2 comments/ 7082 views/ 4 favorites Halloween Scarecrow By: Thistlethorn © Edited by Penn Lady This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved. This is a submission for the Halloween contest. Please comment and vote. Thank you! * "Hey, guess who remembers we still exist?" Violet asked as she entered the pack house library, waving what appeared to be computer print-outs above her head. The lithe young woman strode towards the central table. The mid-afternoon autumn sunlight streamed into the room, highlighting her dark brown hair. Along the length of the oak table the faces of her pack looked back at the print-outs with varying degrees of annoyance or outright disgust. Only Ballard, from his position of second, looked up at her with quiet expectancy in his amber eyes. Violet was grateful for his serenity. Even though he was beta wolf, second in command, and a burly wall of a man and wolf, he had a stillness that neither needed to dominate nor would submit to domination. Violet wasn't sure why he wasn't an alpha, but was thankful for his presence. "The elders, I assume?" he asked with a tilt of his graying blond head. Next to Ballard, his mate Socorro's hazel eyes narrowed as her expression darkened. Though he towered over her, even seated, the strength of her glower dominated. She was the smallest wolf in the pack, barely over five feet as a human and just a few inches taller as a wolf. But she was fierce, determined, and not shy with her thoughts. Nor did she suffer fools gladly. She shook her head with a snort, her auburn ringlets swaying. Violet took her seat at the head of the table, next to her mate, Marcus. "Yes," she confirmed, fighting to keep calm. "After a year of silence, they finally acknowledged our existence and deigned to contact us with a hunt." "Ah, c'mon, it was only a year's temper tantrum," Marcus said with a toss of his head, disheveling his dark hair, and a roll of his blue eyes. Marcus was massive, both as a biped and a full wolf, and was terrifying to behold. As a human, he had a wiry build but could still intimidate with his size, though his laid back demeanor often mislead people. Even though he was Violet's mate and the alpha male, many outside the pack considered him a weaker wolf than either Violet or her deceased mate Aidan. Unfortunately, there was some truth to the whispered gossip and the pack had been overlooked and ignored. "So what's the deal?" Marcus asked. Violet looked over the print-outs, pushing her hair from her blue eyes. "Seems they want us to look into condition of a nearby raven." "Raven?" Philadelphia asked. A willowy tall woman, she was of Japanese and Slavic descent. She had the poker-straight long black hair of her mother and the striking cobalt blue eyes of her father. A lost wolf, her first change had come in her adulthood and though she had been with her pack for a few years, she was still somewhat unfamiliar with the ways of the Benandanti. Tobias leaned forward in his seat, his thick blond hair tied back in a pony tail, and directed his attention to her, his green eyes grave. He was the lore-keeper of their pack, and the source for most magical information. "A raven is a non-shifter who lends magical assistance to a pack, usually a mage or witch of some type," he explained. "They are uncommon now, I think maybe a handful of packs have one. In the past, it was far more common. Then the various purges, inquisitions, hunts, and trials decimated those numbers. A few ravens broke and gave up their packs. When the packs pulled back together afterward, the bad blood mixed with loss of candidates gave rise to the lore-keeper position as they decided to assign the magical position to a wolf." Philadelphia's expression was shocked. "How could they give up their packs?" she asked. Tobias shrugged. "They were tortured," he explained as he sat back in his seat. "And they broke. I don't blame them for that." He turned to Violet. "So, what's the deal with this raven?" "A lot of bad stuff," she said, leafing through the papers in front of her. "He was with a pack that went up against something really bad about ten years ago. Out of a six-member pack, five wolves and the raven, only two wolves and the raven survived, if you want to call it that. One retreated into full wolf form and he still hasn't shifted back. The other is in a semi-catatonic state. She will occasionally talk, but mostly just stares. And when she does speak, she won't talk about what happened. If asked, she'll just scream. "The raven got out the best, but he was pretty badly damaged too. He couldn't explain what happened or what it was. Just that it was old and dark. He managed to protect the two surviving members of his pack, but the rest destroyed themselves due to this thing's influence. He was pretty sure he banished it, but at the cost of burning himself out. At the end he was as broken in his own way as the other two wolves. Whenever he tried to talk about what happened, he would break down crying. The elders retired the pack." "Shit," Marcus breathed. "And what's the situation now?" Tobias asked. "Apparently, that's what we're to find out. The elders were kept track of him in his retirement. He ended up on an old farm in Ohio. He would occasionally visit his old pack-mates, and every so often send the elders updates on what he was up to. From what the elders could tell he'd been living a quiet life. The Benandanti gave him a stipend in recompense for what he'd suffered on their behalf and figured he'd just quietly fade away. Then they got an email," she paused, shuffling through her papers until she found the one she wanted. "Here it is. It reads: 'If you received this then something has gone wrong. Send the strongest pack you can as quickly as you can. Beware the darkness.' And that's all it says." She set the paper down. "Nice of him to give us such succinct and clear instructions," Ballard said. Violet nodded. "I agree. I don't know what to think and neither do the elders." She picked up another sheet of paper. "From what they wrote, they think either his mind has finally snapped or maybe he started working magic again. Either way, they want us to investigate. If it's the former we're to bring him back for the elders to pick up. If it's the latter, we're to clean up whatever he's done and bring him back for the elders to pick up." "Well, at least he has choices," Socorro commented, still glowering. Marcus sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I can kind of see their point, though. Either the guy's gone bonkers banging around some old farm house or he's a half-cracked mage conjuring up Moon knows what. He really shouldn't be left alone." Tobias snorted. "He never should have been left alone. He was broken doing the Benandanti's work and they just dumped him somewhere. He should have been kept and cared for along with what was left of his pack." "It's not that clear-cut," Violet explained. "From what I can gather, he wanted to be alone. He would visit his pack-mates, but he really seemed to crave solitude. Since he seemed largely all right, the elders gave him what he wanted. They think he's deteriorated in the intervening years. Maybe they're wrong and he was never all right, but that isn't the concern of the moment. His condition now is the concern we're to deal with." "Very well," said Ballard. "When are we leaving?" "Tomorrow, first light," Violet answered. Ballard licked his lips and took a breath. "Who is coming?" he asked with deliberation. As Violet answered "Everyone," Marcus answered, "Everyone but Wyatt." As they both heard the other's assessment they looked at each other with uncertainty. Marcus was the first to speak. "Wyatt, could you, ah, give Violet and me a sec, please?" Wyatt, the youngest wolf in the pack, looked uncertain. He hunched his shoulders and his brown eyes flicked between Marcus and Violet. He had been with the pack for a couple of years, and had trained with them. But he had never been on a hunt. The thought that the alpha male and female of his pack might fight over him made him queasy. Especially as it was Marcus who had brought him to this pack from the abuse he suffered in his previous pack. He slouched down in his chair and whined softly. Violet smiled, though it seemed strained. "It's OK, Wyatt. Why don't you step out for a moment?" Ballard rose from his seat. "Come on, Wyatt," he said brightly. "Let's go grab something from the kitchen." Wyatt rose and followed Ballard from the library, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder as the door closed. Violet waited until their scents faded from the area before speaking. "And why not Wyatt? He's nearly nineteen and has been training for some time. He does well on play hunts." "Yeah but, look, running down deer is different from a true hunt. He's not ready." "Marcus, no one is ready for their first hunt. It's simply not possible to be." Marcus sighed. "But can't he train some more before taking him in the field?" Violet started to respond when Tobias got her attention. "Yes," she said, looking in his direction. "I agree with Marcus. I don't want Wyatt on this hunt." Violet's eyebrows drew up in surprise. "Why not?" "I don't like that it's a mage. That's just too much of a wild card. If I didn't think it would thin the pack too much I would recommend