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relieved Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Author: Jadwiga (
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92){kind=small}
luthienberen)Character: Alexander Finch
Beta:
rae_faWarnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt – 085; She
Word count: 5,046
Rating: R (overall rating of story)
Summary: Alexander goes to meet an old friend and discovers more about the legend of the werewolf than he thought imaginable.
Notes: Previous Posts
Sunday: One week and a day since Alexander was bitten.
“Stop!”
The shiny green jeep sharply drew up to the curb.
Alexander unbuckled his seat belt and clambered out of the car, picking up his rucksack where it had been resting at his feet.
“Wait here Figaro,” he said to his friend.
“Sure, but make sure she’s in – otherwise I’m not going anywhere apart from dragging your ass back into the car.”
Alexander rolled his eyes at the blond haired man.
“I’ll haul her out by her hair to you shall I? Just to satisfy your protective urges?”
Ignoring the undignified snort, Alexander briskly walked up to an old shop suppressing a shiver at the distinct chill that lingered in the early morning air.
Frost covered windows in swirling patterns, but one could see past the white dust to the treasures within.
The inside was draped in black velvet. Upon the rich folds glimmered a few polished stones, some fashioned into jewellery with silver or gold, or copper or with a blending of metals.
A couple of the fine examples of craft were made entirely out of precious stones connected with thread – no metal.
Five or so beautifully made books also rested on pedestals, enticing the window shopper to enter and become a potential customer.
Beyond the display hung mesh curtains so it was impossible to see any deeper into the premises. Titling his head up Alexander checked the name of the shop.
The sign above the door beam proclaimed:
Jade’s Artisan and Repository of Knowledge
Slightly apprehensive he pushed the door open to the jingling of bells. The interior was small, partitioned off from the rest of the building by a bead curtain hanging in another doorway directly opposite to the entrance.
It was dimly lit, candles radiating a soft warm glow. A low fluting noise touched the senses at the very edges so you were barely aware of it, that is, if you weren’t a werewolf. To Alexander the world of sound was taking on a new shape slowly but surely. But at the moment, his hearing was only a tad better than the average Homo sapiens … to which he was eternally grateful. He didn’t need another experience like the one where his sense of smell had oscillated.
A woman stepping through the doorway, one hand pushing the heavy beads aside interrupted Alexander in his scrutiny.
Her long, raven-dark tresses were tied back with one colourful strip of leather. Only a single, central band of pure white slashing down the length marred the starless night, a remnant of a severe fright when they had been children.
Relief pulsated through Alexander as recognition flared in the woman’s eyes. Quickly holding up a hand he darted out of the shop to uphold his bargain.
He waved at Figaro who was waiting patiently in the car. His friend grinned and waved back before hitting the accelerator.
Smiling at his friend’s antics Alexander re-entered the shop and spoke for the first time.
“Amethyst.”
She was named after her eyes.
She had large, expressive purple eyes. When she had first opened them as a child the peculiar colour had shone out, surprising doctors, nurses and parents alike. Her proud father had named her ‘Amethyst’, after the gemstones he dealt with daily.
She had inherited her father’s talents. Easily had the dark haired, violet eyed, child sank into a world governed by the mystical properties of precious stones, until, later in her life she followed her father’s footsteps and became a jeweller.
Amethyst had grown up learning the healing properties of crystals. She understood the power behind symbolic characters, talismans and the potency of words. She comprehended better than many how images, as well as words, could focus the mind. Along with the science of things, she had learnt the spiritual side of objects and animals.
That is why Mollie loathed her so ardently. Mollie, like many scientists, considered the ‘magical’ properties of crystals – of life itself – to be an illusion. They had little to no time for the parts of life that couldn’t be measured or explained by science; werewolves, vampires, elves, the soul and so on, were a whole load of marsh gas.
Amethyst did not adhere to any religion particularly, but she did believe there was Someone Up There who had brought the Universe into existence. She accepted his Catholic beliefs and even utilised the imagery and potent icons used in Christianity for her own healing, and in the crafting of protective charms (amulets and so on).
In this way Amethyst blended her job with the schooling her of childhood.
