The mansion's silence pressed on Charlotte's mind like a weight. Rather than her bright, charming home, it had become a graveyard, filled with the ghosts of old horrors.
She ran up the stairs in three bounds and arrived at her rooms. They had been stripped as well, and she gazed in indignation at the scrapes across the floorboards. No clothing remained to her—nothing to conceal her wolfish form and the coward she knew herself to be.
Bernard awaited her in the ballroom, where he was sniffing the floor and snorting. "There you are. Are you all right?"
She nodded. Words could not convey the sick horror growing in her heart.
He hurried to her and nuzzled her face. "Let's leave this place. Too much death. But if my scrollstone is still in my laboratory, we may yet set things to rights."
***
They jumped out of the ballroom windows, and jogged around the back of the mansion toward the small cottage near the stables. Its windows were shuttered, as if it had escaped the looters' attention. But the door was open. Bernard slowed and listened, ears uplifted.
Charlotte halted beside him. "What is it?"
"Someone's inside."
Charlotte shrank sideways into the shade of the stables, ears flattened to her skull. Bernard nodded. "Stay hidden, my lady. I'll investigate."
Best that she remain out of sight. The thought of her in a fight sent a wave of sickness through him. She remained a lady, even in a wolf's hide. Whatever happened to them, he hoped she retained her humanity.
His own humanity was another matter. He sank into a half-crouch and stalked to the door, fur rising in a strip along his spine. A chair with a missing leg propped open the door. Someone shuffled inside. The intruder's scent filled his nostrils. Human male, laced with the ozone odor of a mage. Why was a mage investigating his laboratory? It wasn't Kryn. Perhaps another of the Mage School...
Hope warring with apprehension, Bernard shifted positions to peer through the door.
Inside the laboratory stood a tall, robed man with a gray beard. He paged through one of Bernard's books, and gripped a staff in his other hand.
A growl bubbled in Bernard's chest. Worse than a looter, or even a hunter—it was the man responsible for the curse's spread. Bernard's growl rose into words. "Allard!"
The archmage looked up and smiled. "Ah, Bernard Preston. I see that your little experiment was a success."
Bernard entered the doorway and rose to two legs, brandishing his razor-sharp claws. "You should fear me."
"Actually no," said Allard with a pleasant smile. "You cannot harm me, you know. I bear the Alpha Staff." He pointed it at Bernard.
Compulsion struck Bernard. He staggered backward and crashed to his haunches. His wolf body desired to grovel before Allard, and only his strength of will kept him upright.
The desire to explain himself crept over him in a prickle of guilt. "I found a treatment to the werewolf curse. I tried it on myself the night they broke free."
"And retained your sanity." Allard stroked his beard. "Yes, I've been reading your notes with great interest. Have you managed to reverse the transformation?"
"No. That would have been the next stage of the experiment."
"Fascinating." Allard turned his back and crossed the room to the alchemy apparatus. He struck it with the staff, shattering the delicate glass vials. Chemicals splashed the floor. Bernard twitched and whimpered. The cure mingled with other potions, hopelessly ruined.
"I had heard that the mage society was seeking a cure for the werewolf curse." Allard picked up a book and laid it on a table, beside Bernard's notebook. He added a few scraps of paper. "I had not realized that they were so close to finding one. Alchemy cannot cure a curse, but you've modified the curse's effects instead. Most ingenious."
Allard snapped his fingers, and the books and paper leaped into flame.
"No!" cried Bernard, but he could not lift a finger.
Allard stepped out of the laboratory. "Why don't you have a seat inside?"
The Staff dragged at Bernard's lupine body and instincts. Bernard resisted so fiercely that he toppled forward and struck his sensitive nose on the doorstep. He yelped and tears of pain blinded him. His body succumbed to the Staff and he crawled inside on his belly, cringing like a dog at its master's feet. Sparks from the burning books drifted into his fur.
"It was convenient of you to show up today," Allard said. "You saved me the trouble of hunting you in the woods." He closed the laboratory door and turned the lock.