leaving Philly out too since this will only be her second hunt." He looked over to his pack-mate apologetically. "I'm sorry, no offense. You did well on that hunt, but a mage is just so much different." "But aren't you like the wolf equivalent?" she asked. Tobias shook his head. "Not even close. I can read areas. I know some magic and can cast with competence. But largely I do spirit work. A casting mage does things much differently." "What are you expecting to be there?" Socorro asked with some concern. "That's just it, I don't know. It could be that this guy is just a harmless nutter. Maybe he wants to sell us Amway." "So you're hoping we're wasting our time?" Socorro asked with a laugh. "I'm praying to the Moon that this a giant time waster," Tobias responded with no humor in his voice. "I would be the happiest werewolf in the world. I'll even be happy with escorting him if he's gone a little daft living alone. But the thought that this guy might be practicing and has called something up scares me. Very badly." Violet was silent as she considered what had been said. "Very well, we leave Wyatt behind. Unfortunately, we can't spare anyone to stay with him. We can't spread the pack that thin." Marcus sighed in relief. "He's a good cub. We can leave him alone for awhile. We can call someone from another pack to head over in the mean time." Violet looked at Marcus. "This isn't over. You can't keep him from the Moon's work, Marcus. Even if it means putting him in danger." Violet rose from her chair and left the library, followed by Socorro and Philadelphia. When Marcus and Tobias were the only ones left, Marcus went over to the still seated lore keeper. "Thank you for backing me there," he said, relief clear in his voice. Tobias looked up. "Don't thank me yet. Violet is right, you can't keep him out of the serious or dangerous hunts. You can't shield him from what it means to do the Moon's work." Marcus began to protest but Tobias cut him off. "Don't think for a moment that I don't know what this is about. And you can be certain Violet does, as well. Aidan died an ugly death doing the Moon's work. We all lost our Alpha that day. But you can't keep Wyatt from it no matter how much it scares you to lose him. He's now Benandanti. And you can't change what that means." ************************************* After a long and uncomfortably quiet van ride from the pack house in mid-lower peninsula Michigan the pack arrived at the raven's house in Ohio in the mid-afternoon. It was a secluded house, situated on a single lane road that hadn't seen a regular crew in much to long. It was far away from any other human habitation, and positioned on sprawling land that had once been farmed but had long since gone fallow. As they stopped in front of the house, Marcus let out a low whistle. "The elders weren't kidding when they said this guy craved solitude. He must have gone weeks without seeing people. I think I can see why he went a little left of center out here alone." "Just remember," Violet said as they exited the vehicle, "we're treating this as a check up. It's not a hunt unless we determine something is wrong." A general chorus of agreement echoed back to her as the pack stretched cramped muscles from the car ride. Violet studied papers she took from the van. Ballard removed a satchel from the car and slung it over his shoulder. Only Tobias didn't stretch, didn't agree, didn't do anything but study the three story farm house in front of them. He was surprised how well kept it appeared. The grass was mowed, small neat flower beds held an explosion of bright, cheery mums, and the porch and building were clean and well maintained. The house was positioned near the front of the property, allowing for a sprawling back yard. "What are you getting?" Violet asked. Tobias shook his head. "There's a lot of energy here, it's nearly overwhelming. I can't be certain, but it seems pretty active. I think he might be practicing again. But the fact that the house is in good shape would indicate he's still caring for it, he hasn't entirely lost himself." Violet sighed, tucking the papers under her arm. "Good to know. Keep your eyes open, all the same." She addressed the rest of the pack. "All of you." "If he is practicing again, he might not take well to us coming in and trying to take him back," Marcus observed. "Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Violet answered. "With chloroform if we have to. But he did ask for our help first. If he's in over his head it should be that much easier to convince him." The pack, led by Violet and Marcus, approached the house. The closer they got, the more they could smell blood and decay. The pack exchanged looks of concern. When they reached the porch, the stench was disturbingly powerful. Violet reached up and knocked on the door. "Mr. Campbell, my name is Violet. The elders sent me and my pack-mates to check on you," she said loudly to the door. There was neither reply nor sound of movement from within. "Mr. Campbell," she said, louder this time as banged harder on the door. When again there was no response she tried the doorknob. It turned easily under her grip. She looked back at her pack, silently giving the command to be prepared. Then she pushed the door open. The stench of death washed over them, thick and noxious. Violet stepped in, again calling the raven's name. The others followed closely behind so that it was nearly as a group that they walked into the charnel house that was the living room. Blood, crawling with flies, covered the walls, floor and furniture. The room was thick with the smells of putrefaction, rising from a mangled body in the middle of the floor. The body was splayed out, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, the flesh torn and the face contorted in horror. The eyes stared sightlessly. The pack stood motionless, observing the scene. Then Philadelphia crossed herself and bowed her head, saying a brief and silent prayer for the deceased. Tobias went over and crouched by the body, closing the eyes as he studied the corpse and room containing it. "That's him, isn't it? That's the raven?" Marcus asked. Violet nodded. "This is now a hunt," she said. "Tobias, what are you getting?" He looked over to her and shook his head, frustration etched on his features. "Too much, right now. There is energy all over this place, and it's going to take some time for me to try and sort it out." He looked back down to the body. "And I've got to wonder why, when the rest of the body is so mangled, the eyes are still whole." She nodded. "Possibly related to whatever he was doing here. We're going to have to do a grid search." She pulled out the papers she carried. "I don't have a map of the house, only the grounds." She passed them among the others. "We're going to do a floor by floor search of the house first, as humans. The grounds we take as wolves. Any questions?" There weren't. Ballard passed out flashlights. The pack arrayed themselves in a lose group, Violet in the lead with Marcus, a muscular shadow, at her back. Tobias kept to the center, flanked by Socorro and Philadelphia. Ballard, large and burly, towered at the back. They kept this formation through the house, sometimes ranks closed tightly through smaller areas, sometimes fanned out in more open spaces. The search of the house revealed nothing out of the ordinary, save the corpse in the living room. When the search was complete, the pack stood again in the living room. "Any idea where this guy may have been practicing?" Violet asked Tobias. "I'm sorry, not yet." "OK, keep trying. Everyone outside." The pack reassembled outside. The grounds in back were more overgrown than the front, with scrub bushes and weeds closer to the house and trees further back. They stripped and shifted. Violet stood upright, her wiry body assuming the bipedal stance. The form combined the best of wolf and human. A thickly muscled and furred body, a wolf's head with massive jaws and vicious teeth, but the ability to speak. Massive arms with thick, strong hands and claws, but with a thumb and some dexterity. The full wolf was somewhat better for typical hunting, but the bipedal worked much better for a fight. After a year of shifting only for runs or practice hunts, there was a somberness to assuming the wolf form. The rest of the pack followed suit. There was no joking, no play wrestling, no joy to the shift. Only the dangerous work of the true hunt. The pack stood huddled around Violet as the map was studied and areas assigned. No one was to search without a partner, and each group was to remain at minimum within scent and ear shot, preferably in sight range, of the others. Marcus paired with Philadelphia, Violet with Ballard, and Socorro with Tobias. As Marcus and Philadelphia searched through brambles consisting of berry bushes and wild roses, Marcus lost sight of Philadelphia. He back tracked following her scent and found her crouched over a figure of some form. "Tell me when you're going to veer off," he said, his voice guttural in wolf form. Philly glanced back over her shoulder. "Sorry, I thought I saw something." Marcus pushed closer. "What did you find?" She pushed away some covering weeds, exposing a thin figure with stick arms and thick tree limb legs, a carved pumpkin head and dressed in what