Her acceptance of Alexander’s Faith was another thorn in Mollie’s side as she could never understand or sympathise with that part of her friend’s life, especially in regards to his sexual preference.
Hence, why Alexander had come searching for her. Amethyst, (or Amy as he wont to call his dear friend), would believe him and, most importantly, accept him for what he had become. She would still love Alexander Finch.
She kept this shop stocked with not only her myriad of gems, but as a ‘supernatural’ lexicon. Here, one could find rare papers and books, articles long since lost elsewhere, all concerning the more mystical areas of human existence: corporeal beings and non-corporeal.
If one couldn’t find an article or information about whatever curious tale or strange being, for example, Angels and Demons, then you were unlikely to find it anywhere. Amy’s husband had made a point of travelling the world and gathering the old wives tales and listening to shamans and other wise men/women.
Their shop was the key to unravelling the mysteries and complexities of his condition.
If Amethyst had a particularly evil fault, it lay in her disregard for anyone else when she was absorbed by her work. Once she became engrossed she was deaf to all about her and more than once had forgotten family and friends. It grated on the nerves and had caused its fair share of hurt.
“Alexander.”
She came forward, a woman of indeterminable age and not more than five foot six. A glint was in her eyes, causing the smouldering light within the purple depths to blaze brightly. A loving smile transformed her otherwise plain face into a mask of beauty. Yet nothing could outshine the splendour of her eyes or the darkness of her locks.
The next minute he was enfolded in a loving embrace, slim arms entwining tightly around his back. Returning the gesture with a great squeeze of his own Alexander buried his nose and mouth into the juncture between neck and throat, glorying in the exquisite scent of his friend.
“Alexander! That tickles” mirthful laughter floated in the air as Amy squirmed in his grasp. “What are you doing? Smelling me like some bloodhound?”
Alexander couldn’t help but chuckle at the jocularity in the woman’s voice. He revealed in the sudden, unexpected gaiety, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Laughter bubbled deep inside, threatening to burst forth in a great plume like volcanic smoke.
“Perhaps,” he said, “or maybe I’m simply re-familiarising myself with an old friend whom I haven’t seen for far too long. Anyway,” he added, “you smell nice.”
Amethyst laughed again, shaking her head, dark hair brushing his cheek like satin, making him shiver. Then he sighed.
/No matter how secure I feel in her arms I have to speak. I must take the plunge. But … Just one more moment of golden bliss … just one more, where there is nothing but us./
But the moment passed as it must and Alexander knew it was time. Impulsively digging his fingers harder into Amy shoulders Alexander propped his chin on his friend’s right shoulder and whispered in her ear: “I’m a werewolf.”
---------
“Pardon?”
Alexander drew back from his friend’s hold, grasping Amy’s upper arms. He met her astonishment with a calm façade even though his heart felt that it would surely burst in a fountain of blood.
“I’m a werewolf.”
The incredulity in the violet eyes began to wane under the unwavering truth she saw in Alexander’s gaze.
He flinched slightly when Amy touched his face. Calloused fingertips skimmed his features, mapping the contours as if he suddenly unfamiliar.
However, the minute the wandering digits came near his mouth Alexander snatched at them, gripping them so tightly that her hand went white.
“Don’t.”
He caught her strained expression and his eyes dropped to his right hand, which held her fingers in a merciless vice.
He blanched. /What am I doing? She is my friend!/
Releasing Amy as if she was on fire Alexander took a step backwards, body quivering. “I’m so sorry Amy. So very sorry. Believe me when I say that I did not mean to hurt you.”
Rubbing the abused appendage Amy looked worriedly at him.
“That’s okay Alexander.” She smiled faintly. “That was uncalled for. I intruded.”
Bitterness rushed through Alexander. /It wasn’t always like this./ “It never mattered before.”
“But now it does?”
“Yes.” There was a slight pause. “You believe me?”
“It came as a shock, but yes, I do. Come,” Amy gestured to the bead curtain. “You can explain while we walk.”
“It is a long tale.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Striding past him the ebony haired woman turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Close’, locked the door, then, seeing him still standing where she left him, went: “Well?”
Chuckling hoarsely Alexander shook his head in a rippling wave of scarlet and slipped through the swaying curtain.
