The Right to Live

Alexander Noctua arrives in Stuttgart, where a series of gruesome murders threatens not only to disrupt the peace within the city, but also unveil dark secrets many might best want hidden

The Right to Live

 

           

Micha would never admit to being scared of something as mundane as darkness, but truth was, on many a night he spent alone in the city, he felt extremely queasy �" and the worst thing was, he could never seem to pin down exactly why. On this night, it might simply have something to do with the murders which had been occurring in the suburbs, but Micha knew he’d feel far more comfortable in the company of others long before those ever began. The night was chilly and dark, even by the standards of the ever-windy Stuttgart autumns. It was so cold Micha would not have been surprised if the water flowing in the shallow gutter beside him began to freeze over with an icy cap. He was not dressed for this kind of cold. With his hands stuck as deep inside his pockets as was possible, he nevertheless forced himself to tread at a slower pace than his body would have found preferable.

Priska was moving slower than him, and he knew how he’d feel if it was him once again getting left behind to scramble after his friends. It was bad enough when Tanya or Torsten left him behind, even if unintentionally, and worse when that happened so late after sunset. Despite being as introverted a person as they come, Micha liked people. He liked company. And, in this case specifically, he really liked Priska.

He halted beneath a street lamp giving off a cold, blueish streak of light, waiting for his friend to catch up. The street seemed to be empty save for the two of them, or at least if there were any other people out so late at night, Micha could not see them. That was to be expected �" this part of town mostly contained garages and workshops, places in which precious few people would think of spending their nights. Besides, to their right was Little Scharzwald, and no one particularly wanted to approach that place after the visibility decreased. Thus, the whistling of wind and the quiet splashing of water in the gutter were the only things he heard; the street was lit just well enough for Micha to see they were still a long way off from the nearest crossroad.

Priska was advancing at a snail’s pace, for she had no hat with her and the wind was blowing something fierce, forcing her to periodically turn around and shield her face, blond hair flapping behind her like as though they possessed a mind of their own. After she finally caught up with her companion, she waited for the gale to take another breather. Priska gave Micha an apologetic, somewhat embarrassed smile, and the lad tried as best he could to hide just how good it felt to see her look at him that way.

“Thanks for bothering to wait for me, Micha. I swear, this is the last time I’m going to spend the extra hours at work �" at least until I can walk in the streets without my fingers freezing off. Then I’d have to start saving up all over again, only for a goddamn surgery this time.”

“Yeah, that’d be a bummer, but at least you’d need a new job for that too. A fingerless cleaning lady is hardly worth a cent” Micha nodded, and much to his delight, this actually managed to elicit a laugh from Priska. Sensing the wind had gone down again, both of them sped up on their path to the next street lamp, with Priska evidently trying to put more of a spring into her step.

“You all caught up on geography?” Micha asked, trying to use however much time he may have before the wind began to howl again.

“I guess. Mr. Beuershedt hasn’t been pushing us as hard usual lately, so I was mostly able to keep up with all the assignments.”

“Well, he’s been pretty rueful ever since his cousin died. I guess that might have something to do with that” Micha began to think out loud, and immediately wished he had bitten off his tongue. Priska dropped her eyes to the ground, beginning to shiver even more than before, fear now adding to the cold, and gave no reply.

Whyever would he try and even mention the murders now? Especially since, relatively speaking, they weren’t that far away from where two of them happened. Granted, it’s been almost a month since the last victim had been found. Maybe it was all over now. Micha definitely hoped so. Little Schwarzwald unnerved him at the best of times, and now he was walking besides it, isolated and late at night. Really not a good time to bring up some of the most gruesome homicides Stuttgart remembered.

“Anyways, you remember what happened last chemistry class?” he asked, trying to shift both topic and mood which had spread about them.

“No, I think I was missing on that day” Priska murmured, not lifting her gaze from the ground.

“Well, Tanya got us a free pass from the lesson, believe it or not. We were working with a bunch of different solutions and Tanya’s nose got real runny real fast, but she refused to so much as acknowledge it, snuffling and sneezing all the while. Eventually it got so annoying Mrs. Yeltz could barely stand the sight of her and ordered us all to leave class, trying to see whether something was wrong with the chemicals. I asked her whether she was all right, to which she turns around, looking A-Okay, throws me a wink and says “The art of deception, padawan. Mastering it, one can reap the greatest rewards in any place and time”, in that deadpan serious voice of hers. Me and Torsten could barely hold back laughter until we were out of earshot.”