appeared to be newer clothing. "This." Marcus nodded. "Oh, just a scarecrow." He began to move away from the area to continue his search. However, he quickly realized Philadelphia was not with him. He went back to find her still crouching, studying the bedraggled scarecrow. "Ah, Phil, we're on a hunt. We're not here to critique the guy's Halloween decorations." Philadelphia nodded. "I know," she said, her voice distant. "He just seems so sad." Marcus regarded Philadelphia for a moment before howling for Tobias. Tobias and Socorro met up with Violet and Ballard, Socorro staying with them as Tobias headed over. "Yeah, what you got?" Marcus pointed down to where Philadelphia was still studying the scarecrow. "What do you get off of that?" he asked. Tobias studied it for a moment. "Sadly, same as everything else around here. The magic equivalent of the wall of noise. Everything here is ratcheted up so high that it's overwhelming my senses. Why?" "Philly seems pretty interested in it. She said he seems sad. I remember the lore-keeper of my parents' pack used to say if somebody shows an out-of-the-ordinary interest in something, it could be a warning flag." Halloween Scarecrow Tobias cocked his head, studying the carved pumpkin. The ends of the saw-tooth mouth were down turned. The eyes, rather than triangles were carved in the shape of a human eye with flared outside edges. They were also angled downward, as if in sadness. The nose was comprised of two simple slits in the pumpkin but still managed to add to the overall mournful expression. "You know, that is passing strange," said Tobias. "What?" Marcus asked. "She's right, the expression is sad. Usually, with a jack o' lantern the expression is either silly or scary. Melancholy doesn't tend to make the list." He crouched down next to Philadelphia. "Excuse me, can I get in here?" Philadelphia rose and stepped back to where Marcus stood. Tobias thoroughly examined the scarecrow, looking under the clothes, examining the limbs, and running his clawed finger along the cut edges of the jack o' lantern face. "Are you going to at least buy the poor bastard dinner now?" Marcus asked. "I'm checking for Vaseline, among other things." "Yeah, that doesn't really make it sound any better." Tobias gave Marcus a tired look over his shoulder, then rose up. "That pumpkin looks freshly carved. The body in the living room doesn't. You can seal the cut edges of a pumpkin with Vaseline to preserve it, but I couldn't find anything." "So, you think our friend here is some sort of mage toy?" Marcus asked. "Don't know. It's definitely humming with power, but whether it's a battery, a marker of some sort, or a boundary guard I couldn't say." "What are the odds of him getting up and stalking us like some sort of bad horror movie?" "While I would like to say between slim and none, I can't. I will say that animation is a really difficult magic to pull off. I've never seen it done. And looking at the structure, I find it less likely. It just doesn't seem that sturdy. I think it would take a lot of energy for this thing to move. All that being said, there is a lot of energy here. I just think it would be a waste to use it on a scarecrow." Marcus sighed. "Okay, we make a note that this is here and keep moving." Marcus roused Philadelphia, who was still strangely reluctant to leave the scarecrow, and escorted Tobias back to where the other group stood. He conveyed what they found and the group split into their previous pairs. They resumed their search. Dead leaves crunched under foot, hiding roots and ground vines that tripped up the normally sure-footed wolves. Brambles became caught and painfully tangled into fur, forcing the captured wolf to stop and disengage. Overgrown weeds had to be carefully pushed aside in case something of importance was hidden either within or beneath. All of this served to slow and frustrate the wolves who were themselves uncertain of exactly what they were looking for. Soon there was a spectacular yet brief sunset, in the ways of autumn evenings, followed by twilight, then dusk. The coming of night was normally not a concern to the Benandanti who were well habituated to night hunting and often preferred it. However, in this place the coming of night brought tension; an unnameable unease that stole over the wolves, robbing them of their equilibrium. Howls erupted between the groups, reassuring each of the others' presence. After howling their position, Ballard looked to Violet. She raised her white-masked gray head to the sky and howled, carrying a determination sharp and bright as steel to her pack. They knew their duty and would do it. As the light was waning, a mist began to gather around the hunting pack swiftly thickening to a dense obstruction. At first, the groups lost sight of each other, then sounds became dampened. When they abruptly lost the scent of each other it was already too late. ****************************** A lone figure sat amongst the brambles and roses, uncertain. Guests never came to visit the Magus and he was unsure how to proceed. True, the Magus was now dead and the object of his obsession was using what was left of its power, testing the strength of its tether. Someone coming to finish the Magus' work should be a good thing. But they seemed to be walking blindly into the danger. What to do, what to do? It occurred to him that he should help them, warm them at least of the danger. But they frightened him. Their power, wild and primal, was unlike any he'd seen. Of course, what power had he seen before? Only the Magus and the obsession. To be honest, he'd never really seen the obsession either. The back yard wasn't his domain, and it had taken a few days after the Magus' death to steel himself to explore the yard. But he knew what it felt like, even in the relative safety of the house, and he knew what it wanted. It had already claimed the Magus, and if unchallenged, would claim these strange new-comers. In his indecision, time was lost as night came and the mist gathered. He dickered until the trap was sprung. He felt the reverberation of it, a plucked strand of a spider web. The jack o' lantern suddenly came alight, flaring at first then dimming down as the scarecrow roused himself. He should do something, he decided. He had to at least try. Without thinking about it, he headed for the small black wolf with the pretty dark blue eyes. The one who saw his sadness. ***************************** Philadelphia found herself alone. She desperately cast about for any scent she knew, but found only the smells of the plants and the mist. She shivered as fear began to well up in her blotting out her training as a Benandanti. She began to stumble about, panic dominating the moment without mercy or desire. Then she forced herself to crouch in a tight ball, burying her face until she could rein in her emotions. She clutched her legs and breathed deeply fighting for control. When the panic subsided, she rose only to find herself human and no longer in the overgrown yard. She was still outside, and it was still night, but she was in the narrow confines of an alley. Panic rose anew as she recognized where she was. Then she heard his voice. A guttural moan rose from behind her, a low and inarticulate sound of craving. Philadelphia turned and saw him, the man from the club. The one who came to catch her stand-up every time she preformed. He would sit off to the side and watch her hungrily. She'd seen him before, even mentioned him to the bouncer and the management, but he never spoke or approached her. So they watched him but did nothing more. Now, hours after close with no one around, he approached her. His eyes burning, his face set, and his raw need coming off of him in waves. Philadelphia remembered all of this clearly and sharply though it had happened years ago. She remembered this night when the unknown and unsuspected wolf came crashing into her life. He had grabbed her and pushed her against a wall, tearing at her clothes in his desperation. Then everything Philadelphia knew, or thought she knew, about the world changed. She exploded into her wolf form and savaged the man in her frenzied attempt to escape. She ran four-legged and swift to her home. When sense came back, she again became human. She felt sick at what had happened. Soon after, the Benandanti found her. But as Philadelphia reached for the wolf, nothing came. She stood, all too human before her attacker. He grabbed her, pushed her against the wall and tore her clothes. She fought against him, but it had no apparent effect. When she punched him in the throat, the face snapped forward and what she saw was not entirely human. The shape was right, and the features were recognizable, but the eyes that glared down were wrong. Twisted and misshapen, they held the lascivious need of her attacker but only as a thin disguise. Beneath it was a nightmare dark force that seemed as endless as it was merciless. Philadelphia's panic faltered and slid towards despair. As horrible as her attacker was, this was so much worse. In the midst of the assault Philadelphia felt something rough and prickly on her shoulder, the unexpected sensation distracting her. "May I have this dance?" a soft voice made of the wind asked in her ear. Philadelphia shook her head and looked around for the speaker. For