Smoke filled the room and Bernard coughed. The Staff's command held him in place, as if a stronger mind checked his muscles. The flames climbed from the burning notebooks toward the book shelves of priceless books and scrolls. Heat billowed into his face and he whimpered. Did he dare call for Charlotte? What if Allard lingered nearby and saw her emerge from the stables? Bernard dug his claws into the wood floor. It was too easy to imagine Allard immobilizing her with the Staff and burning her to death. No! Bernard would break out of the compulsion himself. If only the flames did not distress him so deeply--
The lock clicked and the door flew open. Charlotte stood framed in the doorway, eyes wide and nostrils flared. Her white fur reflected the orange flames. For an instant, he glimpsed the woman beneath the wolf hide—petite, delicate, and with the determined strength of a lion. She seized his forearm and dragged him out of the burning cottage.
"Thank you," he said, and coughed until he gagged.
Charlotte watched the flames climb the wall. "He tried to burn you alive! Should I save anything?"
Bernard nodded, hardly able to speak. "Books."
Charlotte ducked inside and pulled down an entire shelf of books. She carried them outside, dumped them on the grass, and returned for another armload.
She saved everything on the shelves, but Bernard's notes had been reduced to ash. The pair sat at a safe distance, watching smoke billow from the door and windows, Bernard still hacking and wheezing. Gradually he recovered, and watched his lab burn with his ears flattened to his head.
He had lost his work and nearly his life. But his wife, bless her, was made of stronger stuff than he'd suspected. So what if she'd fled a snarling wolf? She'd rescued him from Allard's trap, and that was what mattered. It filled him with fresh tenderness. He put a forearm around her and licked her face. Yet it simply wasn't the same as kissing her with human lips. For the first time, he longed for his human body.
Charlotte looked at him anxiously. "Is the antidote lost?"
"Of course not." His yellow eyes were sorrowful. "I carry the formula in my head. But the elixir takes many stages to create, and my iterations and ingredient lists are gone. I'll have to start from scratch."
"He tried to kill you, even though he spoke with you!" she exclaimed. "That's wicked! What man deliberately leaves another to die in such a manner?"
"He is a powerful man, and such men are dangerous when their power is threatened." He was interrupted by the whistle of magefire. A bolt of blue light splashed at their feet, frosting the grass.
"Run!" barked Bernard. The pair sprinted for the woods. Behind them, more frost missiles descended on the burning building as mages dealt with the fire.
"What about your books?" panted Charlotte as they gained the cover of the trees.
"The mages will salvage them. They're valuable."
They plunged into the forest's shelter, a pair of heartsick werewolves.
Chapter 8: Capture
Bernard and Charlotte ran half a mile through the woods. At last Bernard scented a brook, and halted beside it to lap water down his aching throat. Charlotte did the same.
Allard had burned the laboratory. Rage seethed in Bernard's heart. It was difficult to gather his thoughts and plan their next move—his only desire was to sink his teeth into Allard's throat.
Charlotte murmured, "Bernard..."
"What?"
Her ears flattened. "Are you all right?"
"No," he growled. "I've lost everything and the man respo
nsible walks free. I want to kill him!" His voice rose to a roar, the words slurring together.
Charlotte backed away from him, eyes wide. "Bernard, the Staff harmed you. Please, return to yourself!"
Bernard breathed in great snorts, teeth bared. Thoughts of blood and violence clouded his brain. He dipped his muzzle in the stream, and the icy shock calmed him.
It was as if the Staff's compulsion had pushed back the elixir's effect, letting the wolf rush to the forefront. Or perhaps the magic interacted with the potion in some way. He wanted to kill and maim, and run wild through the woods with his kind. He stared at Charlotte, and it took him a moment to remember who she was. Not just a pack member. His wife. Charlotte, whom he had grown to love.
He whispered, "Charlotte, hold me."
She threw both arms around his neck and rested her head against his cheek. "Come back, my love. Don't let the wolf take you."
The combination of her touch and voice soothed him. The murderous thoughts faded, eased by his wife who dared remain with him.
After a while he said, "Am I truly your love?"
"Yes," she breathed in his ear. Her voice grew husky. "And I can't bear the thought of losing you to insanity or death."