That prompted a laugh out of her. Good, he, thought, now to just keep the conversation going, and not mention anything creepy. Micha did not think it wise to mention that, for all of Tanya’s bravado in class back then, he had gotten the impression there really had been something awry with her moments before.

“I never knew she of all people possessed something like a sense of humour. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s more of a strong, silent type, as polite as they come to boot.”

“Well, you know what they say. Beware the quiet ones and all that.”

“That means I ought to be scared of you too? You’re pretty quiet yourself, Micha.”

“Who, me? I’m the life of the party, haven’t you noticed?”

“You never go to parties Micha.”

“Do you?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but…”

“Precisely! How do you know I’m not living some sort of a secret dual identity, concealed from all who know me, a completely different man than how I present myself to you?”

“You’ve been watching too many Bond movies again, haven’t you?”

“…Maybe?”

She laughed again, and the sound warmed at Micha’s heart. Another harsh blow from the icy wind came, but when both of them turned around to shield their eyes from it, it didn’t seem nearly as bad as before.

“Tell you what, Priska, I’ve got an idea. You don’t believe I can have fun at a party…”

“Far as I recall, you said something along those lines yourself. And not once.”

“Details, details. If you really don’t believe me, I feel obliged to prove you wrong. Come with me to the disco tomorrow after school, how’s that sound? All on me, of course.”

Both of them were laughing now, and Micha was overjoyed when he noticed his companion seemed to earnestly consider the proposition, he’d barely found the guts to make, pressing a finger against her cheek in a manner he found downright adorable. Then she laughed and looked back at him, both of them slowing down somewhat.

“Deal. Under one condition.”

“As thy ladyship commands” Micha gave her a cumbersome little bow.

“You go and get some advice from Torsten first. Because I know you’ve been to parties about as often as me.”

“I’m not sure there’s such a thing as party advice…”

“Please, just ask him about that a bit, would you?”

“Your wish is my command” Micha replied, grinning from ear to ear despite the chilly wind scolding his teeth and tongue. She smiled back.

They walked silently for a while then, neither of them speaking. They were barely two hundred meters from the crossroads now. One more street and they’d part ways for the night. Micha was, despite the freezing cold threatening to bite of his pinkie toe, feeling overwhelmed with joy, his heart positively bouncing in his chest. He’d done it! He’d actually done it! Hahaha!

Then, suddenly as that, he stopped in his tracks, casting a look to his left, to the silent darkness of Little Schwarzwald. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t hear, see or smell what it was, but he sensed it, clear as day. Goosebumps ran over his entire back, definitely not from the chill, and he thought, no, he knew, they were both in danger.

“Priska?” he asked, his voice clearly audible now that the wind had gone down slightly. “Can you feel it too?”

She turned towards him then, a quizzing, only slightly worried look in her eye.

“N-no, I…” she halted, a took a long look around. She felt it too now. Something wasn’t right. The air suddenly became thick with… something. Not smell, more like… a sensation. A feeling of imminent attack.

Micha’s great grandfather fought in the Eastern Front during the war. He was a good writer, though he never found the time to actually pen a book, and preserved detailed accounts of the various occurrences he was a part of in his diary. In one, particularly chilling chapter, he spoke extensively of an ambush his unit had stumbled into, orchestrated by Kovpak’s partisans. He said that, long before the bullets began to fly, he had the impression of being observed, studied, evaluated by someone he himself could not see, as the men taking aim from the bushes decided upon who it was they ought to kill first. It was though a hundred knives hung around you from all directions, suspended a moment before impact �" you had the feeling that, no matter where you move, you’d be in peril.

Micha felt that exact feeling at this very moment.

“Priska, I think you should get home” he began, instinctively turning towards the woods to his left, scanning every centimetre within view as best he could. The darkness was hard to see through, especially since both of them were standing directly beneath a lamplight, but the moon was out on a cloudless night, the glowing sphere providing enough light for Micha to make at least general observations.

“Wha-? No, wait, no Micha, it’s just a feeling, could be a stray cat for all we know. Come on, we’re not that far from home now, we’ll be there in…”

“I mean it, Priska, you go ahead now, I’ll be right behind you” Micha managed to spew out, his heart beginning to race now. He was sure he was being observed now �" how or by whom, he hadn’t the faintest clue, but his pulse was racing as he gazed into the empty blackness of the forest nearest to them, finding nothing of note.