a moment the scene around her wavered like heat haze. There was a brief tussle between realities, then she was again standing in the yard of the old farm house. The night breeze was cool against her naked skin and the assorted foliage of the yard rough against her bare feet. Philadelphia again looked about and found herself facing the scarecrow from before. The expression was no longer sad. The head was cocked, awaiting her response. His eyes and the corners of his mouth were turned up, hopeful, and will-o-the-wisps floating in the carved sockets implored her. Again he asked, "May I have this dance?" Philadelphia dazedly nodded, and the scarecrow took her hand into his, which was comprised of twigs. He looked over to her attacker. "She doesn't want to be with you," he said, with smug succinctness. "You should go." The assailant stood dumbfounded by the creature in front of him. Then he lunged for Philadelphia. The scarecrow pushed her aside and got between them. The light in the jack o' lantern suddenly flared, bright in the darkness, fire licking the carved edges. Philadelphia felt heat coming of the scarecrow, and a sensation that made her skin tingle. "GO!" he shouted, brandishing a hand scythe he'd pulled from his waist. The eldritch light from the jack o' lantern gleamed along the wicked looking edge of the blade as reflected light from the metal danced wildly. "BE GONE!" The changeling human staggered and flinched, then faded away. The scarecrow returned the scythe to his waist and turned his pumpkin head back to Philadelphia, the light once again reduced to will-o-the-wisps floating in their sockets. He smiled at her, placed her arm around his waist then curved that arm around her waist. He tightened his grip on the hand we was holding and lead her in a waltz. Not necessarily a graceful waltz, as he was long limbed and lanky and didn't appear to have the most precise concept of the dance, but a waltz nonetheless. The scarecrow towered over her, his seven feet to her five foot six. Held against him, Philadelphia could feel the wooden structure of the scarecrow under the clothes and padding that gave him some bulk. His scent was like the autumn, all leaf mold and pumpkin and wood smoke. Held in the curious dance of this creature, Philadelphia felt her mind clear as if the mist had been in her head as well and was being driven out. "You must know you are in great danger here," the scarecrow was saying. Philadelphia stopped the waltz mid-turn. "Who are you?" she asked. He released her and dipped his head in embarrassment. "Of course, where are my manners? My name is Manhattan," he said with a low and formal bow. He rose up, caught her hand again and raised it, brushing it against the sawtooth mouth. Philadelphia felt the cool, tight skin of the pumpkin against her hand and had to resist the urge to curtsey. "My name is Philadelphia," she responded as he released her hand. "And I'm Benandanti. How did you get here?" "The Magus made me to assist him with the keeping of the house." "The Magus? You mean Mr. Campbell, the raven?" "I have never heard him called a raven, but his name is...was George Campbell." "What happened back there? What was attacking me?" "Oh, that's the obsession. It's not very nice. Speaking of which, it will go after your friends. Probably has already." "Oh shit," Philadelphia exclaimed as the wolf form came surging back. "We've got to go help them. Come on." Philadelphia stepped, then faltered. Help who first? She looked about and saw none of her pack near her. A lower-ranked wolf, Philadelphia was far more used to taking direction then determining it herself. Panic began again to gnaw at the edges of her reserves, threatening to fray her resolve. Uncertainty gripped her and for a brief moment the urge to run flared strongly enough that she almost took to flight on four swift legs. But Violet's howls echoed in Philadelphia's memory and she bit back her fear, snarled in the face of it. She was Benandanti, she would continue the hunt and now she knew where she needed to go. She cast about for scents and was pleased she was able to detect her pack. She found the one she needed and with an acknowledging glance to the almost comically-confused Manhattan headed towards her alpha. ******************************** Violet snarled as the scents of her pack were lost to her. She craned her head about, breathing in the air in deeply, casting for any scent she knew. Only one came to her, faint on the breeze. One that should not, could not, be there. She shook her head sharply, trying to dislodge the imagined scent even as it caused the slow burn of desire to rise in her. But it would not disappear. It only grew stronger. Violet closed her eyes tightly, trying to drive away the scent and the feelings it brought up in her. Then a voice two years gone spoke. "Violet," it softly whispered sending shivers down her spine. Almost against her will, Violet slowly opened her eyes and turned to the voice. There, barely an arm's-length away, stood Aidan, her first mate. Even as desire rose stronger in her, a heat spreading from her center, her mind denied it. "No," she said. "You can't be here." But even as reason told her Aidan's presence was impossible, her body, her wolf, reveled in his physical nearness. His scent, the curves of his body, the sound of his voice, the lulling depths of his eyes. Oh, she wanted him. Aidan stepped closer to her. "But I am, my love. I am." As he approached, the mist seemed to enclose them both, shutting out everything in the world save them. Violet grasped for reason, for the belief, the knowledge, that Aidan couldn't be here. That whatever this was, it wasn't her beloved mate dead for two long, agonizing years. But reason fled in the face of her desire and grief. When he reached her and drew his hand along her face she collapsed into his arms, the wolf shape disappearing as flesh touched flesh. Aidan's mouth sought Violet's and they kissed, deep and long. He ran his hand through her hair then down her back, his touch eliciting a shudder throughout her body. But even as her need built to an unbearable crescendo, guilt began an unsettling counterpoint. As much as she loved Marcus, he could never kindle such intense desire in her. And she did love Marcus, just not as much as she had loved Aidan and this knowledge rent her spirit even as it soared at Aidan's presence. So it was with a choked sob and desperate sigh intermixed that she accepted Aidan's touch upon her body. He ran his hands along her breasts and down her sides. He brought his mouth to her chest and licked her breasts. His tongue teased around the nipples, hardening them more than her burning arousal had. Then his mouth closed around her breast and suckled. A shuddering sigh escaped Violet as her head tipped back even as the teeth felt too sharp and the tongue felt not just wet but slimy. She shifted slightly, dislodging her breast from his mouth. She though she heard him snarl. Violet's head snapped back up but she saw only Aidan's smile, so much as she remembered it. She brought her hands around to his face. He lay her down and straddled her, his member seeking entrance. Violet hesitated, recrimination damping her ardor. She looked imploringly at him. "Aidan, beloved, you're gone and time has moved on. I've taken another mate." "Shh," he crooned. "That doesn't matter now. Nothing will matter again." Violet found something about the way Aidan said that unsettling. Before she could comment, he leaned down and kissed her again, deeply. Breaking the kiss on her lips, he trailed kisses down her body to her sex. He delicately kissed her soft mound before licking it and the sensitive skin around her thighs. Her damped ardor flared once more within her, the crescendo building again as her passage became wet. But Marcus was still not far from her thoughts. Though if Aidan was truly returned, had she betrayed Aidan for Marcus or was she betraying Marcus with Aidan? Aidan mounted her, thrusting into her waiting sex with a roughness Violet had never experienced before with Aidan. She moaned in discomfort and squirmed under him. It felt good, the lust, the grief, the guilt. This female was shaping up to be exactly what was needed. The obsession wanted to prolong the taking, to reap more of the heady mix of want and misery, but it could only hold out for so long. It thrust again, ramming deeper and harder, her pain a heady wine. Violet cried out, the pain far greater this time. She snarled up at Aidan and seized his arms, prepared to put a stop to his mistreatment. But what met her gaze was no longer Aidan. It bore a resemblance to her love, but nothing more. The flesh was dark and rotted. Where her arms gripped, her fingers sank into the rancid flesh until they were stopped by bone. The hair was missing from portions of the scalp. But the eyes, the madly glaring eyes, were whole. Obscenely misshapen, they held an infernal light that spoke of ancient evil and madness, and they laughed soundlessly at her. Violet lay in stunned silence. She wanted to look away, turn her gaze anywhere but at the obscenity in front of her. But she could not, the gaze of those eyes bore down on her and held her in place, held her eyes. Before she could respond, she was aware of movement behind the rotted corpse of Aidan. Two