As his friend trotted by him Alexander launched into a monologue covering the events of the last few days of his tumultuous life. However, when she heard he was staying with vulnerable children she interrupted.
“How do you know for certain it works?”
“I know because I awoke in the middle of the night, feverish. My throat was parched – dry as a desert that has not had rainfall for millennia. The night appeared dim around me as if I couldn’t focus properly. I tried to move yet my limbs felt as leaden weights were attached to them and I barely stirred.
“Simultaneously I became aware of being far removed, the walls shrinking from sight and all the world filling with a fine grey mist. I understood, then, Edmund’s comment in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe of it being like a ‘dream of a dream’ for this was how it seemed. It was if I was dreaming before but now was dreaming within the dream.
“Then the veil lifted, but everything was now different. I was not myself for I was no longer in control. Instead, like a backseat driver peering through the windscreen, I stared desperately out of my own eyes, a mere passenger.
“I knew true terror then Amethyst! Ha! I thought that I had tasted utter horror when she attacked me, marking me as one of them, but it was not so. For against my will I arose from my bed and stalked towards the door. I could feel the Beast struggling to remain in control and to affect the change, but the poison had not been fully absorbed into my system so its efforts were in vain.
“Yet I was too weak to throw the evil out until we reached the circumference of the Holy Ring. There the Creature attempted to cross. Oh such pain Amethyst as I have never endured! It was if white-hot lances were stabbing deep into my flesh while I was being flayed alive! The agony was so great that I truly believed that my skin was slowly peeling away to reveal pulsating muscle underneath with thick red blood gushing in fountains; until; at last, my muscles were gnawed to the bare bones as if by teams of ants.
“I opened my mouth to scream but it availed me nought for I had no moisture to shape my silent howling.
“Then, before the whiplash of God, the Beast retreated. The skies cleared and the incandescent fire burning in my nerves faded. I ‘leapt’ at my chance to regain control of my mind and hence my body from that which would befoul and destroy.
“Literally trembling with exhaustion and shock I half crawled, half-staggered to my messy bed and lay as one stricken. The last thing I remember before blessed sleep, free of dreams, claimed me was clutching my rosary.”
Amethyst was quiet for a long time, staring ahead, her eyes devoid of emotion. By now they were sitting in her study at the table. At last she spoke.
“Quite a poetic rendering of events Alexander. You always did have an artistic flair for storytelling. It must come from reading all those Classical texts and mythology.”
She smiled as her friend blushed and sank down in his seat. “Nothing to be ashamed of dear.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his. Alexander’s hand was cold and trembled. However, he met her passionate gaze with indomitable grey-green eyes. He did not flinch when she whispered: “I believe you Alexander and do not fear either you or the Beast that lurks deep inside. Together we can triumph over it. We can do it Alexander.”
Alexander said, “You mean that? You don’t think I’m evil or that the Beast will win?”
“No.” The sheer frankness and honesty of the answer did more for Alexander than anything else had done so far in his ordeal.
Slumping over, he rested his forehead on his crossed forearms and sobbed. Every single bit of strain and torment came out of his body, washed out by his tears.
“Shhh,” whispered Amy, cradling the wracked frame of her friend. “Shhhh … all will be well. I have only met one other werewolf in my life and his condition was entirely different, yet together we shall prevail. Shhh,” she rocked him in her arms, “everything is well. You are not alone.”
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An hour flitted by to find them sitting now in comfortable, overly large armchairs, cupping mugs of tea in their hands. Alexander cradled his as if it were his personal lifeline. He was already drained form the emotional outpourings of what seemed only minutes ago.
He had been staring unseeingly at the floor for the last half an hour, memorised by the flowers on the blue patterned carpet.
While his mind and body recovered, Amy had been racking her memory. The silence had grown oppressive so she decided to break the heady atmosphere.
“My knowledge of werewolves is poor – cryptozoolgy was never my strong point, and my husband is unfortunately away on dire business – yet it is clear to me that in your case the skill to transform is truly a curse and not a gift. Perhaps this is due to the violence done to you; maybe if it had been granted to you in good will, with your consent, we would not now be languishing over the situation.
