I spoke up. “This sounds absurd. A man with an agenda, killing his victims with a trained hyena?” I shake my head. “I could believe two beasts, simply because of the number of attacks and the area the beast would have to cover.” I did not mention that I could travel those distances easily. Any wolf could, really, but a wild creature would not have a reason to do so. “But a man?”
“There have been several instances which have far too much cunning to rule out human involvement.”
“Cunning?” I gave a little smile, though I wanted to grin and laugh and beat my chest and say, “I did this!”
“There was an incident in Langogne,” Thomas began, only to be interrupted by another man.
“Come now, Thomas, you doubt the girl’s word, but you trust that of any other peasants?”
“There was more than one witness,” Thomas said, his voice rising. “The witnesses saw the beast take four bullets. The witnesses tried to track the beast down. And the following day, all of the witnesses saw the pile of children’s corpses and body parts stacked like firewood! Tell me, which beast stacks its victims but man?”
“What men do you know who do such a thing?” I stood and scraped my chair from the table. “Excuse me.”
I did not care if these men would believe me to have a weak stomach. The talk of hyenas bored me. I had only one desire: to track down this second beast. My brother.
-16-
The trail that would have led me straight to Martin was as cold as the air around me. My fur coat warmed me more than the meager clothing I’d worn as a human, however, and I was glad to be free of the stink of humans. My room being paid for in advance, I’d not worried about disappearing in the night; it saved me from the possibility of the innkeep’s daughter sniffing around as well.
I went straightaway to the place where the attack was said to have occurred. If the maid had indeed split Martin’s face with an axe, surely there would be blood and I could reacquaint myself with his scent.
The moonlight illuminated some evidence of a struggle: broken stalks of grass and shrubbery, scuffles in the dirt and snow. I sniffed the ground. This scent I had smelled before, a brief hint on the wind as I moved from place to place hunting. I had assumed it was memory, but now I realized I had been crossing paths with my own brother. The pine trees of Soissons, smoke and the boiled offal used to tan a hide, and blood.
Likely Martin would be miles away by now. Three days had passed since the attack and Duhamel’s arrival.
The scent was faint, and I lost it after less than half a mile. He hadn’t been running off in a straight line. How badly had he been injured? The blood trail stopped and I was at a loss. A howl ripped out of me before I could think about it. I called for him, my brother, my lost family, he who had shown his respect for me and his loyalty to my leadership by his actions.
I trotted along, hoping I might smell him again. Then, my ears twitched. Was that...?
An answering howl.
-17-
I smelled him before I saw him.
His fur was a reddish color, with black points and black stripe along the ridge of his back. I recognized him mostly from the girl’s descriptions, though now that I saw him, I recognized his coloring from the fateful night when I had my first turning. It had been dark then, and so much of my focus had been on Papa and Allain’s attacks, and Martin had always blended in with the middle of our pack.
He smelled me shortly thereafter, and his ears perked my way.
(Georges!)
My legs stiffened, and I slid a few inches in the snow as I stopped. His voice was in my head.
(yes, stupid. Hello!)
I shook my head. Then tested it out.
(Martin?)
(yes, yes, hello brother!)
(how is this happening)
(I don’t know. It just happens)
Martin made his way to me, and cautiously I moved toward him.
(how did you find me?)
(why did you find me?)
(It wasn’t difficult. You are famous. Infamous. Maman was enraged when she first heard about the attacks.)
(you knew it was me right away?)
(First we thought it might be the Loupe pack, but it didn’t make sense. This is their territory, has been for centuries. Jean-Pierre thought the inbreeding might have finally led them all into insanity, but Maman said she had met Abelard Loupe, and the man rules his pack with an iron fist.)
Martin and I were finally face to face, or muzzle to muzzle. I could see crusted blood marring his face, which didn’t seem to align correctly. Yet it appeared to be fully healed.
At this moment, I had no idea what to do. How were alphas supposed to greet their pack? Martin made this easy for me. He threw himself down onto his back, presenting his stomach to me. I nodded, and he stood again.
(so they figured it was me?)
(We’d not heard of any other lone wolves. We could all feel it, as well. It is not so easy to sever pack ties.)
(you did not reject my leadership?)
(I made a mistake, brother. I am here to serve you and atone for that sin. I know this to be true: We are powerful creatures, and humans should live in fear of us. You have helped me to see this.)
My chest puffed up at this. I was powerful, and the people did fear me. If Martin could see this, so then could other werewolves. I could amass a pack, and we could rule the world.
(yes yes yes)
(I have killed twelve for you, alpha.)
Martin did a little bow, bending one forepaw and lowering his upper body to the ground.
Twelve? He knew the exact number? My kills were numerous, but I had not kept track of them all. I had spent a lot of time in the red.
(It is a happy time, brother. Christmastide is near, and we can be together with family on this good day)
(let us feast)
-18-
Captain Duhamel went forth with his men, but they would not find either of us. We had split up, gone in different directions, and killed. All the better to confuse him.