glowing points of light were coming through the mist. In her peripheral vision, she briefly thought she could make out the shape of a jack o' lantern when light erupted in the darkness. Aidan, or the thing appearing as Aidan, Violet wasn't sure which was correct, had just started to turn when the light flared bright. The thing flinched back from the light as a gleaming crescent shaped blade (moon-shaped, Violet thought with hope) was plunged into its head, to be buried deep into the skull. Then the body was hauled off of Violet, much like a side of beef tossed about by a butcher. Sense, such as could be found in this place, returned to Violet and she scrabbled away. Suddenly, Philadelphia was beside, her holding her. Violet vacillated briefly between crying and retching then retching won. She pushed herself away from her pack-mate, her stomach violently emptying. Philadelphia looked over to Manhattan who was hacking away at a swiftly fading form. She saw enough to determine who it looked like and the stab of grief ran deep. Philadelphia lay her hand across her eyes and over her snout as she looked away. Manhattan rose from his work as the figure faded out and regarded the two females, one wolf one human, before him. Philadelphia's turned away, covered face and hunched shoulders told him this sending was different. The human female was rising, her face taut, but her eyes carried a hurt he recognized all too well. "Who was it he was made to look like?" he asked. Violet looked between the scarecrow and Philadelphia. Her emotions raged within her: longing for Aidan, confusion at what just happened, despair as her mind put together the most logical answer. It had never been Aidan. With effort, she put it aside to deal with what was in front of her, an animated scarecrow and her pack-mate, bowed under her own pain. These concerns took priority. But she feared the uncertainties and doubts raised would not stay quiet for long. She went over to Philadelphia and seized her shoulders, giving them a shake. "Phil," she said urgently. "I need you here, we have a hunt." Philadelphia lowered her hand and nodded, moving her body to a more assertive stance even if she didn't entirely feel it inside. Halloween Scarecrow "Who is this?" Violet asked with a gesture to the strange companion. "Oh, this is Manhattan. He helped me earlier." Violet nodded and turned her attention to Manhattan. "How did you come to be here and what is your purpose?" The will-o-the-wisps which had been tracking between Violet and Philadelphia focused on Violet. She found his gaze unnerving. "The Magus made me..." "Magus? You mean Mr. Campbell?" He nodded. "Yes. He made me to keep the house and the front grounds. I was to stay out of the back. He was very nice to me." The will-o-the-wisps brightened as his gaze intensified. "May I ask, who was that meant to be?" Violet regarded him for a moment before answering. "Aidan, my mate. He died two Halloweens ago." The scarecrow paused, a hesitant question hovering. "Does...does it ever get easier?" he asked, the shape of the eye sockets sliding slightly, an expression both hopeful and desperate. Violet sighed. "It gets bearable, in time." The jack o' lantern turned downward as the eyes and mouth shifted to the expression Philadelphia had seen when she originally came upon him. It was strange yet fascinating to watch the alterations of the jack o' lantern's features shift smoothly from one expression to another. "I had hoped..." he softly replied. Philadelphia drifted over to him and gently set her hand on his shoulder. He looked over to her, then laid his hand on hers. Violet broke the reverie. "We have to keep moving, we're on a hunt. Do you know where the others are?" she asked of Philadelphia. The black she-wolf shook her head. "I don't know." Violet nodded as she again took the wolf form. Fur covered her body's changing dimensions, the primal power welling up within her. Transformation completed, she stood tall and determined to call her pack and finish the hunt. She took a moment to focus the power she carried as alpha and as chosen of the moon then tipped back her head and howled long and fierce. Channeling her will and authority through the howl, she called her pack to her. She felt tendrils of mist surround her, challenge her, smother her. She shook her head sharply but continued to howl, her power savage inside her, demanding the release of the hunt. Her howls echoed through the night, reaching the ears of her pack and taking to them her strength and her demands. *********************************** Marcus cursed himself when he lost Philadelphia, as well as the rest of the packs', scents. He cast about, hoping to find at least Philadelphia's scent as she was the closest to him. Instead, he found a scent he would never have expected here: Wyatt's. Marcus shook his head to attempt to clear the the scent and cast about again. He found the same scent. Snarling, Marcus set to following it. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. The trail led through the woods in back. In the distance, through a break in the mist, he thought he caught a glimpse of all-too-familiar brown fur ahead. Damn it! What could he possibly be doing here? Marcus howled softly and listened for a response. A response came to him, unmistakably Wyatt. Marcus moved cautiously towards the spot and howled softly again. Again, a response came back. But this time it was high-pitched and wavering, a frightened sound. Marcus quickened his pace. When the third howl's response was choked silent, he broke into a run. He reached a clearing where the mist was a bit thinner. In the center was Wyatt, fearful and trembling. Marcus stepped guardedly into the clearing. Mentally, he was thinking back to the map and trying to calculate how far into the raven's land he had to be. Did it go this far back? "Wyatt, what are you doing here?" he asked. Wyatt looked over to Marcus, his eyes wide. "I wanted to show you I could hunt. But there's something dangerous around." Wyatt's fear called to Marcus, his every instinct to protect the weaker wolf. But things just felt wrong. "Wyatt, how did you get out here?" Marcus asked, circling the young wolf. "I took one of the other pack house cars," he explained, his head lowered in shame. "I wanted to help." Plausible, thought Marcus. He closed the distance in a lose spiral towards the center, hoping to see something in Wyatt that would definitively convince him of the truth. When he was approximately half way to him, maybe a few yards away, Wyatt's trembling became more pronounced. "Marcus," Wyatt's voice was barely above a whisper and sliding towards a whine. "There's something out here. Please, hurry!" "It's OK," Marcus responded, projecting as much calm to the frightened young wolf as he could. "I'm almost there." As soon as Marcus finished speaking something seized Wyatt's leg and drug him towards the woods on the other side of the clearing. "Marcus!" he screamed as he was being drug away. "Wyatt!" Marcus threw himself forward, assuming the quadruped wolf form and running full speed towards Wyatt. Marcus could neither see nor scent whatever had Wyatt. His eyes only saw the mist enshrouded landscape and his nose only picked up the mist and Wyatt. Whatever had him, it was fast. Marcus was running as fast as he could and was losing ground. He saw Wyatt disappear into the woods on the far side of the clearing. Marcus was close behind, but running as fast as he was he didn't see the gnarled tree roots reaching up from the ground. His foreleg didn't clear one, causing Marcus to crash into the ground and slide, his breath knocked from him on impact and his side flaring in pain when he struck the thick trunk of a tree. He rose, stumbled a bit with pain, and resumed the chase. As the mist closed in around him, all thoughts of whether Wyatt was real or not vanished. His only thought was to reach Wyatt before it was too late. Wyatt's screams suddenly echoed through the area, high-pitched and filled with terror. Marcus lost his footing again and the ground surged upward to further abuse his body. He rose despite his injuries, the screams compelling him onward. However, in the fall Marcus briefly lost the scent adding time he couldn't afford to lose. The screams had faded when he located it again. Marcus followed it as swiftly as he could allowing for the terrain. An ancient tree, thick and twisted with moss and mold covering it, stood apart from the other trees. Marcus smelled blood, both old and fresh. Bodies hung from this tree, obscene fruit awaiting a vile harvest. Most were long dead and bones littered the area around the base of the tree. One body was fresh, one very human body. Blood dripped languidly down hanging arms. The torso was ravaged, the ribs showing through. The hair been torn from one half of the skull. The face was frozen in a look of horror and as Marcus caught a glimpse of the eyes as the body swayed and twisted slowly, they were wide and bulging. Marcus stood frozen for a moment, the rage in him too profound to allow him to move at first. Then he threw himself at the tree, again and again. He tore it with his claws and bit chunks out of the trunk. Eventually, exhaustion drained him. He slid down the tree, the skin of his now-human body being scraped the rough bark. As much as