“Micha, please, let’s…” Priska’s voice died in her throat and the hand with which she’d been tugging at Micha’s sleeve until now fell limply by her side. Micha turned the direction she was looking at in an instant. In that moment, his bladder betrayed him, and warm urine began to flow down his trousers and into his boots, though it did nothing to the trembling in his legs, for the boy now barely registered the chilly air he breathed in.

From the darkness of Little Schwarzwald before them, a circle began to shine with reflected light. It was a small thing, of mustard yellow colouring, and both students became utterly paralysed with horror when they noticed it growing larger. Whatever the eye belonged to, it was inching closer… and closer… and closer.

“Micha…” Priska began to sob, her voice fading as tears began to flow down her face in silent dread. For his part, Micha tried to command his legs to move, to grab the girl he thought he loved and make a run for their lives, but they refused to obey. He cursed himself, he cried internally, but he had to force himself to so much as breathe, his heart feeling as though it might burst from his ribcage if it beat one more time.

A large shape now exited from amongst the trees, a dark mass with a glowing eye, inching closer towards its two victims. In that eye, hunger and anger were clearly recognisable, and as it opened its long snout, the filthy white of fangs and the dark pink of animal gums became easy to discern. Priska collapsed then, her feet refusing to bear her weight, sobbing uncontrollably. And Micha, cursing himself, could only stare at the thing which could not, should not be real. Then, he finally regained his voice. But all he could do was scream.

 

Klaus-Peter Stolz, the mayor of Stuttgart, walked through the bland, spacious halls of the Rathaus at a swift pace, badly in need of a drink. The building was allegedly meant to be built in a neo-gothic design, though Stolz would scarcely have guessed that from the way it appeared these days. The Stuttgart Rathaus was commonly regarded as one of the ugliest of its kind in Germany, and, as much as the mayor honestly took pride in his city and its many memorable traits, he could not help but agree. Then again, he could not exactly blame the city council which had decided not to try and restore its old original form �" after all, those men, unlike him, were in charge of rebuilding a half-ruined mess into a habitable city, and sacrifices certainly had to be made. He simply wished they didn’t make the building he currently spent much of his time so… unimpressive.

He did as much as he could to make at least his own office a tad more comfortable. He found that, especially in times like these, when the mounting stress threatened to send him into a full-blown nervous breakdown, a well-built, sturdy piece of furniture did have a noticeable effect on how comfortable he felt. There was something about older furniture and architecture which made it seem more… reliable, in a sense, less flimsy and purely utilitarian. And, of course, they simply looked better than their more modern counterparts, at least in Klaus’s opinion.

That was certainly a good thing, especially now that his week had already well and truly gone to s**t. Another month, another set of murders in the city suburbs. Stolz could never have anticipated that under his governance this city would have to deal with crimes this heinous on a regular basis. Of course, it would be a pipe-dream for there to be no violence at all in his city so long as he was in charge, but the savage, utterly grotesque killings which had already claimed more almost a dozen lives were unlike anything recorded within the annals of the city. There was no precedent for this, and worse, there was never any substantial evidence left either.

The mayor walked up the stairs to his office now, the stale air of the stairway making him thirsty and uncomfortable as he tugged nervously in his inner pocket. About two days after the last murder, Paul Reigener, an old acquaintance and a former friend of his, reached out to Klaus. For the mayor, however, that was to be the second greatest surprise of that day. He could still recall the shock reverberating through him at what Reigener had said over the phone.

“I hear you’ve got some kind of a murder spree going on down there, Klaus. How many people has it claimed so far?”

“Eight by the last count, insofar as we know, though there may have been more.”

“I see. Tell me, is it true that all the bodies seemed mangled and chewed-up? The media ever tends to overblow these things”

“Well… I shouldn’t really to talk to you about it, if you catch my meaning. Ongoing investigation and all that…”

“Klaus, please, I am well aware I haven’t always been straight with you, but do yourself a favour now and be honest with me, just in this matter. Tell me whom the police suspect at the moment?”

“… It’s all unclear, Paul. All the killings must have been carried out, in part at least, by some kind of a wild animal, if the autopsies are to be believed. Still, so many things just don’t add up, like the month-long hiatus, it’s all so bizarre…”

“I see. I take it the police don’t have any suspects?”

