Chapter 9: Howl at the Moon

I SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT with the gun in my lap while Misty and Princess busied themselves with getting dinner ready. I carefully examined the gun and ejected the magazine. I operated the slide to be sure there was no shell in the chamber. There was and I caught the ejected shell to examine. No. It definitely wasn’t silver. I emptied the magazine—a total of eight bullets. None of them were silver.

Silver bullets didn’t enter the canon of werewolf lore until the mid-twentieth century, though there are hints about the toxicity of silver to werewolves from earlier than that. Contemporary stories all seemed to agree that it takes a silver weapon to kill a werewolf, since if you are close enough to cut off its head or remove its heart, you are probably already dead. This according to Misty’s vast fantasy lore. Well, I read Twilight and Harry Potter, too. I wondered if the werewolves of Mount Morrisey Park were like that poor professor Lupin who was bitten by a werewolf in a battle and therefore became one. I started searching through the various manuals we’d found hidden among my travel documents.

A Catalogue of Dangers was included, so I looked up werewolves in the booklet. I kept getting distracted by other dangers listed, including poison berries, poison snakes, poison insects, and mountain monsters, variously described as anything from Bigfoot to an ogre. But no werewolves. I went flipping back through the pages trying to find out about ‘killing’ and thinking that article might have some specific instructions based on what needed killing. Nothing. I turned the page and there it was.

Lycanthrope. A werewolf. In ancient mythology and contemporary literature, it is said to be a human that transforms to a wolf, usually under the light of a full moon. However, in Victoriana, the Lycanthrope is a highly intelligent and vicious beast, most commonly identified as a wolf, but may take the form of any large carnivorous animal. Its voracious appetite and aggressiveness are at their peak during a full moon. If at all possible, avoid contact. If necessary to engage in combat, the most effective weapon is a silver bullet. Other silver weapons may also be effective, by severing the head or piercing the heart. Fire can be an effective defense.

Okay. I’m back to silver. Silver bullet, silver sword, silver knife, silver spear. I’d noticed, however, that every entry in the booklet included the sage advice to avoid contact if possible.

“So, in the stories you’ve heard, does a werewolf bite result in the bitten person becoming a werewolf?” I asked Princess as we sat eating an excellent meal of chicken cacciatore and garlic bread. I rather thought it was vampires that garlic was effective against, but I could smell garlic being cooked all over the campground.

“Um ... As far as I know, a werewolf bite results in the bitten person becoming dinner. No one’s ever survived,” Princess said. That was encouraging.

“How does one become a werewolf then?” I continued.

“One is born a werewolf. One doesn’t become one,” she mocked me.

“Does a silver bullet kill it instantly?”

“Only if you hit it in the head or heart. Otherwise, it just stops the animal’s ability to heal. It will die eventually, but it can do a lot of damage beforehand,” Princess said. She had adopted a tone of teaching an elementary student in a classroom full of dunces. I appealed to Misty.

“Is a werewolf subject to magic? Like to Jackie’s cord of submission?” she asked. Now that was a thought. All I’d need to do is get close enough to loop the gold cord around the wolf and it would obey me. The entire problem with that would be getting close enough without dying.

“As far as I know, the magic that might be effective against a werewolf would be an enchanted object. Something that it might do to itself, like putting the gold cord around its own neck after it’s eaten you.”

Great. This was all just great. But there were other enchantments. I thought about turning the bullet silver if I could remember the French for ‘silver bullet.’ Madam Auclair said something about what it meant. I pulled a bullet from my pocket and looked at it in the palm of my hand. ‘Focus,’ I thought to myself.

“Miracle,” I said pointing at the bullet. I could be fooling myself, but I thought it glowed a little.

“Why are you asking for a miracle?” Misty said. “We could still just get in the car and drive away.”

“It’s French for silver bullet,” I said.

“That’s a metaphorical silver bullet,” Misty said, shaking her head. “You need to transform it into an actual silver bullet.”

I concentrated some more, thinking about what I needed. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the rest of the bullets. When I deposited them in my hand next to the other, I noticed I’d collected a bean, too. A magic bean. And I wanted a transformation, not a command. What was that story about the papillon? I had it!

“Se métamorphoser en argent balles,” I said emphatically. And that’s when I got my miracle. The bean dissolved into dust and spread across the bullets. They glowed, and when the light subsided, I had eight silver bullets in my hand. “Yes!” I shouted triumphantly. Misty and Princess both jumped to look over my shoulder.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t believe in magic,” Misty laughed.

“Holy wow! You just turned the bullets to silver. Will they still shoot?” Princess asked. The little bitch.

“Of course. I think. I just have to hit what I’m shooting at. In the heart or the head,” I sighed. “Um ... Keep the fire burning while I’m gone. I read that fire is also an effective defense against werewolves. Look, all the other campsites have bright fires burning.” I loaded the cartridges in the magazine and shoved it in the gun. Hoped I’d done all that right. I read a thriller and the agent was always sure to put one in the chamber. I slid the slide and hoped that did the trick. I found the safety lever and practiced flicking it off and on with my thumb.

The sun was down and the noise from the other campsites was up. It was nearly moonrise. I tossed the car keys to Misty.

