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“I’m assuming loup garou is just a fancy French way of saying ‘werewolf,’ right?”

René was examining the damage that the beast had made to my cottage last full moon. Putting a name to it was funny. Werewolf, vampire, the terms conjured goofy Halloween costumes, embarrassing to even say out loud. And yet here was one of them before me, helping me search for the other.

“Can you smell that awful stench?” He asked, wrinkling his face in disgust.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Good,” he coughed, putting his hand over his nose. “I know I’m on the right track.”

He meandered around, following the scent around the property, muttering to himself about the uncouth hygiene habits of the loup garou. I followed him to the best of my abilities, but he clearly wasn’t expecting me to be able to keep up. Finally, the trail ended at the bank of the river, almost a quarter mile down from my dock.

“There.” He pointed to a small, heavily forested island across from us in the river.

“How did he get over here? Don’t tell me the werewolf has a boat.”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, however he got over here, I’ll have him pay you directly for the repairs to the damage he caused on my property.”

He chuckled.

“You have a grudge against this creature, eh?”

“He was particularly vindicative towards Martina. Total asshole.”

“They all are, trust me.”

“Am I detecting some sort of vampire snobbery?”

“No! Well, perhaps a little. But I assure you the primary source of my distaste comes from the fact that our mutual enemy is far too fond of them. She always has to have one by her side, and when they grow too old, she discards them for a new one. So, the lycanthropic pest prowling your cottages is only the latest in a long line of lapdogs.”

“If the werewolf is the witch’s pet, why would he want to speak with us?”

“I do not know. I hope he can be persuaded. Even assholes can chafe on the leash of their masters.”

We stood together staring at the dark island. There was no sign of habitation that was visible to my eyes. I made a mental note to consult some of my uncle’s old nautical charts in my cottage to see if this place even had a name. Luckily, according to the notebook, I had some days before the next payment was due. Good timing for a field trip.

“The night grows late and we are going to need all of our strength,” he said. “Meet me tomorrow at the docks, and bring your pretty silver bracelets.” He smirked, clearly remembering my awkward maneuver with the bangles the first night we met.

“I know, I know. It was awkward.”

“I found it rather charming.”

I blushed.

“Okay, stop flirting. What time are we meeting tomorrow?”

“Two hours after sunset?”

“Do I want to know what you’ll be doing from the time you awake until you’re meeting me?”

He frowned.

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll pretend it’s not murder.”

“Good.”

“Where are you staying anyway? The cemetery? A friendly hole in the ground?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Not if I can help it. I’ve actually had quite the grand stroke of luck. My old place was actually up for rent.”

“You mean the place you lived in one hundred years ago?”

“Yes. It only took a bit of persuasion to get the landlord to agree to a highly discounted rent.”

“Please, don’t you dare say—”

“Relax. Just a bit of mental fog, the power of suggestion. No harm.”

“You know if that falls through, you’re welcome to a non-cursed cottage.”

He smiled.

“You’re very kind. Goodnight, Nora.”

He took my hand in both of his and squeezed it. As he turned to leave, I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“René, you told me some things today that I’m sure were deeply painful for you. And I also realize that you don’t need to be here. You could be in Bora Bora by now, enjoying that eternal youth. So, thank you.”

He held my gaze for a moment and nodded.

“Whatever we will do, we will figure it out together.”

++

The following evening, I waited for René at my dock, silver bracelets on my wrists. In my pocket, I had carefully torn out the relevant page of the nautical chart from my uncle’s library. It was a bit yellowed—like everything around here—but it was sufficiently detailed for our purposes. Our destination was hardly more than a speck, labeled “Glendon Island” in tiny, almost microscopic print.

I’ve never driven a boat before, despite spending nearly every summer of my life on them. My dad or Uncle Jimmy were always the pilots. I tried to remember only the good times, the times when we’d sail out to a hidden island and swim all day, eating sandwiches in wet bathing suits in the sunshine that always somehow tasted better than at home. I didn’t want to think about their accident, how those memories were poisoned so soon. I tried to push down the dread that rose unbidden within me when I thought of stepping foot in a boat.

I was grateful to see René walking up the gravel pathway that led from the motel parking lot to the dock. He looked exceedingly…vibrant. A wave of dismay passed through me when I noticed he was wearing a different parka, this one a much plainer black and gray. He had an extra-large thermos with him. The whole thing was just so macabre and yet somehow also hilarious. I couldn’t help but begin to laugh.