“No, the killings seem completely random, but…”

“Right, right. Tell you what, Klaus, it’ll take a lot more corpses before this catches the Bundeskanzler’s eye, but I’ll do you a solid, for old times’ sake. I’ll send you a number of one of the Kanzler’s staff members, he’s assigned to security at the moment. Tell him everything you know of the killings, and he’ll hook you up with his parent organisation. It won’t be cheap, but if you can afford ’em, I can guarantee you your problem will go away in no time. We’ve used these guys twice since I got here, and they’re very adept at dealing with impossible cases like this one.”

“Oh… well, thanks for the advice I guess, Paul. You expecting something in return or…?”

“Nah, don’t mention it. For old times’ sake, right? Besides, all I’ll do is hook you up with ’em. You’ll have to pull off the payment part on your own, I fear. Best of luck with that, old pal.”

“Yeah, well, you too.”

Stolz had no idea what to expect when he first called the number Reigener had sent him. Heck, he still wasn’t sure what to make of the subsequent number of conversations. Employing a privately-owned detective team to track down these murderers? To pay them how much again? Was such a thing even legal under these circumstances? And why the hell didn’t the guy at least attempt to explain how or when they’d track down the killer if he actually agreed to the terms and conditions? It all smelled of a massive practical joke on Reigener’s part. Yes, a way to capitalise on someone else’s misfortune for his own gain had long been Paul’s preferred game, Klaus knew all too well.

Not that it mattered, anyway. To pay four million a day for what may well turn out to be a bunch of sleazy crackpots? Ludicrous! The city budget was stretched as it is, he couldn’t with good conscience spend so much money on what could very well be an elaborate prank. And yet…

The mayor’s heart grew heavy in his chest, forcing him to stop whilst ascending the stairway and take a moment to breath, and not just because of the musty air within the building. He knew that feeling well, ever since his earliest years in school �" it was the fear that came right after a test, when one pondered whether he should have opted for a different answer, whether he’d made an error in his decisions. When those two bodies were found yesterday morning, Klaus couldn’t help but feel more guilty than usual. Is it possible that these two might have lived had he only been willing to hire those people? No, no, it couldn’t be, surely. Could it?

The mayor merely sighed as he ascended the final handful of steps and walked into his waiting room. What he found there proved utterly unexpected, even more so than all the other events of the last month. Greta, his secretary, was sitting behind her monitor as usual, working through her own paperwork, though Klaus saw that her eyes flicked nervously towards the visitor sitting across from her. Stolz could hardly blame her for that �" he found himself intrigued and, to a certain extent, intimidated, by the new arrival almost immediately.

The figure sitting on the other chair was decked out in all-black, an effect which he might have found merely strange or amusing in most people, but with this man, it seemed to somehow enhance his physical presence, drawing his eyes reflexively towards him. He was clothed in a black jacket with a tall collar, equipped with an unusual amount of variously-sized pockets and pouches, most of which appeared full to the brim. His feet were encased in heavy black boots and his legs were covered by black trousers, also possessed of a disproportionate number of pockets along their length. The jacket he wore was left open, and Klaus saw he had a simple black shirt, highlighting the way its white buttons shining like stars in a midnight sky. Even the stranger’s hair was coal-black, cropped into a short, military-style haircut.

The man’s irises were of an azure-blue hue, of a rich, deep colouring, akin in appearance to two shards of ice �" they were just as bright, just as beautiful and just as cold. The man’s face was otherwise not all that uncommon, in fact one might even call it by-the-numbers �" his skin was of an average light complexion, slightly tanned, the nose neither too small nor too big,  the ears more or less pressed to the skull and his lips were tight and thin, all giving off an impression of a curt and straight-to-the-point person. He wore a ring on top of the black gloves covering his hands �" massive and apparently made from solid gold, topped with a single small amethyst, which seemed as though it had some kind of a symbol carved into it.

The stranger stood up the moment Klaus walked into the room, as though he knew exactly when the mayor might enter, and approached him with a swift stride, extending one hand in greeting whilst using the other to pull off the glove and ring covering it.

“Good morning, herr Burgermeister” he spoke, his German very good but not his native tongue upon closer scrutiny. He pronounced his vowels with a lot more emphasis and he did not cut his words up as most native Germans did. The accent reminded Klaus of one of his Polish friends from college, though there was something… drier about the way this man spoke, indicating he was likely from a different land. Bohemia maybe?

“Good morning, herr… I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” Klaus replied, hesitantly stretching out his hand to shake the stranger’s. The man had a grip of iron, and he shook it quickly and firmly.