In my head I could not yet feel Martin’s presence more than as a faint shadow; Martin told me later that he had killed a toddler, snatching the little boy up in his teeth and shaking him until the neck snapped, all while the mother watched. For my part I had scented something delicious, which turned out to be an effeminate young lad, the foppish sort I imagined would be plentiful among the aristocracy. I ripped his head from his body and drank the fresh blood that coursed down my throat. Several days later, Martin and I hunted again in a similar manner. This time I managed to find a tasty morsel, once I tore through her thick woolen clothes; Martin made several attacks but was unsuccessful. Two small children, protected by their parents.
The intense cold made our wolves sleepy and wanting hibernation, and we laid low for near a week before crawling up out of the snow and approaching the world again. I had a very clear idea of how I wanted to proceed. People would not fear us if we attacked their defenseless children, especially if they could fight us off.
(this time we attack grown women)
Martin did not seem pleased with this.
(What if the women have small children with them? Can I kill the children then?)
I hoped Martin could not feel my disgust.
(Yes. But kill the woman first.)
We split up. I had been practicing in close proximity, and now I was fully able to feel what Martin felt as he raced through the trees. It was a trick necessary to making sure Martin was following my orders.
I found a woman out in her fields, collecting kindling, and took her out swiftly. It had become so much easier since my first attempt, with the cattle. With each victim, I could either rip out the throat or I could fully sink my teeth into their necks and SNAP – off with their heads. This time I let her bleed out. Her blood winked bright red on the fresh snow.
It was after midday. Already the sun was sinking and the tree shadow
s grown long. After escaping a safe distance from the town, I sought out the bond which connected me to Martin.
He was stalking, searching. He desperately wanted children. He prowled homes out near the forests, sniffing out babies. He’d been doing this for hours – picking up a scent, hunting it down, finding the children indoors. Here was a woman, with three young babes safely behind doors, while she fed the chickens. If he did not kill her now, he would miss his opportunity and have to find another victim.
(Martin, stop searching. Kill now.)
He sighed, sending a yearning thought toward the closed door to the woman’s home. Then he did as ordered and lunged at her.
Instead of simply attacking, perhaps eating a bit, Martin killed her slowly. He used his claws to gash her face, her arms, her stomach. After the first minute, the blood loss diminished her screams. Then, to my horror, Martin mounted the woman and rutted her as her life bled out onto the ground.
(They will fear us now, brother)
He called his out to me in his mind, throwing his head back in ecstasy.
(We will rule the world)
-19-
In early January of 1765, as Martin’s presence rankled, we were treated to a welcome reprieve: Captain Duhamel’s new strategy.
The frost had crusted over the snow fallen earlier in the week, and a large, brutish creature paced back and forth wearing a dress and wig. Scattered through the field were many soldiers of Duhamel’s dragoon, “hiding” themselves by wearing sheepskins or other disguises. For hunters, these men were surely stupid. My nose could detect male from female, human from sheep.
For days Martin and I watched this charade go on, laughing and making jokes via the strange communication in our minds.
(they are truly desperate now)
Eventually the men had to give up; the weather conditions were too severe for a man to survive the cold in a gown. The day Duhamel and his men left, I ordered Martin to venture down and make an attack. On this I was testing him.
(attack a child. but do not kill him)
Martin did as asked, and we turned human simply to hear the men discuss the attack later that evening. We laughed and played the part of drunks. Largely we toasted ourselves on what we considered a victory.
The following day, we attacked men. We took turns; this way the witness reports would vary wildly – some describing Martin’s coloring, other’s describing mine. On January twelfth, I decided that we would split up, and attack in different areas at the same time. Martin went to Chanaleilles, while I headed to Mazel-de-Grezes.
Finally free of my brother and my concern over his choice of victims, I tracked down a sweet girl about a year younger than me. She was ripe as a plump strawberry in the middle of June, and I tore into her, gulping down hunks of her juicy flesh, shuddering with the pleasure. As I made my way back to the caves where Martin and I had agreed to meet, I reflected on this truly perfect day.
I should have known better. I had not bothered to check on Martin through our bond at all, and when he returned to the cave, many hours after I had arrived, his fur was matted with blood. Moreover, he appeared defeated and angry and hungry.
We had stashed some supplies in our cave: clothing, water, matches, firewood, and some hunting tools, stolen from victims or from abandoned homes. I had changed to human and built up a fire, largely because I wanted to revel in my memories of the girl as a human.
“What has happened?” I demanded of Martin, as he came into the cave and collapsed by the fire.
He turned his face away.
“You are not seriously harmed?”
Again, he did not respond, and so I resorted to another method.
(brother, what has happened)
In response he flicked an ear, then turned human. Naked and shivering, and covering in many welts and bruises, he crawled to the pile of clothing and pulled on some woolens and then covered himself in a blanket.
“Martin, why do you not speak to me?”
“You will find out soon enough,” Martin muttered, then curled up under the blanket.