René seemed mildly offended.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. What happened to the green jacket?”

“I thought it made you upset.”

“Where did you get the gray one, then?”

“Don’t ask.”

“That is equally disturbing!”

He shrugged.

“Sorry.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we? I have the silver.”

“As do I.” He pulled out a thin silver chain from his pocket. I nodded. He approached the boat left behind by the man who had the misfortune of arriving at my motel on the night our taxes were due. “Can we use this boat?”

“I guess. I don’t think the owner is coming back for it.”

“Seems like it is in fine working condition.” He hopped in and retrieved a pair of paddles. “I do not think it is wise to use the motor. Too much ice and besides it’s far too noisy.”

“Are we concerned about noise?”

“We should probably not announce our arrival with much advance fanfare.” He raised his hand to me to help me down. I hesitated, heart leaping, remembering the phone call from the police telling me my dad wouldn’t be coming home. Freak boating accident. I shook away the memories and took a deep breath of bracing cold air. I took René’s hand and stepped inside, steadying myself against the slight lurch as I sat.

“Are you alright, Nora?”

I shuddered and nodded.

“Fine, thanks.”

He sat, grabbed a paddle, and tossed me one.

“I can handle it myself, if you don’t feel up to paddling. This boat is not much larger than the canoes I used as a child.”

“Thanks, but I can pull my weight.”

We began to paddle carefully, but with steady speed. René was able to pilot and steer with ease, even in the dark, icy conditions. A perk of heightened senses, I suppose. His obvious happiness at being on the river was infectious and I found my initial anxiety melting away, the rhythm of my breathing returning to normal.

“What else do you know about werewolves?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Not much to know. Full moon, silver, pervasive stench…”

“Can they change into wolf form at will, or only during a full moon? Probably something good to know given the purpose of this excursion.”

“During the full moon they must transform, willing or no. Those in the service of the witch would also transform at her will, and she could force the transformation if she sensed any hesitation. This was something I witnessed on multiple occasions and it was never pleasant. Poor beasts. Left to their own devices, I believe the werewolves could transform to defend themselves when threatened. All the more we must approach with caution.”

I nodded. I glanced at the black depths below us. The cadence of my paddle hitting the water was almost pleasant. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a pale form dart deeper and out of sight. With a chill, I remembered The Wet Lady slithering into the water, marble eyes glowing lifelessly in the depths. Would she be the one to bring me death this year, completing the task she had begun when I was a child?

“René? What is it like to die?”

He frowned.

“I can’t rightly say. I’ve never experienced a true death, the sundering of the body and the soul. Please, Nora, don’t think of it.”

“What would cause you to truly die? Can you die?”

He grinned.

“Are you contemplating another attempt on my life? Because I promise, the gun is useless.”

“Stakes to the heart?”

“Sunlight and fire. See? Now you know my secret. I’ve armed you with the knowledge of my destruction.”

“I’ll store it away for future reference.”

The island loomed before us, wreathed in a mist that had not been visible from my dock. Jagged rocks sloped down to meet the river. As far as I could see there were thick growths of trees and bushes. We became silent, aware of every movement, our paddling slowed and René expertly guided our boat to an outcropping. He secured our rope around a large boulder and hopped out without a sound. He added some knots and reached out for me. Upon taking his hand he lifted me out of the boat entirely in one swift motion. I suppose that was much quieter than my attempts at fumbling my way out.

René contorted his face in disgust and nodded, indicating to me that we were in the right place for a werewolf. We began to explore, careful to avoid stepping on twigs or slipping on any patches of ice. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my surroundings, I noticed that among the natural debris of vegetation there was trash, piece of litter that on closer inspection appeared to be cigarette butts and flattened cartons. I tried to stifle the hot anger rising in my face. Asshole and a slob. I shook the bangles into the palms of my hands and gripped them tightly.

The island was much larger than I thought by looking at my uncle’s map. After making our way through the trees for what seemed like hours, we came across a clearing pockmarked by tree stumps. In the center was a twisted figure that at first glance appeared alive, but as we crept closer it revealed itself to be a towering structure made entirely of bones, piles and piles of bones. Hopefully from animals, I thought uneasily. The thing was crowned by the skull of what must have been a massive buck with enormous antlers draped with what appeared to be dry marine algae.

