Blood Moon

Chapter Seven

Trees hurtle by as obscure blurs. Wintry air stings my eyes, educing a fountain of tears. And although the moonlight hardly penetrates the evergreen canopies, Ben and I can see perfectly, utilizing our thermal vision. The only animals we’ve seen so far, however, are small woodland creatures—definitely not the werewolf we’re searching for.

Ugh! Where is it? I ask.

I have no idea, says Ben, but my fur is tingling at the roots.

That’s not a good thing, I take it.

Definitely not.

Darting through the foliage in an otherworldly speed, it’s easy to lose our bearings. Back in Hartford, we were used to the surrounding forests. Here, we have no clue where anything leads. And with all the weird occurrences lately, we have to be watchful. Ben may be correct: this might be a trap. If they—whoever they are—know Ben and I are werewolves, they may publicly announce we’re creatures of the night, leaving us to the citizens of Colchester. We’d have to flee and never return, more than likely, which means our plans would be screwed.

Out of the blue, I catch the scent of another werewolf. It’s nearby, too. The problem is that I just can’t see it anywhere. My vision, as well as Ben’s, is nothing but heat and cold, scarlet and azure. Tidbits of orange, yellow, purple, and white are also thrown into the mixture, but not very often. Our eyesight is black and white, in a sense; there is no gray area. Right now, I can’t see anything except blue, when what I need to see is red.

Oh, where are you? I think.

I smell it, Ben says. I just don’t know where it’s at.

Same here.

We can’t let it escape this time. Though there’s more than one werewolf in the area, as long as we can catch just one, I’ll be okay. Until then, however, Ben and I are completely in the dark as to what these creatures want with Ulric and Daciana, why they’re following them. Eventually, they’ll become werewolves, and so will Alaric. I suppose the ultimate goal is to stop the curse from happening altogether. But, of course, we can’t do that unless we know when they’ll strike our ancestors.

Up ahead! Ben shouts. All four of his legs kick into overdrive, and he outruns me. The blurry-red figure spots us and takes off in the opposite direction, just like it did a few nights ago. This time, I’m on the lookout for its friend, waiting for the moment it tries to sideswipe one of us.

The wolf pushes itself harder. I can only imagine the ache felt deep within its muscles. Ben doesn’t let up, and even though my strength is diminishing, I don’t have time to be a pansy. I have to stick with him. Should either of us lose the other, we’ll be easy targets.

My legs are practically on fire! I gripe.

We’re almost there, Candra. Hang on, baby.

But the second the red blip on my radar dives into a cave, my stomach converts to jelly. A trap? Yes, indeed. Ben and I stop just outside the cave, unable to see movement, or a crimson-colored shape.

Where’d it go? I ask.

I don’t know, but this cave could be teeming with snares. The second we step on one, we’d lose a leg.

My eyes frantically search for another option, like one will magically appear before me and introduce itself. I swallow back a prickly soreness in my throat, and my vision distorts the environment. Rocks and trees and dead leaves separate into two, then revert to one. My brain vibrates—so profusely, in fact, I experience the sensation in my teeth.

Poison, Candra, Ben chokes out. They f*cking poisoned us.

Wooziness, fuzzy vision, legs shaking violently, and a complete loss of myself sweeps over me in surges. It’s like my body has been in a wave pool for several hours, but all the waves hit me nonstop. I can’t catch a break.

Ben, I’m—

I can’t even finish my sentence before I vomit up dinner. Withdrawing slowly, I think, Maybe we still have a chance to escape. But I soon realize that’s not going to happen, because the blurriness worsens and the nausea refuses to subside. As I feel my body plummeting to the ground, I legitimately surrender, and the world around me dims to nothingness.

~*~

Groggily, my body rouses from sleep. What the hell happened? Then I remember.

A chase. A werewolf. Poison. Ben!

Ben, can you hear me? He doesn’t respond. He’s either dead or unconscious. Hopefully, it’s the latter of the two. I’ll flip Colchester upside down if something happens to him, if I can’t go back to Hartford and I’m stuck in the sixteenth century.

“Shall we wake them?” inquires a female.

“Nay, let them slumber,” a different female responds, her voice much older and croakier than the other woman.

My head tells me to keep my eyes shut, because I have no clue who these women are. And if they’re the werewolves, the ones who poisoned us, I’m going to either interrogate the shit out of them or kill them. I haven’t decided which option is best just yet. So I lay here and listen to their conversation, to see if I can gather any new information about who they are and what the hell they want with Ulric and Daciana.

“Can I offer ye something else to drink, Mother?”

“Nay, I shall rest until these two awaken,” says the scratchy voice. “We shall question their reason for being here, and what their origins are.”

Seems we have one thing in common, old woman, I think.

“Though we shall not have to wait long,” says the female matriarch, “for one is already awake.”