Once he was asleep, I stood and shed my own clothing. As wolf I made my way down to Chanaleilles, but by this time it was the middle of night and even the drunkards had made their way home from the taverns. The entire town was eerie and silent and foreboding.
-20-
With Martin not speaking to me, I decided it would be best to part ways. “We can return here at any point, but I feel like roaming the countryside,” I tried to explain. “I think perhaps we’ve become too... predictable? I want to return to that beast who simply wandered and killed what he liked.”
Martin’s injuries had healed, but he remained cocooned in his blanket. “Fine.”
Being away from Martin was a simple way to avoid a problem that I couldn’t quite articulate. My immediate thought was that Martin’s killing children was wrong. It made me angry. My parents had never given us much by way of morals. Each Sunday we had accompanied them to church, and learned what civilization taught of morals. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt honor thy mother and father, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife... Yet, it is natural for God’s creatures to kill one another. Wolves will fight for territory and leadership, and kill for it. Likewise, men are inclined to war, and killing for the same reasons as wolves. Men killing men, that was natural. Men killing children was wrong.
And yet, I myself had killed children. It was the most heinous crime I knew, until I had seen Martin fucking a corpse. The children, why had the children bothered me so?
I considered this as I killed again and again, and even bit the head off a toddler just to understand. No, it was not the killing of children that bothered me...
Approximately two weeks after Martin’s injuries, I turned human and ventured into a town. Martin had said I would find out soon enough. I vowed to gather what knowledge I could about that night.
In Saint-Poncy I visited an inn, and as I inquired about rooms, I asked the innkeep, “Have you had many attacks here?”
“Only a few,” the man said. “And no deaths. Some travelers reported being attacked on the road into town, but they managed to fend off the beast.”
It was a struggle not to smile. I had attacked those men, and left them so they could continue on their way. Instead, I feigned some trepidation.
“So the beast is close then?”
“Ah, I am not so worried about this great Beast,” the innkeep said. “Have you not heard the tale of Portefraix?”
“The name does not ring a bell,” I said.
“He’s a young boy, lives in Chanaleilles. There was a group of children that day, and the beast attacked the youngest, boy of eight years, dragged him off into the bog. Well, most of the other children were afraid and wanted to run away and leave the little child to his fate. But Portefraix rallied them, and with their work tools they chased the beast and beat the creature until it released the little boy.”
“Oh, my,” I said. So this was Martin’s story. He had attacked children, again, and they had fought him off.
“The beast is not so fearsome as some believe, if a group of children can fend it off. Honestly, it makes me wonder about this captain and his army who cannot find trace of the beast.”
“He does seem to be somewhat incompetent.” Like my brother, I wanted to add.
“Even the king thinks so. He has proclaimed that the French state will help to hunt down the beast.”
“Excellent,” I said, though I felt quite the opposite. I went to the little room I had rented and sat upon the bed, thinking.
Here was the problem: it was not that Martin attacked children, but more that he could not always kill them. Children were easy kills, as were the young, and usually women were easy as well – especially when not guarded by cattle. That moment still shamed me. I liked to believe I was more skilled now, a better hunter, and that first time was a mere fluke. After all, if I left a victim alive, it was for my own reasons. Martin
, on the other hand, seemed to have difficulty. And this story, that of Portefraix, now had the populace believing the beast was not fearsome, but rather a nuisance.
I sighed and flopped back on the mattress, looking up at the timbers in the ceiling. I had begun this rampage as a means to incriminate the Loupe family – a plan which had never truly begun, as I had never procured a wolf pelt to hide among their possessions. I had been so naive then, it was hard to believe it was less than a year before that I had believed the townspeople would go marching onto Abelard’s property and find the wolf pelt and convict the whole lot of witchcraft. How could I have even managed to cast suspicion on Abelard or his sons in order to warrant a search? Abelard was careful. His pack followed rules. They did not prey on humans, and they did not mate with outsiders. His participation in the hunts only meant that he was present and accounted for, and above suspicion.
Unless...
Imagine if Abelard were to shoot his own son while on the hunt. Even if another hunter shot Abelard’s son, Abelard would have to react. If I could perhaps befriend the Loupe boys, perhaps go to them with my problem of Martin... I could earn their trust. We could hunt Martin together, but in the end I could betray them. And perhaps I would solve my problem of Martin along the way.
I had no idea if a wolf, once shot, returned to his human form. If that was the case, this plan would work splendidly.
-21-
I made my way back to Langogne. This time I would be direct: I would walk up to the Loupe’s front door. Abelard would still be away, with several of his sons, but not all of them. For the past two days I had managed to remain human, and had even taken a razor to my hair. I was the most civilized I had been since that first night I turned wolf.
“Who are you?”
I had not even reached the vicinity of the house when I heard the voice from the thick foliage surrounding the place. Had someone been hiding out, watching for me? My hands shaking, I raised them up, showing I had no weapons. “Please, I know I was forbidden to return, but I need Abelard’s help.”
A boy came from the bushes. He was roughly my age, though slighter and shorter than me. “You are Georges de Soissons, then.”