The thing was horrifying, but despite my churning stomach I felt compelled to take a few steps forward, to reach out my hands to touch it. I imagined my fingers caressing the smooth bones, cold and solid, so nice to grasp. I could lay down in the soft grass before it, under its watchful gaze. Yes, it watched, it would love to watch me, it would love to know me. René clamped his hands on my shoulders and I struggled against his powerful grip. He turned me to face him, and lifted my face to his eyes.

Nora, you must stop. His voice was in my head without moving his lips. This thing no longer has any power over you. I shook my head, dazed. Whatever spell that had momentarily held me was broken. I gazed at him in wonder, but he placed his finger over his lips and shook his head. Still holding me, he backed us away from the clearing and the figure within.

At a safe distance he released me. Still a little dizzy, I steadied myself against a tree. I pulled out a notepad and pencil that I remembered I had in my interior coat pocket.

“WTF,” I wrote, handing it to René.

“A spy,” he wrote underneath.

“Hers?”

“Yes.”

“What was with your voice in my head?”

“Vampire persuasive technics, remember? Only for emergencies.” He underlined “emergencies.”

I nodded.

He continued to write at a frenetic pace and then handed the pad back to me.

“You’re not going to like this, but I think we’d have better luck splitting up. Continue to walk around the forest, but avoid the clearing. Do not be too worried about making noise, walk as you normally would. You will not see me, but I will be there. And I promise, on my life, that nothing will happen to you. Keep your bangles close.”

I shook my head. He added two more words.

“Trust me.”

Did I trust him? Did it matter? He was probably right. The werewolf would be more likely to approach, or at least allow himself to be spotted if I were alone.

I bit my lip and nodded. He gave me a reassuring smile and quicker than I could react he had darted away, disappearing into the trees. Toughen up, I told myself, repeating Martina’s words.

Heartened, I began to explore on my own, not too focused on avoiding sticks and paper and other things that crunched under my boots. I moved in the opposite direction from the clearing, towards the side of the island we had not visited before. After what felt like ages, the trees yielded to smaller shrubberies and I found myself staring at a lopsided log cabin, constructed in a very amateurish fashion.

I guess this is where the guy lives. Part of me wanted to simply go knock on the door, but I decided to go around the back instead. As I approached, I suddenly sensed something behind me, the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. Must be René, I thought, engaging in a bit of wishful thinking.

I turned around. Behind me was the beast, the size of a grown man, its gangly limbs pressed down to the ground, as though ready to pounce. It glared at me with frenzied yellowed eyes and sharp teeth, the face was not as sleek as that of a wolf, but rather misshapen for an animal, the snout was longer, the teeth more jagged and haphazard.

If I run, I am dead. I took a step backwards, raising my hands clutching the silver to a position in front of me.

The werewolf snarled at the glint of silver, almost emboldened. A low, guttural growl emanated from its gaunt belly. Just as it tensed its back haunches for an attack, a white flash collided with it from seemingly out of nowhere. René tackled it to the ground, and buried his fangs into the beast’s neck, causing it to howl in pain and anger. It slashed his face, and the shock of the laceration momentarily shocked him enough for him to release the wolf, who was free to attack him with its full force. It pinned him to the ground.

René struck at the wolf’s face and bit down on its shoulder and the two struggled against each other, fighting ferociously. With a powerful kick, René finally flung the werewolf backwards, retrieved the silver chain from his pocket and wrapped it around the wolf’s neck with a hideous hiss.

“René! Take these!” I shouted, throwing him the bangles. He caught them with ease and pressed them into the flesh of its chest. The werewolf howled in agony, the animal sound rising into an ear-shattering crescendo before ceding to the screams of a human man. The claws had retracted into human hands.

I raced over to find that the beast was gone and in its stead was man in his mid-forties, with dark hair heavily streaked with gray. He was naked and writhing in agony under the silver, which clearly burned his flesh. The wounds that René had inflicted were raw and bleeding, though René had clearly avoided any major arteries.

I turned to René who still glared at the man, fangs bared, panting. The lacerations inflicted by the werewolf had healed, but he was covered in blood from head to toe, newly acquired parka almost entirely shredded. I bent over to remove the silver, but his hand shot out to block me.