he wanted to bury his face in his hands, too look away from his failure, he couldn't. Some unknown impulse forced him to watch the body twist and turn. The hideous expression broke his spirit more every time the eyes came into view. This was surprisingly not as good as the obsession had hoped. The wolf broke too quickly. The despair was dark and thick, pain for the taking, but over too quickly. The reaping should have been prolonged. A howl came on the wind, a summons at the depth of his soul. He wanted to rise, tried to will himself up, but the sight of those eyes weighed him down. The howl repeated, louder and stronger, demanding the pack gather. Against the great pressure holding him down, pinning his spirit to the tree, Marcus rose. The struggle was immense, his muscles straining to stay upright. He focused on the howl, let it wash over him, fill him, strengthen him. He took a step, it came easier this time. Stay. The sound was so low he sensed more than heard it. "No. I must go." Stay here. You must stay with me. Please. Marcus turned his attention back to Wyatt's corpse and caught the slightest of movement. He cocked his head, studying the body. Did he see the mouth move? He took a step back, concentrating. He didn't hear anything further, but he could have sworn the expression had changed from horror to concern. What was going on? As another howl sounded, the expression changed to one of anger. Marcus felt a matching anger swell in him, enlarging his body into his bipedal wolf form. How dare this thing use Wyatt to deceive him? How DARE it! Marcus growled deep in his throat and would have attacked the tree, but the howl summoned him. Marcus located the direction of the sound and with a final look and obscene gesture to the tree, ran off in full wolf form. ********************************* Ballard shuddered when he lost his pack. He looked about, searched carefully, but could find not a trace. Fear chewed at him, fear for his pack. Something was happening, and he had to determine what it was and how to stop it. He was about to tip his head back and howl, hoping the primal urge to respond would help him locate the pack when he felt a hand gently lay across the small of his back. He turned. "Socorro?" he asked. Confused, he regarded his mate in her human form. She smiled up at him, seduction in her half-closed eyes. She drew her hand around his waist to his front and he found himself unexpectedly human. She reached up and drew her hands down his chest. Ballard seized her wrists. "Socorro, what's gotten into you? We're here on hunt. We don't have time for this." He looked into her eyes, trying to impress upon her the urgency of the situation. The familiar hazel eyes he'd gazed into hundreds of times before seemed slightly fogged over. The mist around them closed in. Socorro twisted her wrists, easily freeing her hands. Never breaking contact, Socorro began to massage Ballard's member. To his dismay, he felt his body responding. He tried to step away, but his foot caught on something. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Splayed out upon the ground, Socorro was on top of him before he could react. Though his mate was much smaller than he was, Ballard was loathe to try to put too much force into trying to stop her, lest her harm her accidentally. Instead, he tried to squirm out from underneath her. "We. Don't. Have. Time. For. This." he said, stressing every word. Socorro merely giggled. She deftly took his member into her hand and began to stroke it. Ballard writhed beneath her, desperate to escape even as his body responded even more strongly to her ministrations. Then she leaned over and licked his erection. The touch was electric as chills ran up and down his spine. Ballard slammed the back of his head into the ground, focusing on the resulting pain rather than the ministrations of his mate. "Beloved," she purred. "Why would you rather hurt yourself than let me pleasure you?" Socorro leaned forward, rubbing herself against Ballard's erect member as an afterthought. She tenderly cupped his face in her hands, directing his gaze again to her eyes. Then she kissed him, long and deep. Ballard tried to resist the kiss, but his will was faltering. Releasing his head, Socorro again worked her way down his torso, kissing him as she went. She returned her attention to his member and worked her lips and mouth around it. The warmth of her mouth surrounded Ballard's member and he gasped at the sensation. She slowly drew her lips back along his shaft, exposing it to the chill air. Soon it was warm again, ensconced within Socorro. She rocked back and forth, stimulating Ballard as he fought against the urges rising up in him. He snarled and pushed at Socorro, trying to dislodge her even as his orgasm built. She laughed, mocking, and rode him harder, her body undulating against him. Ballard felt not only his rising climax but also a feeling he was far less familiar with: annoyance. Annoyance that was swiftly working towards anger. They were on a hunt, this was neither the time nor the place. He bucked, trying to dislodge her. "Socorro, what's gotten into you?" he demanded. Looking down, she shrugged, her expression one of utter dismissal. Ballard's anger flared hot. He surged from beneath her, rising to his feet and grasping her shoulders in one fluid move. He pushed her away, severing the sexual connection. He shook her hard, hoping to snap her out of whatever was going on. Her staccato laughter echoed around them. Before he knew it, he was shaking her violently, snarling at her laughter. The laughter abruptly stopped with a sharp snapping sound. Ballard froze, his breaths ragged. The body he held at arm's length was still. The head lolled back and away at a disturbing angle. He gathered her close. The neck snapped back and the face was slack though the eyes still stared into him, laughing. He knelt to the ground, laying out the body of his mate. "Oh, Moon," he moaned, tears gathering in his eyes. "What have I done?" He tried to look away, bury his face in his hands and cry, but her gaze held him. He knelt there for an unknowable amount of time his loss, and the knowledge he caused it, weighing him into place. The obsession considered the wolf in front of him. In many ways he was the most layered of the ones running the land. Facets that could be further explored, further exploited. Yes, this vein could be tapped again, and again... Then, as if from a great distance, he heard a howl. His alpha's howl. For a moment, he couldn't answer it, couldn't consider moving from the place of his pain. But the call was insistent, the pack was being called. How could he answer? How could he answer and bring the news he had killed Socorro? The howls continued. His wolf stirred, demanded he answer. He should, of course. If nothing else, Socorro would expect it of him. His duty was to the pack, to take the sad news, and to bear what judgment would come. In truth, he didn't hope for leniency. He hoped for death. Ballard carefully slid his arms under Socorro's corpse to lift it up and carry it back. It slid out of his arms. Ballard shook himself. He was bone-tired and nearly numb from his experience, he would have to be more careful. He tried again with the same results. The beta-wolf cocked his head. Once he could pass off to his tired condition, but twice? What was it they said? Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence, third time was enemy action. Very well, try for three. This time he didn't slide his arms under her. He grabbed the body and tried to rise upward. The body gripped the ground vines and resisted. He threw it to the ground. His gorge rose as the wolf shape cloaked his form, his anger channeling itself into the change. He snarled, furious, at this abomination that wore his mate's shape when the howling reached him again. He teetered a moment as his body translated his indecision into movement. Answer the call or destroy the thing before him? The answer came to him as a sudden flash. If Socorro was at all alive and mobile, she would answer the call. He had to go to the pack. He turned from the foul thing in his mate's shape and ran as fast as he could hoping to find his mate. ****************************** Socorro snarled when she lost sight and scent of not only Tobias, but everyone else. She remained still, straining her senses hoping to catch a scent on the breeze, a howl in the night telling her where the others were but nothing came. She shifted to full wolf and began to search in a widening spiral. No matter how far she extended her spiral there was only the mist, as though the world she occupied was made of nothing but that accursed mist. Not entirely nothing else, she realized as the guard hairs on her hackles rose up. She was being watched. She raised her head and snarled again, fangs barred. Nothing happened. She looked carefully around, smelled the air. There was nothing she could find around her. With a final look around, she returned to searching. She was strong, this one. She owned herself completely. She wasn't as strong as some of the others but paradoxically neither was she as weak. No wounds so obviously worn that they could be picked apart and bled. If it had been at full power this wouldn't have been a problem. But it wasn't. The other had seen to that. The