“Noctua, Alexander Noctua. I’m here in the matter of the Stuttgart butcheries.”

“Ah, I see. Who sent you, if I may know?”

“I sent myself, Mr. Stolz, although I am here since you have decided to reach out to the Order for its services. Those negotiations ended fruitlessly, correct?”

“Hold up a moment, how do you…?” Klaus began, but the stranger cut him off, pulling his glove and ring back on and gesturing back to the office.

“Let’s go back inside, I’ll only take up a minute of your time. I believe we’ll be in agreement shortly.”

Klaus looked to his secretary, her gaze still drawn to Noctua, and inquired “Did this man set an appointment you forgot to mention, Greta?”

“N-no, Mr. Stolz, he came here fifteen minutes ago and said you’d receive him…”
            “That I did, herr Burgermeister. As I said, there’s no time to waste and I can’t imagine why you’d refuse my offer. If you want safety to return to your streets, that is.”

Stolz took a dislike to this new character almost immediately. Noctua was not speaking to him disrespectfully or condescendingly, no, but he had a very cold, soft yet imposing kind of voice, that of a man not accustomed to using it often. Klaus liked people he could talk to. Talking meant conversation, debate and negotiation, all things he was exceptionally good at and all things he suspected this man rarely engaged in, if his demeanour was anything to go by.

Not even mentioning the fact the stranger was here in the first place, openly talking of matters the mayor had tried to conceal as much as possible! He had made his calls privately and told no one of them, and from the way he spoke, Klaus doubted this man was a member of the Order, or whatever the hell the organisation he’d reached out to called itself. He was certainly eccentric enough to be a member, sure, but the disdainful way in which he mentioned the negotiations ending “fruitlessly” … Stolz didn’t rightly know what to make of it all.

Eventually, after a moment of silent contemplation, he merely sighed and walked forward in quiet surrender. End of the day, what did he really have to lose by simply hearing the man out?

“Don’t change anything on my schedule, Greta �" the man has promised he’d only take up a minute of my time, and I intend to hold him to that. Come with me then, herr Noctua, I’ll tidy my office and then you can state your case.”

Noctua stepped aside to allow the mayor to open the door into his office. As he passed him, Klaus had to, despite himself, supress a shiver. There was no logical reason for it, for Noctua seemed completely ordinary and his expression remained as neutral as before, yet, for the slightest moment, Klaus had gained the distinct impression of walking besides a landmine �" one wrong step, and something extremely unfortunate might occur. That was ludicrous, of course. It’s not like this Noctua, be he a charlatan or merely a cheat, would try and hurt him in his own office, after all.

They walked into the office, Noctua standing to the side, observing the painting hung from one of the walls whilst Klaus strolled over to his desk to hurriedly store all the unfinished paperwork laid out on his desk. No point in letting the visitor know how disorganized he’d become over the last couple of days. His office was large, spacious even, but save for his desk, a chair for visitors and the three bookshelves by the walls filled to the brim with all manners of necessary documentation and official registers, it was also somewhat empty. The mayor managed to finally stuff away all his remaining paperwork into the drawers, then walked over to the heavy red curtains behind him and pulled them apart, revealing a chilly, cloudy sky through which only little sunlight shone.

Noctua continued to observe the picture, not paying the mayor any mind. He stood in a very rigid manor, hands behind his back and his spine as straight as a broomstick, making him seem even more out of place than he already was. The painting he observed depicted a parachute tower, a large conglomeration of dull grey binders and stairs, occupied by a handful of small children in similarly grey uniforms, each with a rifle in hand, one crying out to the rest, aiming down at an unseen foe. The children’s faces were depicted clearly and each had a different expression �" one could spy fear, grief, anger, resolution and confusion to name but a few �", a major achievement considering the painting’s scale. Eventually, Klaus walked back to his table, pulled out a bottle of whisky and poured two small glasses, calling out to his visitor. Cheat or not, it was bad manners not to offer a drink to a man you’ve decided to hear out.

“Care for a drink?” he asked, taking both glasses in hand and extending one towards Noctua.

“No, thank you” Noctua replied, turning away from the painting. “Marvellous copy, I must admit. The defence of the Katowice parachute tower, correct? I’ve seen it displayed before, but it never fails to impress.”

“Indeed” the mayor agreed, somewhat thrown off by the direction of the conversation, putting both glasses down.