“He’s no good to us dead,” I said. “And that’s what he’ll be soon, by the looks of it, if we don’t remove the silver.”

René’s predatory expression didn’t change, he continued to stare at the man’s bloodied wounds.

“René!” I slapped him across the face, surprising both of us with my strength. He blinked and shook his head.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll take it off. Careful, he’s a tough bastard.”

He pushed me back but I didn’t move.

“Wait, I just have to do something quick.”

Before he could stop me, I aimed the hardest kick I could muster into the werewolf’s stomach. The man’s moan was so pathetic, I almost felt bad about it. Almost. René grinned.

“May I?”

I nodded. He bent over and carefully removed the silver, taking some skin with it. The man cried out, promptly turning over and vomiting.

“Can you do something to stop the bleeding?” I asked. René narrowed his eyes.

“With what?” He asked sullenly.

I crossed my arms and frowned.

“Come on.”

He made a sound of annoyance. He bit his wrist and suspended it over the man’s neck wound, allowing several drops to fall. The blood did its work and began to knit together the ragged wound until the werewolf was left with nothing but a crater of dried blood. René did the same over the man’s shoulder and when that too was healed he turned to me.

“Satisfied?”

“The silver wounds?”

“He can live with those.”

“Agreed.”

The man grunted and attempted to sit up.

“No sudden movements, wolf, or I’ll put you back on your leash,” René said, brandishing the silver chain.

“Relax, jackass, I’m too weak to shift,” the man croaked in a voice that sounded like it didn’t get much use. He was pale with blood loss, but otherwise seemed to be in good physical condition. His eyes appeared sad and haunted, dark circles underneath, a stark contrast to the fierce yellow stare of the beast he had been only moments before. He gestured to the ramshackle cabin.

“You mind if I put some clothes on?”

“You’ll forgive us if we insist on escorting you.”

He grunted a reluctant assent and struggled to his feet. He was perhaps an inch or so shorter than René. His body was laced by a web of thick scars from his back to his chest and on his limbs. He limped his way into the cabin with me and René following behind.

The place smelled of hearth and cigarette smoke, fire that was no more than embers burned under a poorly constructed chimney that look like it was threatening to give at any moment. An ancient looking metal bed frame bore a worn mattress with a few filthy flannel blankets. Some random pieces of furniture dotted the rest of the cabin: a dented metal countertop perhaps salvaged from a restaurant, a pair of Adirondack chairs with flaking red paint, and a card table that teetered on uneven legs. A shabby rattan rug covered the dirt floor.

The man quickly threw on a pair of jeans at the foot of the bed and a sweatshirt. Like René, he didn’t seem to be that bothered by the cold. He pointed to the chairs with a gruff motion of his chin. I sat. René frowned, but joined me.

“This place is appalling,” he said.

The werewolf shrugged. “It’s what I got.”

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” I began. “We’re not here to hurt you or kill you. I know we’re trespassing, but we just wanted to talk with you.”

“Nora is being awfully nice,” René said menacingly. “I suggest you talk to her unless you’d like me to get involved again.”

“Nora?” The man said, ignoring René, a look of recognition passing over his face.

“Yes. My name is Nora Calnon. You know, the one whose property you seem to enjoy destroying? Although looking around me, I don’t suppose you appear in any position to foot the bill for that. By the way, I suppose I told a bit of a fib just now. That kick in the stomach I gave you? I definitely came here to do that. That was for a friend of mine you tortured for years. Her name was Martina.”

At the sound of Martina’s name, the man blanched. He stood and began to pace.

“Martina,” he repeated.

“You killed a friend of hers.”

The werewolf stopped pacing and shook his head. He approached me in wonder and touched my auburn hair, haunted eyes wide and glistening. I felt René immediately behind me at my shoulder.

“I remember you,” he whispered in a reverent hush. “Nora Calnon. Nora Calnon, I promise you I would never do anything to hurt Martina.”

“Who are you?” I asked, already beginning to suspect the answer.

“My name? I don’t have a name anymore.”

“What was your name? From before.”

Tears sprang to the man’s eyes.

“My name?” He repeated. “My name is Jake Hubert.”

x

[Part 10]

[Part 11]