other was destroyed, it was true, but it had taken much to destroy him and little was gained in the process. It had been a long, difficult battle. Yet it had also been a dark and glorious challenge. It found itself almost missing that. A thought came. Save this wolf. Feed off the others, their pains were already being laid bare and a fine meal it was. Then when strength was restored, play with this one. Maybe not as grand a challenge as the other had been, but it could be an amusing substitute. Socorro had no sense of time. She could see nothing of the sky and while she felt certain the night was passing, she could find no evidence of how much was passing or how quickly. She knew she'd traveled ground, but her surroundings never changed or altered. As if she was simply treading the same space over and over gain. The feeling of being watched continued until abruptly it was gone. Socorro stopped in her tracks, the sudden disappearance of the feeling as disconcerting as it's presence had been. Then she heard it: a howl ringing into the night. Violet's howl. Socorro raced to the source. ***************************** Tobias was upset, but not particularly surprised to be cut off from his pack. He cursed himself for his foolishness. He should have seen this coming. Splitting up made a great deal of sense as there was a lot of territory to cover, but staying together would probably have been a better plan. He only hoped he could live long enough to learn from the experience. A scent came to him with the smell of the mist. He sniffed deeply, trying to confirm what he thought he smelled. Now he was sure, and he hadn't smelled this in a very long time. Tobias considered for a moment, then closed his eyes and stilled himself. As surreptitiously as he could, he cast a spell of protection and waited to see what happened. A small girl was walking towards him. He remembered her, a little girl from long, long ago. Memories came cascading into his mind. A dark, tentacled thing, a lonely old house, a little girl crying. He shut them down. The past was over and immutable. What mattered was the here-and-now. He felt his body start to shift back to human. He could fight it, but decided not to. He wanted to see where this was going. The girl came to him. A little over five, perhaps, dressed in a plaid dress with a satin sash matching the one tied into her long brown hair. She was in her stocking feet, her shoes long lost, as Tobias remembered. "I'm scared," she said in the voice he remembered so damnably well. "Will you protect me?" Tobias studied the girl while hiding behind a mask of shock. The energy of the place was overwhelming, but the girl didn't stand in any sort of contrast to it. She should not feel like this place. Tobias crouched in front her. "I'll do what I can," he said in the most sincere voice he could muster. He rose and walked around the area, making a show of looking out and around as he covertly drug his outermost foot, making a small furrow in the ground. "How did you get here?" he asked. "I don't know," she said, starting to cry. "I just was here. But I think I remember you. You'll protect me." Halloween Scarecrow Tobias nodded. "Of course. Do you know what's out there?" He was a little over half way around the girl. She shook her head emphatically. "I just know it's scary. It's really, really scary." The crying increased. Tobias was three-fourths of the way around. He had to keep her distracted. He pointed across from where he was, into the depths of the mist. "Did you see something move out there?" he asked. She looked over. "No," she said, squinting into the darkness. "Are you sure? I think it might be one of my pack-mates." She shook her head. "I don't think so, they aren't out there." Tobias had almost reached his starting point. He pivoted on the drug foot so that is was closest to the girl and closed the furrow, making a circle. He dropped to one knee and placed one hand on the ground and raised the other in the air. "By earth, by air, by fire, and by water I bind you. By mother Moon and father Sun I bind you. By north, by south, by east and by west, I bind you." Tobias felt energy flare through him from the elements and powers around him that he channeled into the furrowed circle. The circle was sealed, trapping, however temporarily, the thing inside. He resumed wolf form. The little girl hissed and threw herself, perhaps itself, Tobias thought, against the magical barrier. The face contorted and while it held the overall lines of the little girl it was clearly inhuman. The eyes glared, the mouth stretched into an unpleasant grimace, and it glowered with a hate older than time. Tobias sighed. "So, what are you?" he asked. "Your doom," it snarled. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you are. But specifically, what type of being are you?" "What I am you can not begin to understand, wolf." "Is there a check list of proclamations that beings such as yourself need to go through before answering questions? I believe the next one is something along the lines of I can't hope to defeat you and if I surrender now you'll let me die quickly. Is that about the gist of it?" The being in the circle scowled, but said nothing more. "Right, that's what I thought. Are you going to tell me anything that is actually useful?" The being hunkered down in the small confines of the circle, a coiled spring waiting for its chance to attack. "Fine," Tobias said with a sigh. "We do this the hard way." He looked about the area. It was clouded with mist, with precious little visibility. He looked to the sky and saw nothing of the evening lights, no stars, no moon. Clearly not a normal autumn's evening mist. He snorted derisively. Fine time to realize that, he though sourly. First things first, we need some light. Tobias had been trained that the moon was always accessible, even if her light couldn't be seen. On one level, Tobias accepted the truth of that statement. The tides moved in and out whether or not the moon was hidden. But he always felt stronger when he could see her light. His own hang up, he knew, but he needed answers from the recalcitrant spirit before him and he wanted as much strength as he could gather. Tobias held his arms out straight from his body and tipped back his head, gazing heavenward. "Oh Mother Moon, hear the call of one far from a place of sanctuary. Hear the call of your child, and come. Cast about me your beautiful light, guarding and guiding. Aid me now, gracious Lady." Tobias ended his invocation with a soft howl. For a few moments, nothing changed. Then, the mist slowly retreated as moonlight filtered down onto Tobias, brightly lighting the area. He looked about. The moonlight did not light as much as he'd hoped, just himself, his circle, and perhaps a few feet beyond. But it was something. He basked in the moonlight, drawing strength, both magical and psychological, before beginning. He studied his opponent. It hadn't dropped the image of the child, but had distorted it beyond all recognition. The face was flat, the eyes dark and glaring, with large circles under them. The mouth was an ugly slash with sharp crooked teeth crowding the small space and drool oozing down the chin. The body was hunched, the limbs unnaturally long, and it skulked on all fours. The back was bowed and Tobias could see the vertebrae on the back through the skin and the thin dress. Most importantly, he could get something of a bead on the energy of the thing. Dark, thick and cloying, it rolled off the thing smelling of despair, desperation, and death. It's scent was sickly sweet, like decay. He could tell he only had a portion of the thing, a sending. As he studied it, the thing flinched repeatedly and cried out, tearing up chunks of the ground in front of itself. It thrashed about the circle and shrieked. Tobias heard Violet's howling, loud and strong. The thing flinched and trembled through her calls. "You're not the only sending out and about, are you? Curse your foul existence. I swear by the Moon, I'll see you broken and banished. As echoes of Violet's howls died away on the breeze, Tobias tipped his head back at howled in reply, calling his pack to his position. ******************************* The pack along with the scarecrow met Tobias at his circle. He could tell from the haggard looks and long, drawn faces of his pack-mates that their encounters had not gone well. Only Socorro seemed untouched, though Ballard hovered uncomfortably around her. "What do you have here?" Violet asked. "A sending, I believe. A piece of whatever is stalking this land and us." He looked over to Manhattan. "So, the scarecrow is animated. That raven must have had some power." Manhattan walked around the circle, studying the sending, his expression thoughtful. The thing in the circle followed his movements, hissing and snarling at the scarecrow. "This is an awful, evil thing. It should be destroyed," he said. Marcus sighed. "Why thank you, Mister States-the-Obvious." "I agree," Tobias responded, ignoring Marcus. "But what is it and how do we accomplish that?" Manhattan turned his attention to Tobias. "It's the obsession. The Magus has been studying it the entire time I've served him." "How long have you served him?" Violet asked. "Oh, about two years." Tobias' mouth fell open. "Two years?" he