“I rarely see Germans displaying art connected to the war, much less to the battles they actually won. A gift, then?”

“… From a friend in Poland, yes. I hear the painting’s made quite a stir there, especially since Katowice was so close to where that whole mess began…” Stolz trailed off, unsure of why he was telling all this to a complete stranger. He sat back into his own chair and leaned back, trying to keep on track “Anyways, please, take a seat and tell me why you came here.”

Noctua walked to the chair before the desk, his eyes seeming to constantly flicker between objects even as he moved. He sat down, his hands lowered and his fingers steepled against each other, and only then focused solely on the mayor.

“I believe you have a supernatural problem here in Stuttgart, mister Stolz. I believe you will be unable to catch the culprit �" or possibly culprits �" without my help. And I believe a lot more people will have to die before the Order takes notice” he spoke, a grimace flying over his face as he finished the sentence.

That left the mayor in stunned silence. He could not seem to process the three, structurally rather simple sentences he’d just heard, and so simply gaped at his visitor with an unbefitting, idiotic expression he tried to do his best to camouflage.

Supernatural? Magic and curses and monsters you say? Absurd! A regular serial killing, that’s all there is to it, that’s all there could be to it! Ridiculous! The last witch trials were held in Stuttgart during the Thirty Years’ War, and Klaus-Peter Stolz would be damned if he let some lunatic change that!

And yet… there was no animal anyone knew of whose bitemarks matched those found on the victims. The dogs did behave weirdly when tasked to track the perpetrators. And what of all the missing…

“You currently think me to be a charlatan, but you also realise yourself something is off about these killings. You dismiss the concept of a supernatural killing, even as any rational explanation eludes you. Take your time and process it all, and we can continue once you’ve entertained the possibility that I’m telling the truth” Noctua spoke calmly.

“The truth?! God’s sake man, you’re insane! What truth? How am I to react when a foreigner dressed all in black comes into my office without announcement and tells me we’ve got a poltergeist killing people on the streets?! Huh?! Do you have a single shred of evidence to prove what you’re saying?”

“Will this do?” Noctua’s voice spoke within the mayor’s skull, without the man’s lips moving an inch, completely without accent. In that moment, Klaus-Peter Stolz jolted backwards in his seat, inadvertently pushing himself out of balance and falling back-first onto the ground, his chair making a ruckus as it fell over with him along for the ride.

The experience was unlike anything Klaus had felt in his entire life. It was as though someone had jammed a microphone deep into his inner ear and then pressed play. It felt unnatural, uncomfortable and Klaus had to concentrate merely to not begin screaming like a lunatic. With great effort, he calmed himself and began to stand from where he lay. As he rose, he perceived Noctua standing above him, hand outstretched. Despite his back hurting like hell, Klaus tried to straighten up on his own, refusing the proffered help from this… man.

Greta looked inside, concern marring her eyes, clearly seen even beneath her thick glasses. “Herr Stolz? Is everything alright?”

Stolz could not simply reply. No, of course not, nothing was alright! Nothing made sense anymore. How was he in this situation right now? Did his visitor hypnotise him somehow? Was he hearing voices? Was it just the stress, should he lay off the alcohol for a couple of weeks?

“No, you are perfectly sane, Klaus. Please, calm down and listen to what I have to say” Noctua said, again, without moving his lips in the slightest. Klaus had to lean hard against the table at that. That feeling, sensing someone else inside his most private of parts, inside his very skull… He felt ill, he wanted to throw up, and he knew he would if he so much as opened his mouth. He merely waved for Greta to go away, despite half-contemplating for her to call the police, but then again, why bother? It’s not like Noctua had actually done anything to him, certainly nothing he could prove.

“The mayor was feeling nauseous and fell over. It’s nothing to be afraid of, I imagine the stressful nature of the recent events has put him under a lot of pressure. Happens to the best of us” Noctua called out loud, his voice as calm and cold as ever. Greta closed the door in a hurry, though Klaus noticed her eyes grew worried as she left. Noctua, in the meanwhile, placed Klaus’s chair back into position, then went over back to his seat. As Klaus slowly, very slowly, began to sit back down, his back in pain and his stomach turning, Noctua began to twist and turn the ring on his right glove, patiently waiting for the mayor to put himself back in order.