“From what you have told me I can infer that you have done well to deny the evil of the werewolf so far my dear friend, more than many, especially considering you were … are … weak. However, we can get you to the stage where, when you do transform it is you, Alexander Finch, which walks in wolf form and not an evil hybrid of man’s wickedness meshed with the assets of the wolf. That much Timothy managed to impress upon me.
“But we must hurry … we haven’t much time. The Curse is obviously growing stronger – you shall transform soon. Follow me.”
Jumping to his feet Alexander hastily put his cold tea on the floor. He trailed after his wilful friend into a large room full of bookshelves. Each dark oaken structure was laden with precious books, manuscripts, parchments and sheaves of paper held together only with loose pieces of string.
Some were in protective binders or imprisoned in see-through plastic covers while even more rare and wonderful artefacts were locked away in boxes also carefully arranged on the shelves.
“We’ll grab those books and manuscripts. Then we can practise some meditation.”
“We haven’t meditated together for a long time Amy. I miss those hours – they were happier times. It shall be good again to share the experience once more.”
Amy smiled. “Yes, but regrets will get us nowhere.”
“Who ever said they would? I can comment and grieve a little however, Amy. It is the only way to accept and move on. Anyway, I need happy memories for the task ahead.”
“Well, I’ll forgive you then.”
Alexander laughed, feeling more optimistic than he had felt since the beginning of this waking nightmare.
Returning his mirthful banter, Amethyst led him further.
Following, he discovered the wall at the far end of the square room was lined with tall cabinets, the drawers shut with handles that gleamed golden in the light of the candles.
Alexander smiled. He was not surprised to discover no electricity in this part of the building. Instead lamps were secured to the walls, with guards to prevent wax or oil dripping, and a fire burning in the grate. He could only guess what treasures of knowledge the silent cabinets contained.
“Sit here Alexander,” said Amethyst, placing her hand on a one of the three tables that occupied this far area. “To your immediate right are the shelves concerned with the legends of the Werewolf, in all its guises.” Touching a gold chain that disappeared underneath her clothes she pulled out a sturdy key, which she handed to Alexander.
Alexander felt the reassuring solid weight of the heavy metal object, tracing the simple, yet complex, contours as he watched his friend.
Gesturing directly behind them his dark haired friend continued: “These drawers may also hold items of interest to us. The key I have given to you is the only other one, which will open them. Keep it safe.”
“I shall,” said Alexander solemnly.
With that they both dove into their research.
---------
Alexander found much information and knowledge in the old folktales – some of them not so old but recent and fresh to living memory. Within thirty minutes many illusions had been stripped bare – the greatest of these being the myth of silver and the full moon.
Rarely did these two factors occur in legend and indeed, they could easily be traced back to Hollywood. In fact, the many ‘attributes’ of the werewolf had been created, and perpetrated, by Hollywood.
Rifling through the many books he had dispersed in sliding piles across the smooth, waxed, wooden desk he sighed in frustration and decided it was time he checked the chests of drawers resting against the wall.
Standing, he walked the three short paces to the imposing structures and selected at random a drawer from the cabinets indicated by Amy to contain information on the werewolf.
The key slid in and turned with well-oiled ease, gentle clicks the only signal that the drawer had been opened. Pulling the handle towards him Alexander blinked when he saw the ordered rows of boxes lying inside, different labels attached to tell the searcher what was inside.
A box nestled near the back attracted Alexander’s attention. It seemed to call to him in shrill chords, bringing a puzzled frown to his face. Warily he reached for it, his fingertips itching the nearer he came. Touching the surface he managed to pry the rectangular object out. He carried it in palms that were also itching like crazy and he hastened back to his table.
Settling down once more he rubbed hands together in an effort to get rid of the discomfort. Then he leaned back in his chair and observed it through narrowed eyes.
“What secrets are you hiding I wonder to make my palms throb so?”
Tilting his head to one side Alexander contemplated the box. It was made of silvery metal, steel most likely, with a formidable looking lock the colour of copper, but Alexander doubted very much that the lock itself was copper. In the circumstances its hue probable came from being copper plated to add a strange beauty to the threatening appearance.
His senses were tingling, screaming at him to look in the damn box already!