asked, incredulous. "How does anybody live with something like that for two years?" "He kept it contained," Manhattan explained. "He hated it, and wanted it destroyed." "And he hadn't figured it out in two years?" Tobias asked. "How are we going to do it in a night?" Manhattan fidgeted, turned his head away and ran one of his twig hands along the back of the pumpkin. "Well," he said, still facing away. "I think he wanted it to die slowly. And it wanted to break him." His head turned back. "I don't know everything, but they had a dance they did. A very dark and dangerous one. The Magus had been succeeding, the obsession is dying, but now the Magus is dead." Tobias sighed. "How did it get through to the Magus?" "Sometimes, familiarity breeds complacency," the scarecrow explained softly, looking down. Philadelphia again laid her hand on his shoulder and he smiled sadly at her. Violet looked at the child-monster in the circle, then around to her pack. They were drained, she was drained, nearly destroyed by the thing's manipulations. "Tobias, what are the odds that this is the thing that destroyed the raven's pack?" Tobias cocked his head. "An interesting thought. It's entirely possible. Would certainly explain why he had an obsession with it." Marcus growled deep in his throat. "What was this fuck-head thinking?" he demanded hotly. "It destroyed a pack so he's going to take it by himself? And fuck around with it for years?" Violet sighed. She went to touch Marcus, but stopped short. "He wasn't all right, and probably hadn't been for years. He's paid the price for his arrogance. Now we have to finish the job without further price." She turned to Tobias. "Ideas?" "Give me a moment, please," he said. Tobias crouched before the circle, raising his hands in the air. He closed his eyes and centered himself. He sensed the circle and the sending within it. Then he tightened the circle, condensing it. The sending lunged but was forced back by the circle. Tobias exerted his will, fighting against the thing trying to push the circle back out. Tobias pulled on the moon-light, funneling it into closing the circle. Inexorably, it shrank until it collapsed entirely, crushing the sending within. Tobias released the energy back to the Moon. Tobias shakily arose and turned to the scarecrow. "Manhattan, was it? OK. Do you know where the Magus practiced. We couldn't find anything in the house." "He didn't practice in the house. He often spent long hours somewhere out here. I don't know where, I wasn't allowed in this area. My concern was the house and front grounds." "Charming. We're back to a grid search," Marcus groused. "Maybe not," Tobias replied, studying Manhattan. "The house and front grounds. What did you do for the Magus?" Manhattan brightened, the will-o-the-wisps shining. "Oh, I tended the house, cooked meals, kept the yard and the beds. Aren't the mums lovely? I was very pleased by how they came out." His expression darkened, the light dimming. "The h...house isn't very presentable, I know. I'm sorry. I...didn't know what I should do..." "It's all right," Philadelphia said softly. Tobias considered what had been said. "House-keeper, not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but the fact of the matter is you're still created by him, from his energy. You carry that energy. And like calls to like. I think you might be able to find his work area." Manhattan looked hopeful. "You think so?" Tobias nodded. "Yes I do. Seek for it, for the thing out here that feels the most like the Magus to you, and go to it. Lead us there." Manhattan looked around the group, aware of the gazes upon him. He was uncertain. He had never sought for the Magus' energy before. He followed the Magus' instructions and if something wasn't given for him to know or do, he didn't. But the wolves were counting on him. He could see their haggard faces. Continuing a blind search would be even more draining. He doubted his ability to do what was asked of him as his previous duties had fallen within a tight role, but he would do his best. He caught Philadelphia's hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze. She squeezed back, giving him some moral support. He released her hand and looked out into the further reaches of the mist enshrouded yard. It felt good where they stood in the moonlight, but he had to lead them back out into the mist. Manhattan stepped out of the protective area of the Moon, searching for something that felt like the Magus. The light in the jack o' lantern flared brightly, casting its own light out into the night. He could feel it, he realized, a feeble tingling. He turned his head towards it, then followed after with his body and walked purposefully in the direction, followed by the pack of werewolves. He felt the obsession stir, attempt to block their path. But it was weak, and Manhattan would force it away brandishing his scythe before him. Eventually, they came to an out building, far from the house. Manhattan stopped and studied it. "This," he said with a nod. "This is it." Tobias tried the door. "Locked," he muttered. Marcus came up beside him. "Here, let me try." Tobias stepped aside and Marcus studied the door. He seized the door knob with one hand, punched his claws of his other through the thin door, and ripped it from its hinges. He bowed, gesturing for Tobias to enter. "Thank you," Tobias said as he entered the building. The interior was dark. Tobias gave a moment for his eyes to adjust, but still found the murk of the place difficult to see into. "Manhattan, could you come here a moment?" he asked. The scarecrow came up next to the werewolf. "Yes?" he asked. "Could you please light up?" he asked. Manhattan started a moment, then the jack o' lantern flared again into brightness. In the orange light Tobias located a switch and turned on the interior lights. "Thank you." The space was not terribly large, perhaps ten by twenty feet. The walls were lined with bookcases, further limiting room. The room was neat, though. There was a table in the center with what Tobias assumed to be the Magus' tools, a knife, a small brazier, a small carafe of water, one of oil, and a heavy glass dish with charcoal that smelled of incense. Tobias, Manhattan, and Violet crowded into the space. Tobias looked at various books until he found one that was hand-written. He examined the book, skimming headings and pages till he found the Magus' notes on the obsession. He read them over, determining what he felt was the best course of action. As Tobias gathered the Magus' tools, the building began to violently shake. They heard Marcus' voice from outside. "Looks like it's gearing up again," he said. The two werewolves and scarecrow exited the work shop. There were indeed more sendings, this time not bothering with human guises, and they attacked in twisted forms. Multi-armed behemoths gathered around them. The pack arrayed themselves with Tobias and his tools in the middle and the wolves, joined by the scarecrow, arrayed in front of him. Though mentally and physically exhausted, the werewolves pitched a last desperate melee with the obsession's minions. The wolves fought with claws and physical strength, pulling on whatever reserves they had. Manhattan fought with the hand scythe, his pumpkin burning brightly. As he fought, the length of the hand and the blade extended in his grasp until ihe wielded a full-size one. As the battle raged, Tobias worked quickly. He spared a prayer to the moon, then opened the Magus' book. In a loud voice he cried the incantation, his voice ringing in the night. He pulled every scrap of magic he had and threw it into fighting the obsession. Their wills locked, the fighting around Tobias eased, then stopped all together as the obsession had to invest more and more of its power into fighting Tobias. Tobias raised a blade and held it high in the air, his chanting reaching a crescendo, then he plunged it into the ground. A whirlwind sprang up, the wind shrieking as it spiraled around them. When it blew out, it took the mist and what was left of the sendings with it. For a moment, everything was unnaturally calm. The sound of insects could be heard. A breeze, a true breeze, carried the scents of the fallow land to them. The stars were clear and bright in the sky above them, as was the moon. It was over. The wolves opted to stay the night. Not only was no one was up to driving, both Violet and Tobias wanted to monitor the grounds to ensure nothing came back. The elders were contacted and instructions given. The next day the Magus' work room was to be emptied, and then it and the house would be burned to the ground. The scarecrow would return with the pack. But for now, the pack rested, taking solace in being out in the moonlight. No one wanted to stay in the house. They divided the rest of the night into shifts so some could sleep while others kept watch. Despite everything that had happened, the night was quiet as everyone withdrew into themselves. Marcus called on the pack house to check on Wyatt and felt better when he spoke to the young wolf. Ballard stayed close to Socorro, but was reluctant to touch her, which puzzled his mate. Violet told no one about her visitation from "Aidan." Violet sighed as sleep stole over her, knowing the repercussions of this hunt would be felt for sometime to come.