“If there’s a sign of any of the creatures getting near, get in the car and drive away. Don’t wait for me,” I said.

“I can’t drive,” Misty said.

“Oh, geez! Give them to me. I can drive,” Princess said.

“I’m not sure you could even reach the pedals,” I said. “But if the time comes, Misty will give you the keys. Make sure Roadkill and Shasta are safe.” I didn’t give them time for any sappy goodbyes. I just stood up and headed toward the hunting ground with the gun tucked into my belt. With luck, these folks all knew what to do and I wouldn’t be needed at all.

Twenty seconds on the edge of the gathering of would-be hunters and I was disabused of that opinion. There were twenty or twenty-five of them standing around with their knives and swords and pitchforks. Mabel had a bow and arrows, and someone was testing the pull of his slingshot. Most of them were dressed in some kind of armor, like having cookie sheets strapped to their chests and football helmets on.

And most of them were drunk, including the ‘bait’ they were gathered around. The guy—Charlie, they said—had an ankle shackle on with a chain attached to a stake in the ground.

“Don’t you worry, none, Charlie. We’re all right here beside you. Them wolves won’t have a chance. Ernie has his dogs ready as soon as the critters show their faces. We’ll take ‘em down one right after another.”

“There isn’t really a need to have me chained here, Ross. I get the whole bait idea. But I’d like to be involved in the killing, too.”

“If ya weren’t chained, they’d know it was a trap. Smart critters these werewolves are.”

“Yeah, well, still...”

A howl in the darkness brought everyone’s head up. The full moon had just cleared the ridge to the east of us and it set the wolves to howling. I tried to identify how many there were by the number of howls and different directions they came from, but I couldn’t separate them all. They were definitely getting closer. People started falling back in a half-circle behind Charlie, toward the campground.

“You all, don’t just leave me out here,” Charlie yelled. “You gotta be close.”

“We’re here, old buddy. Just need to give them some room to show themselves.” It sounded like that voice was a lot farther away than was reasonable. I maintained my position where I’d stayed in the shadows. The next howl was much closer.

A shot whistled through the air and hit a tree on the far side of the clearing. I wondered if the guy had silver pellets for his slingshot.

“Don’t waste your ammo, Cecil. Wait till you see the whites of their eyes.”

“You don’t need to wait,” Charlie screamed. “Get ‘em now! I can smell their breath!”

I doubted that, but a few more projectiles were thrown toward the edge of the clearing in the direction of the howls. At this rate, they wouldn’t have anything to fight with by the time the wolves got close enough to see.

And then a yellow glint broke the circle of trees and a wolf crept into the open.

“There it is!” Charlie shouted. He was at the end of his tether. “Don’t wait for whites of his eyes! They’re yellow. Come on and get it now.” An arrow flew through the clearing and buried itself in the ground about ten feet away from the wolf. It didn’t even look toward it. I wondered how far away Mabel was with her bow.

Three more sets of eyes separated from the trees and crept toward the bait. My fingers itched on the gun, but I knew damn well that making a shot at all would take a passel of luck. I stood no more of a chance at this distance than Mabel did. The wolves moved forward and a bunch of things were launched at them. More slingshot. Rocks. A couple of knives. I think I saw a sword or a bayonet fly toward the wolves, all landing wide or short.

“You guys! You’re too far away. You gotta come up here closer,” Charlie screamed.

Suddenly three hounds came charging into the circle and began growling and snapping toward the wolves. The big wolf in the center stretched himself out and howled a long angry call. That was when I heard the first car door slam and an engine start. Someone had decided to abandon the fight.

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me here!” Charlie screamed. He was frantically tugging at his chain and rocking the stake back and forth in the ground. A dog leapt at the lead wolf as they closed in and the big wolf simply batted it aside with a massive paw. The hound lay on the ground twitching as another wolf approached to put it out of its misery with a bite to the neck. The other two dogs turned tail and ran, yelping all the way. I heard more doors slam and engines start. The hunt—and Charlie—was being abandoned. Well, the guy was an idiot, but I wasn’t going to just leave him there to his fate. I raised the gun as the big wolf snarled and started forward with the other three trailing just slightly.

The echo of the shot I fired was louder than I expected. I hit the creature in the hind quarters and the howl he gave was much different than the hunting howl. The other three wolves turned their attention toward me, cautiously trying to circle me. Charlie started desperately rocking the stake back and forth as I took aim on the next wolf and fired.

It was a body shot and looked like I might have hit the vital organ with my silver bullet. The other two wolves jumped aside as I swung the gun around and they disappeared into the trees. I turned my attention to Charlie and helped him pull the stake from the ground. He started scrambling back, dragging the chain behind him.

That was the cue for the big bad wolf I’d shot first to shake his head and get to his feet. He was only a few feet away, but my hand was shaking now and my next shot didn’t touch him. He sprang.

I lost my grip on the gun and my senses at the same time. I’m not sure what transpired because it was all reflex. What I know is that when I finished, I held my silver stole in my hand. Only it wasn’t a stole any longer. It was a long, stiff broadsword of solid silver. The wolf lay dead in front of me with its head severed from its body, the dying light of his yellow eyes glaring balefully at me. I raised my head toward the moon and howled.