Every cell in my body solidifies, and a tingling warmth spreads through my limbs. How does she know? There’s only one explanation: she’s a witch. Ben was right—there is powerful magic at work in this town. More powerful than we imagined.

Screw it. I have to take a shot at them before they take one at me.

Bolting up from the floor as quickly as I can, I immediately leap toward four women standing before me and begin to shift. The oldest woman, whose eyes are completely white, holds up one hand and I’m suspended in the air, three feet off the ground. She doesn’t look at me directly; rather, she stares ahead blankly, as if she can’t see anything at all. Weakly, she rises from her chair and shuffles toward me. Running her hand all around my torso, her mouth then opens, and she softly gasps. With a flick of her wrist, I crumple to the floor. Hobbling to her chair, she once again sits down and observes me with her colorless eyes. It’s unnerving, to say the least.

“What pack do ye belong to?” the old woman asks.

I can admit everything right here, right now. I can tell them Ben and I are from the future, that we’ve returned to save our ancestors from cruel fates. But will they believe such a thing? They are witches, after all, so our powers shouldn’t surprise them.

Instead, I lie.

Standing up and brushing off filth, I notice they’ve clothed us in grubby rags. “My husband and I are in a pack all to ourselves. There is nobody but us.” I seize the moment to observe my surroundings. It seems we’re in a cave, encased by nothing but rocks and soil. There are two makeshift cots against the far wall, a fire blazing in the center of the space, and three younger women standing around the witch who caused me to float in mid-air. My best presumption is we’re in the same cave Ben and I refused to enter earlier; it’s a secret hideout for this werewolf family.

“Where are ye from?” the aged witch inquires.

“Connecticut,” I respond. At least I’m not fibbing about that. Running with their confused expressions, I add, “It’s a land far, far away.” Their faces relax some, though they still ogle me cautiously.

“And what business do ye have in Colchester?” one of the younger women asks. Her blonde hair is wrapped in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, one strand dangling in front of her eyes. The other two women glower at me, like they wish I was dead. One has skin as dark as night—she seems vaguely familiar, though I can’t place her. The other, who has hair the color of a raven’s feathers, is the berry-picking woman we met yesterday.

The real question is: which one of these women is Lavenia?

Lifting my chin defiantly, I reply, “My business is my own. Not yours.”

“Let me have at her,” says the dark-skinned woman. Baring her teeth, she snarls at me.

These people are freaking weird.

“Nay,” says the old woman, holding up her hand to stop the girl from tearing into me. “We have need of them.”

For what? I think.

Ben stirs, gradually awakening. He bolts out of his bed once the realization of where he’s at hits him. Eyes darting from the women to me, he asks, “What’s going on?”

I smirk and fold my arms across my chest. “They were just explaining how we’d be of use to them.” Consider this, Ben, we could slither into the viper’s nest and strike internally when the need arises. Play along before you blow a blood vessel.

They poisoned us! You expect me to pretend like that didn’t happen?

Yeah, I kind of do.

Puffing out a dramatic sigh between his lips, he switches his interest to the ladies positioned ahead of us and coolly solicits, “What do you want?”

The creepy old woman grumbles, “Ye are lucky to have thy lives. Do not fail to notice our mercy.” She licks her wrinkly, chapped lips and says, “We need to know who bit ye. There are so few like us that we must be chary in our attempts to keep the bloodlines unsoiled. First, ye shall explain to us how thy curse came to pass.”

Ben and I share a sideways glance, uncertain how to approach the subject. On one hand, we can explain that we’re from the future, and we weren’t exactly bitten. On the other hand, we can outright lie about the circumstances which led us here. But the longer we take to deliberate, the more apprehensive these hags will become.

“We’ve been sworn to keep our lives a secret,” I state, “which means we can’t advise you who sunk their teeth into us, or why. All we can tell you is that we don’t mean to cause mischief, and we aren’t out for blood. If, however, you stand in our way, we’ll have no choice but to stop you.”

“What is thy ultimate plan, if ye are not here to commit murder, and ye are not looking to join a new pack?” the old woman asks. Her eyes are seriously freaking me out; it’s like they can slice open my flesh and meddle with my soul.

Ben lets out a low growl. “She’s already told you! It’s none of your damn business.”

“Careful, young one, for this town and the land ye stand upon have been with me longer than ye have existed. Make no mistake: should ye choose to turn against us, there shall be hell to pay. My wise apprentices have studied under me for an extensive time, and they have learned rather quickly. If either of ye decides to hinder our plan, we have no misgivings with ending thy days.”

Squinting my eyes, I ask, “What . . . plan?”

“Aye, ye caught that, did ye?” The old woman chuckles, her raspy tone leaving an unspoken threat suspended in the air. “Just as ye declined to speak of thy plan, so shall we.”

Of course she says that. Clearing my throat, I question whether Ben and I can actually leave the site. Are we prisoners? Will they hold us hostage until they find out why we’re really here? The possibilities are endless. Plus, these women visibly have the magical-capabilities thing going on, and Ben and I are slightly doomed in that department.

