Page 31 of The Ordeals
The clouds above shift as the breeze rattles through the tree limbs and silvery light cascades down. Glancing up, I find a full, perfect moon suspended in the heavens. Time has somehow wound forward to night as we stepped through the portal at Killmarth, and out into the Morlagh. I’m at the edge of a clearing. And lumbering across it, hand clutched to his side, panting and heaving is someone I recognise. ‘Greg,’ I hiss, stepping away from the tree. ‘Greg!’
He stutters to a halt, turning towards me and manages a few more swaying steps before collapsing. I frown, peering left and right, checking he’s not been followed before darting out. But when I’m a pace away from him, I stop dead. He moans fitfully, staring upwards at the moon, and I notice the gash in his side and … the bite mark at his throat. This isn’t the work of the poison they handed to half of us. In fact, I’m fairly certain Greg was in Alden’s line, and Tessa was in mine. And if he’s been bitten, it can’t have been an opportunist hopeful. He tries to say something, swallowing then wheezing out some words.
I fall to my knees, assessing the gash in his side, the blood loss. It reminds me too much of Dolly and I have to brace myself, leaning closer to hush him as I assess how deep it is. ‘This looks like a claw mark … Greg, what …’
He swallows again, eyelids peeling back as he turns his face skyward and cold fear trickles through me. ‘You need to run. Find Tessa and get out. Take the antidote for her. It’s in my pocket.’
‘Stop that right now. What did this?’ I rummage through my knowledge of creatures, of the wild things lurking at the edges of our world. Most have been hunted to extinction, some kept as curiosities in private collections. But there are some that still inhabit theforests and mountains. Places most people no longer linger for long. ‘Greg, what did this to you?’
His eyes roll back, the whites gleaming horribly. ‘It’s … it’s coming. Not the one that did this. The one that came afterwards.’
A howl splits the night, honing my fear to a knife edge. I grip my switchblade in one hand, stake in the other and crouch low, raking my eyes across the edges of the clearing.
Then out steps a woman. A smiling, pale woman. She wears a perfectly pressed skirt and blouse, pearl drops glinting at her ears. There’s a spray of scarlet across her chest, more at the corner of her mouth, and as she takes a step, she wipes at it with a handkerchief. Her features are so strange, so slender, sohungry. Greg whimpers again and she sniffs the air, gaze snapping to us. Then I realise what she reminds me of. What she looks like. The monster, that vicious, vile monster that killed Dolly. Could it be the same kind of creature?
Greg whimpers again, but this time it sounds more like a growl. A shiver, like the brush of fingertips lingers on the back of my neck and there’s a snapping, squelching sound. Like bone breaking, like flesh and blood spilling out.
‘Sophia, you have to run. I can’t control it, I can’t—’
Ice douses my veins, but I chance a look at Greg behind me, heart pounding like a fist in my chest, and find he is gone. In his place, grey fur and lupin eyes. Teeth like fangs and a huge hulking shape.
‘Oh gods …’ I choke, stumbling back as this creature, asGregbolts past me, straight for the woman, the pale monster, so fast I can barely draw breath.
He’s a werewolf.
Chapter 11
The Heart
Werewolf.
They’ve sent us to a bloody werewolf den, deep in the heart of the Morlagh … on a full moon.
‘Bastards,’ I hiss, straightening up to watch the fight unfolding in the clearing.Thisis an Ordeal? Half of us get poisoned whilst the other half search for our partners surrounded by monstrous creatures? I should bolt, I know I should, but I can’t leave Greg here. All I can see is Dolly, hear her pleading, the shock of blood spilling from her guts.
Greg yelps as the woman tackles him to the ground, his huge bulk pinned under her small, bone-pale fingers. She bares her teeth at him before he twists, snapping at her throat, and the woman dances back, unharmed. I remember what Dolly said that night. The heart.
‘Greg, rip out her heart!’ I shout, hoping he can hear me, hoping he understands. The woman’s eyes find me with a snarl and she takes three steps before Greg’s jaw closes around her middle, tossing her backwards. She lands like a rag doll and my breath catches. Then he’s on her, claws sunk deep in her chest before opening her up, spilling her heart into the dirt.
She thrashes, shrieking, then just like the monster that killed Dolly, turns grey and gaunt and begins to crumble to dust. I stareat the heap of her, then at Greg as he unleashes a pitiful moan and collapses to the ground. He twitches a few times before his wolf form seems to shrink, his bones jerking and reforming, until it’s Greg again, just Greg. And he’s not moving.
‘No, no, no,’ I say, rushing for him, checking his pulse, manoeuvring his body gently until I can see his face. ‘Greg?’
His breath is shallow and insubstantial, features creased in pain, but he nods. ‘I’m alive.’ Then he coughs, curling into a ball, clothes a little shredded, but still intact. ‘What happened? My mouth tastes like … like … fuck, put it this way, I could use some velvane.’
I laugh shakily, relief flooding me. He’s alive and making jokes. Surely that’s a good sign? ‘You transformed and fought a creature, something vile, something … not human.’
He hacks, retching violently. ‘I don’t remember any of that, but it explains the taste.’
There’s no time to figure any of it out – that vicious monster, or Greg – we just have to move and find somewhere safe. But with the trees surrounding us, every cry in the night echoes round and round, and I have no idea which direction the howls are coming from. I grit my teeth, dig my hands under Greg’s arms and drag him as fast as I can to the tree line. He whimpers a bit as I hit a jutting rock, but I get him under the cover of a pine, draping his body over the soft cushioning of the needles. He’s still conscious, but barely.
Werewolves hunt in packs when in their wolf form. The information I’ve gleaned from folktales is inconsistent, some tales saying they only change under the full moon, some claiming they do it at will. But all the stories agree on one thing: once you’re bitten by a werewolf, there’s no way to reverse it. They’ve claimed you. And poor Greg has definitely been claimed tonight.
I stand, running an agitated hand through my hair, and considermy options. If I leave Greg here, he’ll be lost to the forest. He may not even survive long enough to transform again and find the rest of the pack. I could take the antidote from him, find Tessa and get us both out of here. But if I do that, Tessa will definitely fail the Ordeal. She’ll be sent away from Killmarth and that feels intolerable. She’s the first person I’ve met who actually seems like she could become a true friend, like someone I could trust. I don’t want her to leave. Then I look down at Greg, curled up on his side, and feel an unexpected pang of sympathy. All I know about him is that he seems to hang with Tessa quite a bit, he’s a bit awkward and dorky, but sort of endearing. I don’t even know what magic he wields. Even without the promise I made to Tessa, there’s no way I’d be ruthless enough to leave him here now. He saved my life.
Maybe it’s seeing Dolly that night, burying her cold body in the dirt. Maybe it’s being away from the Collector and his influence, no longer chasing marks, slipping through the city like a ghost, thinking only of myself, but it’s not just about the deal with Tessa. Iwantto help him. Not just because of the alliance I’ve made.
Gleeful howling rends the air, sounding closer this time. Almost as though they’re … hunting. Can they smell Greg’s blood? Sense that he changed? Or worse, is itmethey hunt?