“I am sorry for such a brusque demonstration, honestly. But time is off the essence, mister Stolz, and I need you to agree to my terms and provide me with the necessary information in the shortest time possible. The effects of telepathy are deeply unsettling when thrust upon an unsuspecting person, but also more memorable and dramatic. Now do you believe there is such a thing as the supernatural?”

Klaus could not reply. For the longest time, he merely sat in his chair, looking at his palms, his hands slippery with sweat and his innards a churning mess.

“Stolz, I need you to begin talking now. I know you want to catch the culprits as much as I do. If I don’t get a move on, you may well have another body on your hands tonight. Do you truly want that?”

Klaus reached for the glass of whisky, thankfully still on the table where he left it, and downed it in one gulp. He took the second glass, and likewise let its contents flow down his gullet in a rush. He smacked the glass down, sending tremors across the table, and finally managed to find the strength to look Noctua in the eye.

“Who… are you? Who are you even?” he asked, disbelief and awe mixing in his tone.

“Alexander Noctua �" occultist, private detective and private security” his guest spoke, reaching into one of his many inner pockets with two fingers, deftly pulling out a small, black business card covered in golden writing, passing it to the bewildered Klaus.

“Are…are you register…”

“No, I am not, not in a conventional way at least. But then again, there is hardly a legal precedent for the type of work I do, now is there?” Noctua replied, leaning back.

“And… what type of work would that be?” Klaus asked, already regretting doing so.

“I track down and eliminate dangerous creatures of supernatural origin, or humans who would use occult powers to harm others. I also provide protection from the more regular dangers of the world, but only in special circumstances. Note the small print on the other side” Noctua bade the mayor to turn it around, though Klaus did no such thing, merely holding the thing limply in one hand, gazing at it as though it ought to vanish.

“So… you believe that… here… in Stuttgart…”

“Yes, I do, mister mayor. I believe the culprit behind the latest killings is not a human, at least not a pure one. I also believe I am currently the best you’ll get. The Order will not lower the price they’ve set unless the situation deteriorates further, or unless the government offers to pay for you. Neither of those two things will happen before more people die. I find that unacceptable. Personal reasons, you might say. But I am still human. I require payment for my services, and I think you ought to be the one to hire me.”

“Can I even…”

“Don’t fret about formalities and legal matters. Few will know you contracted me. Fewer will care. You, mister Stolz, are far, far too low in the global pecking order to be of too much notice for anyone who’d know me.”

Klaus did not know whether he ought to be insulted, confused or relieved, so he settled for an uncertain mix of all three. He breathed in deeply, closed his fist and shut his eyes, doing all he could to deepen his voice and stop it from shaking. Klaus decided he would entertain the possibility of something like this actually being the case, if for no other reason than just to get the stranger to leave his office as soon as possible.

“What kind of a supernatural danger are we talking about?”

“I am not certain yet. I have my suspicions, but those would do you no good. Likely a lupine of some sort �" a type of monsters with canine features” Noctua explained, noting the confused look on Klaus’s face.

“I see. How likely is it to try and kill again?”

“Based on the current pattern, very likely.”

“Are you certain you’d be able to stop it if I hired you?”

“Absolutely, mister Stolz.”

“Can I reach out to anyone �" to see your resume? Would this “Order” be able to provide me with one? I’ve already spoken to one of their representatives.”

“You can, but they’ll deny my existence to you” Noctua replied, stretching his gloved fingers. “I believe they’ve marked my records as classified. If you want, however, I’ll provide you with the contact information of my former clients, and you can ask them about my conduct and results.”

“That seems hardly impartial” Klaus murmured.

“It does, and all I can give you is my word. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. Besides, we’re wasting time, Klaus. Do you want my help or no?”

Klaus bit his lower lip in frustration. Now this was a proper negotiation, but he was still so thrown off balance he could hardly focus on what he was saying, much less think pragmatically.

“How much would it cost?” he finally asked directly, not wishing to prolong this encounter anymore.

“How much did they ask for a single agent?” Noctua replied with a question of his own. It took Klaus a minute to realise who “they” was meant for, mostly due to the acidic edge to Noctua’s words when he spoke the word.

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand euros per day, for each one, for every day of the investigation” he eventually replied.

“Right then, I usually take one hundredth of what they demand, so consider me sold for seventy-five hundred euros �" period.”

Stolz’s eyes widened in awe. Who the hell was he dealing with? Why such an arbitrary change in price? How was this man before him connected to Reigener and the Kanzler? What did he, his city, his little Stuttgart get themselves involved with? Could he have taken some precautions?