The old witch gestures toward the cave’s entrance. “Ye are free to leave, as long as ye know not to interfere with us ever again.” A satisfied smirk curls her lips.

While Ben and I refrain from commenting further, and making complete fools of ourselves, I feel justified in telling them, “That won’t be a problem, as long as all of you know that if you stand in our way, we won’t hesitate to take you down.” And I have a clear notion we’ll cross paths with them in the near future. Soon. Next time, though, we’ll be more prepared.

“I would not be so foolish, if I was ye,” says the blonde-haired woman, grinding her teeth and balling her fists.

Let it rest, Candra, says Ben. Don’t do anything to provoke them.

I just can’t help myself.

That’s the problem.

Exiting the cave, Ben and I wander back toward Fiona’s home. By my best estimate, the sun will rise within the next two hours. If we arrive at Fiona’s wearing nothing but the rags the witches clothed us with, she’ll question where we’ve been and what we’ve been doing—and we don’t want to act suspiciously, which will lead to new questions. We should have ample time, however, to change our clothes before the day begins.

“I can’t believe we made it out of there,” Ben says. “I mean, they could’ve made rugs out of us. Or coats.” He stares off toward the wooded expanse ahead of us and mumbles, “Fur coats.”

Raking my fingers through my hair, my hands rest at the nape of my neck, where I massage my skin in an attempt to loosen the taut muscles. I wince at the unexpected sharp pain. There’s tightness in my chest, and my stomach continues to twist like a pretzel. Ben’s correct—something is amiss about this whole situation. Witches poison us, carry us to their secret lair, then just let us go? Maybe they saw a smidgen of goodness in our souls—since the blind woman obviously has a third eye—and decided we weren’t of any use to them, and we weren’t any harm.

Our easy release isn’t all that’s upsetting me. The berry-picking lady was in there, and we already know she’s capable of magic. But the real question: is she Lavenia? Any one of those women could’ve been her. We have nothing to go by, except that they’re all in this together.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ben shouts.

“What?” I shake my head. “Oh, sorry. I was too busy thinking about how strange this place is.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben grumbles, as he pushes a tree branch out of the way. “You know what else is weird? How they have to be bitten to turn into werewolves. That’s definitely not how it happens five hundred years later. Did evolution take over down the line, or was another curse cast so that we, and all future generations, transform on our eighteenth birthday?”

Now that I recall the conversation we had with the witches, he has a point. “Look at you, being all Captain Obvious. Nice work.” I lightly punch his arm.

He straightens his posture, arms swinging merrily back and forth. “Why, thank you, madam.”

I can’t help but playfully grin at him. He’s too egotistical for his own good. Catching the twinkle in his eye, I mock his spry attitude, adding a little pep to my step—and totally trip over a tree root, flat on my face. Ben’s boisterous laughter ricochets through the forest. I peek up at him, and he’s doubled over at the waist. Pushing myself off the ground with both hands, I clean the front of my tattered potato sack as best I can and pluck a dead leaf out of my hair.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I say dryly.

“It’s just—” He cackles louder, until his amusement finally wears down. “It’s just that I shouldn’t be surprised, because it’s you, but I wasn’t expecting that. It reminds me of the first time we met. Do you remember?”

I cross my arms and trudge away.

“Ah, Candra, c’mon . . . Wait up!” He catches my arm and spins me around to face him. “I was just kidding. But you have to admit, it was kind of hilarious.” He fights to contain his impish smile.

Sighing, I say, “Let’s forget it happened. We have enough to worry about at the moment.”

“Yeah, but having some comical relief on the side is like an added bonus.”

I glare at him.

He throws his hands up. “Okay, okay. We’ll stick to our non-existent, ever-changing plan.”

Bobbing my head from side to side, I add, “And yes, it was kind of funny.”

He pinches his lips, refraining from a strong case of the chuckles. “I promise if I fall down, you can laugh at me all you want.” He holds up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

I jab his stomach. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, let’s get back before Fiona and Francine wake up. Today’s the day we really need to figure out a plan.”

I’m not a betting person, but if I had to place money on it, I’d say it’s about three-thirty or four o’clock in the morning. I don’t actually know how accurate my guess is, but judging by the fact that it’s still dark outside, and the sun is beginning to cast a faint glow over the hillside, I’ll say I’m pretty darn close.

We arrive at Fiona’s just in time—Fiona and Francine are still asleep. Less than thirty minutes later, Fiona is up and preparing herself for the day ahead. Ben and I, however, slowly drift to sleep. Before I fully succumb to my dreamland, there’s still one gnawing, irksome thought stuck in my head, and I can’t place my finger on it. It’s like I’m so close to solving a riddle but don’t have all the words. And just as my last bit of consciousness is swept away by exhaustion, I solve a missing piece of the puzzle: one of the witches looks an awful lot like Maggie.