He drew slow, calming breaths, and the heat within him cooled. Allard was not worth sacrificing the last of his humanity.
"Please talk to me," she whispered. "I don't understand why Allard is doing this. He tried to kill you over the cure--but why?"
Bernard settled himself beside her. "I've worked with the man and I can certainly guess. Allard despises Grayton's isolationist policy. Remember the goblin war several years ago, when Allard created the Alpha Staff to control the wolves?"
Charlotte nodded.
"We had just finished constructing the Grayton Wall, cutting off our land from our neighbors. But it cut us off from commerce, as well. Allard's wealth comes from generations of trading with the surrounding nations. If I had to guess, I would say that he plans to curse everyone in Lyedyn City, breach the wall and set himself up as king, with all of us as his slaves."
Charlotte made a small gasping, "Oh." After a long moment, she added, "I never agreed with the isolationist decree, but I don't believe this is the proper way to resolve the matter."
They rested for a long while, nestled side by side. Charlotte dozed on the edge of the stream, and her trembling subsided. After a while she sat up again, and found Bernard watching her with a wistful expression. She met his gaze. "What shall we do now?"
He heaved a sigh. "The mage tower is on the eastern side of the city. If I could get close enough to speak to someone, I might convince them to listen to me before they kill me outright."
"Let's go slowly so you can rest." She couldn't face more danger and the threat of losing Bernard so soon.
They set off toward the southeast, making a wide circuit around the outskirts of Lyedyn City, pausing often to listen and smell for enemies. This area was thick with the scent of both humans and werewolves. Buildings stood empty and ransacked. Carcasses of cows and horses lay in the fields, ravaged by hungry wolves and lesser scavengers. But there were no human remains. Either the wolves had eaten them, or they had become wolves.
As they neared the Mage district, Charlotte's dread intensified. What if they approached the tower and the mages blasted them from a distance with fireballs? It was far too easy to picture Bernard lying on the ground, writhing in agony as he died.
"Bernard, how do we keep them from killing us?"
Bernard didn't answer. He prowled in a half-crouch, his movements oily. His eyes had taken on a brute blankness. A shudder rippled down Charlotte's back. He was slipping again, and her first impulse was to run before he turned on her. But no! She was the only one who could call him back.
"Bernard!" She seized his forearm.
He turned on her with a flash of white teeth, like a dog whose tail had been pulled. She yelped and backed away. He'd bitten her arm, and blood welled through her fur. "Bernard! Why?"
He gazed at her for a long moment with flat yellow eyes. Then slowly his expression changed to one of remorse, and his eyes deepened. "Oh Charlotte, I'm so sorry!" He stepped forward and licked her wounded arm.
She panted in fear, half-expecting him to bite her again. "What is wrong with you?"
"I think the Staff strengthened the curse. The elixir is failing. I must give the formula to the mages before--" he broke off and bathed her arm vigorously.
"What about me? If you lose your mind, I--I can't live without you." She meant to say that she would not survive without him, but as she spoke the words, she realized their truth. If he became a mindless beast and she somehow returned to her human life, she'd return to her lonely, selfish ways--but tormented by the memory of love.
The bleeding stopped. Bernard clasped her paw in both of his. "Forgive me, my lady. If I don't survive this, find Kryn. He will understand the situation. Don't let Allard near you with his staff."
Charlotte gazed into his eyes and gripped his hands. Her heart crept into her throat. "Bernard, I can't--"
He licked her nose. "You can, my love. You don't realize how strong you are. Whatever happens to me, you will triumph. Even if I--" His voice broke and he lowered his head. "--even if I lose my mind."
She nuzzled his face, unable to speak. Death and insanity had become stark realities, and in the next few hours, she could very well encounter both. As they walked on, anguish dragged at her muscles. She lagged behind Bernard, panting and weeping inside.
Long before she was ready, Bernard halted and pointed with a claw. "There is the mage tower."
A structure like a lighthouse stood in the midst of a grassy field with a cobblestone road winding to its foot. To Charlotte it looked foreboding, like a torturer's castle from which no captive ever returned. She dropped to her belly and whimpered.