Smiling in amusement the red head shifted closer to the table edge and removed the key that was stuck to the lid, knowing that only someone granted the key to the drawer in the first place would currently be opening the box.
The lid creaked back, hinges in need of some tender loving care, to reveal a folded bundle of papers.
Curious, Alexander took it out, anticipation surging through his bloodstream. Swallowing, he allowed the lid to snap shut, (but not to lock), and leant over the tabletop. Untying the string he unfolded the meticulously creased paper.
Clutching the yellowing document penned in ink two centuries ago by a learned man, Alexander began to read.
‘The werewolf has many forms and many different strengths and weaknesses, not the least being its ability to transform into the shape of a wolf while retaining human intelligence.
Whether the werewolf is evil or good is another thing. Some accounts argue that only by the power of the Devil could one change oneself into another shape. Others argue otherwise – evidence is presented for both accounts.
How the transformation is wrought is also debated. A wolf skin or belt is one method; whereupon the person either puts on the belt to change and then take it off to change back, or takes the belt off to change into a wolf and back on to regain human form.
Another is to smear a salve on, concocted from magical ingredients supported with chants to the Devil. Another method is to be bitten by a werewolf, with its saliva entering the bloodstream.
Back to the eternal question: is a werewolf inherently evil or good? This may depend on whether the ability to transform is voluntary or involuntary or may be wholly unconnected.
There are tales reporting people seeing a werewolf transform and loping off to kill and eat a whole sheep/colt or other animal, and keeping quiet, mentioning only afterwards, when nearer home to the werewolf what they witnessed. The typical response of the werewolf is along the lines: ‘You are lucky you did not tell me that when we were in the forest otherwise you would not be telling me that now’. This could be considered as proof of the ‘dark’ disposition of the man-wolf or the werewolf protecting itself from hysterical villagers from hunting it down and killing it.
Yet other tales have the werewolf (in wolf shape) being injured with an axe or gun by the shepherd/farmer whose flock it was targeting. Following the blood trail would occasionally lead to a bleeding man or woman trying to staunch the wound or dying/dead.
Another account tells how the farmer loaded a gun with inherited silver bullets to stop a werewolf from eating its flock and the werewolf, realising its danger, made the shift to human form to tell the farmer he does not have to kill! Documentary evidence it seems of the werewolf not necessary being evil, but doing what it can to survive. Remember, nature can be cruel and a man (or indeed, a woman) must do what he or she can to survive.
Yet, on the other hand, some folktales have werewolves brutally savaging humans and eating man-flesh, while in others the werewolf seems to be trying to prevent itself – or its family form starving – via stealing a sheep or other animal.
Thus, not all folklore has the werewolf as an evil monster slaughtering humans or being in league with the Devil (presumably such beholden servants cannot be released from the ‘Curse’). Others, side with the werewolf being inherently evil, or its nature eventually twisting the good soul of the inflicted man or woman to dark and perverted ways.
Those who are bitten and transform against their will might be more vulnerable to any evil the Beast possesses and the power of the Devil. Yet one can infer from personal experience that any such temptation can be fought―’
Alexander stopped breathing. /Can it be? Personal experience…That one day only I shall control the change and be in charge of my destiny once more?/
Breathing in ragged puffs Alexander read: ‘―and won. See my diaries, dated 1860, for further details.’
“Diaries,” muttered Alexander, desperate hope swelling as he frantically searched amidst the papers and journals in the box for the aforementioned records.
Then … at last … his questing fingers met a smaller metal box. Reverently he removed the silver case, placing it on the table.
Mouth dry Alexander slumped in his seat staring with glazed eyes at the old-fashioned rectangular box, his mind racing with the implications its contents raised.
Suddenly cold Alexander glanced around him and found the room to be darker than the last time he had raised his head. The shadows had lengthened as the Sun sank in the watery heavens, and darkness was slowly falling over the land.
Startled Alexander rose from his chair to discover his back was stiff from hours of study and that his fingers ached from the chill that now enveloped the large room. Amy was gone, her scent the only thing lingering. The fire had turned to ash, not even embers remaining to project an orange glow.
Only the lamps still burned, surrounded by a soft yellow nimbus.
