were going. She ignored me as though she were alone in the car. As she navigated the deserted streets of New Orleans, she drove carefully. She seemed relaxed, but I saw her constantly surveying the surroundings and watching her mirrors. “Are we being followed?” I asked her. “We?” she answered. “No Mr. Hixon, WE are not being followed.” “But not all hunters are shaggy moon beasts” she said as she continued to drive and watch. Her diction was precise and her accent faintly English. Finally she seemed satisfied that we were not being pursued and she began to talk. “My name is Gweneth. The beast which hunts you is an old enemy of my people. I have been tracking him since he arrived in my city. But of late, my people seem to have changed their ideas about who is our enemy and who is not. So I am forbidden from direct