"I have to go," said Bernard.
"I know," she whispered. He carried in his head their only hope at regaining their human bodies, and only the mages and alchemists could help them. But her heart cried a warning.
"Stay hidden," he whispered. "The brush here is thick, and you can watch without revealing yourself. If Allard is there and uses the Staff on me, remain hidden until you are certain he's gone. Then you may try to speak to them. I can't bear to think of you trying to live alone out here, and at the very least they will shelter you, as long as they know you can speak." His voice trembled, and he wrapped his arms around her and buried his muzzle in her thick neck fur.
Charlotte returned his embrace. Despite his monstrous form and strength, his muscles trembled. Beneath the wolf, he was still the small, scholarly man she had married, and he had never before faced death.
Finally he withdrew and gave her a last tender lick on the cheek. Then he pushed out of the brush and walked across the green toward the tower.
Charlotte dug her claws into the forest floor nervously. When Bernard was halfway to the tower, he rose and walked on two legs. Perhaps he hoped to show his humanity by his posture. At any rate, he reached the tower door unchallenged, and rapped his claws three times on the wood.
Charlotte's attention was diverted by voices and footsteps behind her, drawing closer by the second. The onion smell of humans flooded her nose, as well as ozone and gunpowder. Hunters!
She shrank down under the bushes and lay still, hoping they would simply pass by. But one of them muttered, "The trail is fresh. Look sharp, boys, they're probably in this brush."
Five pairs of booted feet picked their way toward Charlotte, following the trail she and Bernard had left. Her constant dread spiked into true terror. They would find her and burn her alive and she would never see Bernard again! A moan rose in her throat before she could stop it.
The hunters halted. "It's there, in the brush. Ready your weapons."
Charlotte's nerve broke. She covered her head with both arms. "No! Please don't kill me! I've done nothing wrong!"
None of the hunters moved. If only she could see their fa
ces! "Tie me or whatever you wish, but please don't hurt me again!"
"Again?" said one of the men. "Show yourself. Slowly."
Charlotte crept out of the brush, trembling so badly she could scarcely move. Any second she expected to feel the terrible liquid burn of another fireball, and her scar throbbed.
The men wore the green-dyed leather of professional hunters, and one bore the gold wings of a mage embroidered on his left shoulder. All carried guns but the mage, who pointed at her. "The white wolf! Macnair and I saw her down by the coast, where the talking wolf warned us off!"
"I can talk, too," Charlotte said, terror making her pant. "I won't hurt you, please don't shoot me!"
"What's your name, wolf?" a gunman asked.
"Lady Charlotte Preston, of Halfmoon Manor."
"Preston!" exclaimed the mage. "Bernard Preston's wife? Was he the one who yelled at us?"
Charlotte nodded.
"I told you he'd pioneered a cure!" the mage told his fellows. "Let's take her to the tower at once!" He waved a hand and a coil of rope appeared. "I'm sorry, Lady, but we must bind your forepaws at the very least."
Charlotte sat on her haunches and extended her arms, still expecting a fireball at any second. But a tiny ray of hope gleamed in her heart for the first time. "Bernard already went to the tower. He knows the elixir formula and wishes to pass it on."
"Excellent!" said the mage as he bound her wrists. He appeared barely five and twenty, with a sparse growth of beard peppering his chin. She could scarcely believe that he had cast the fireball that had scorched her back.
She rose to two legs and walked out of the woods, surrounded by wary hunters. All this time, tension vibrated within her like a plucked guitar string. Where was Bernard? Was he safe? She had heard no ruckus from the tower, and he was not there now, as they crossed the green toward it. Perhaps they let him inside and all was well. They would open the door for her, and inside Bernard would be surrounded by mages, all scribbling on parchment as he dictated the elixir's ingredients.
As they neared the tower, the door opened. Bernard bounded out on all fours. Behind him strode a gray-bearded mage with a staff.
Charlotte halted and stifled a scream. Allard didn't spare her a glance--all his attention was fixed on Bernard. Bernard crouched on his belly and moaned. Then he snarled.