Deciding to take a break Alexander sniffed the air, slightly embarrassed at using his heightened sense of smell to track down his friend as if she were prey.
The strong aroma of pine needles and lavender touched his sensitive nostrils and Alexander followed the odd combination out of the room (pausing only long enough to pick up and hug the priceless box to his jumper), into a side room, through a door and down a passageway until he arrived at another door at the end of a long corridor.
It was shut but yellow light shone brightly from the bottom.
Amy’s unique perfume was incredibly powerful here, so either she had been here within the last five minutes or she was still behind the door. Alexander cocked his head, red hair brushing his cheek and jaw as he listened.
There was a soft, repetitive, scratching sound and quiet breathing, which he recognised as his friend’s. Grey-green eyes drifted closed in pleasure as the rather pleasant fragrance of brewing tea and cooking lasagne wafted over him.
A beautiful smile lit up the handsome features as his stomach growled and since Alexander could not hear any voices he pushed the door open.
---------
The flush of Sunset had been replaced by the grey-blue of deepening twilight when Alexander and Amethyst at last finished their repast.
While Amethyst flitted around the kitchen, tidying up, Alexander eased the box open. Within he found three old leather-bound notebooks. Cursive gold script adorned the black covers, the simple lettering declaring: I, II and III. No other clue gave any idea or hint as to what was contained in the thick volumes.
It was with great trepidation that Alexander picked up the diary titled ‘I’. /Roman numerals. Not so strange for the era./
His friend dropping down beside him broke his silent contemplation. “So?” came the low voice. “Are they of any use?”
Alexander blinked, shoving aside his uncharacteristic irritation at the just interruption.
“I don’t know. I’ll know more when I have time to study them in more depth. Yet I feel …”
Amy looked at him curiously. “Feel what Alexander?”
Alexander barely heard her; his thoughts were so far away.
“Alexander?”
Eyes staring through the mists of time Alexander waded the murky fathoms. /The books call to me, just like the case in which they were in called to me. It is almost familiar the manner of the summons. As if I had heard its sweet siren song before … but where?/
He became aware of a hand shaking his foreman incessantly.
“Hmmmm?”
“Alexander? Are you well?”
Alexander focused and the image of his dark haired woman resolved in front of him. “Amy?”
“Yes.” Purple eyes gazed worriedly into his. “Is everything alright? You were far away then Alexander. A couple of centuries I would guess.”
In response Alexander studied his surroundings, taking in the light brown kitchen worktops, the dripping tap (which Amy jumped up to turn when she followed his gaze) and the shiny fronts of the various appliances that filled the room. He wanted time to think.
Amy lent against the sink arching an eyebrow at his unusual reticence. He met her piercing glance without flinching, silently amused. /It will take more than that to make me spill my guts my dearest friend. The werewolf has granted me a measure of strength – a spine of steel. Even an ill wind blows some good./
Amy wavered first, severing the stalemate. “What do you feel?”
“I feel … I feel reinvigorated.”
“Reinvigorated?”
“Yes.”
A shrewd mind assessed his confession and reached a conclusion.
“How much longer can you stay?”
“A while yet. Figaro is watching a hockey match and said – and I quote – ‘Unless you are dying or are in severe danger don’t phone before seven pm.’ End quote.”
Amy laughed. “He really likes his hockey?”
“That is putting it mildly. ‘Obsessed’ is a more fitting term.” Alexander shared a smile. “We don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. Is that enough?”
“Enough for what?” Amy was momentarily confused.
“For whatever you have planned in that scheming brain of yours.”
“Only some meditation and a plan to prepare for your transformation.”
“Then we better get started!”
“Where would you be most comfortable?”
“Somewhere where there are minimal invasive scents and little sound. My senses are rather raw, especially since I’m tired.”
“Mediation will cure that.”
Stretching his arms above his head, Alexander answered with a chuckle, “I know.” Putting the priceless notebooks back into the silver case he inclined his head. “Lead the way McDuff.”
“But of course.”
Sauntering out Amy drifted further into the house. Alexander ran his tongue over his teeth and lips as he walked behind, cataloguing all the new scents and noises he experienced.
/This ought to be interesting./
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