“Do you find that acceptable?” Noctua quizzed, his eyes still fixed on Klaus’s.

“… How can I trust you? All of this �" it seems unreal. I’m still not certain what just happened! For all I know, you might have simply tricked me, drugged me or…”

“I can repeat my demonstration again if you’d like. Or perhaps I’ll display a different ability this time, to prove this is not a mere hallucination.”

“No, no, no, for all I know, I could still be dreaming, or you might have gassed me with something, and now you’re out to capitalise on the misfortunes of others, just like Paul, yes, he set up all this elaborate…”

Noctua smashed his hand against the table at that, causing Klaus to jump up again. The “detective” spoke then, his voice still calm and even, but a dangerous chill now present at its very edge.

“I have been straight with you in everything I have said, herr Burgermeister. I have been as patient as possible with you, with your speech, with your conduct, with your reactions. This is too much for you all at once, and I apologise for that. But I will not be insulted. I will not allow you to call me a conman, only so that you may spend a few more precious moments in life still believing there are no monsters under the bed. There are, mister Stolz. Not under every bed, not in every house, but they are there. And whenever they rear up their ugly head, they will not lower it back where it belongs until someone like me comes along and forces them to do so. In other words, someone who has already looked beneath the bed, who was forced to stop living in the dream a very long time ago. Now, unfortunately for you, most men like me don’t go out of their way to actually help the people they are meant to protect, and therefore, I’m currently your best shot at resolving the issue at hand, before any more of your citizens die. And I also need the resources to continue providing these services of mine to others in need. So, mister mayor, you have a choice �" quit living in a dream and accept that there is indeed something unusual about me, about these murders and about the world we live in, or refuse and return to slumber, content others will get their throats slit for your peace of mind. Which will it be?”

Only now did Klaus realise he’d forgotten to breath.

He coughed into his hand, rather poorly trying to mask his fear, attempting to comprehend all he’d just learned. He still could not believe it. Magic and demons and beasts, roaming the streets of this town, his perfectly normal town? He would not believe it! How could he?! How could he? How…?

And yet… as far-fetched as it may seem… as crazy as people may call him… what else had he left at this point, really?

“Deal” he spoke, weak and defeated. “What do you need? How am I to pay?”

“I shall only require payment once I’ve delivered proof of successful termination” Noctua replied, evidently also more at ease from there on. “Do not concern yourself with that for now. Here, please, sign this” he said, pulling out two pieces of paper with extremely small print and laying them down on the table. “You are now officially hiring me as your private investigator. As for police intervention, you needn’t worry, they won’t even know I’m in the city. You are merely obliged to aid me by providing all the verified and relevant information I shall require. You are not to inform anyone �" period �" of our contract and its stated purpose until I have successfully fulfilled my side of the bargain. You may inquire about the progress of my investigation, but I am not obliged to answer all your inquiries. I shall strive to provide you with regular updates in case of a prolonged investigation. In case I do not provide an update on the investigation within the span of three days, you can presume me deceased and are therefore not obliged to continue fulfilling any part of our contract. Should I prove to be alive despite a lack of updates from me, any and all contract violations on your part will be pardoned and you shall receive a discount from our originally agreed-upon financial reward. Any questions?”

Noctua spoke all that in a rush, in two breaths, as though he’d practised it a hundred times before. Klaus merely stared at the pieces of paper before him. “Am I signing a deal with the Devil?”  he thought to himself, the pen slightly trembling in his hand, as he searched for reasonable questions to ask. Nothing. Klaus was still too startled to process all that was happening, and he hated himself for it. What an excellent diplomat he’d been just now!

Quietly, pen scratching on paper, he signed.

Noctua practically snatched one of the papers out from under the mayor’s hands. “Now, mister Stolz, about the necessary information. How much do you know about the case?”

“M…more than I usually do of police work, I’ll admit. A crime like this… I had to take a closer look myself, you understand? Still, it would be preferable if you interviewed…”

“I do not wish for police to interfere, they’ll most likely just get themselves or someone else hurt. The easiest way to go about that is not to let them know I’m in the city at all. I’ll have to make do with what you know. Therefore, please, try to relax and gather your thoughts. I want you to think of everything you know about the case �" the victims, the corpses, the locations, police procedure, the suspects, all of it.”

“Think about it? Shouldn’t I just tell you?”

“That’s too slow for me. I’ll extract the necessary information from your mind as you’ll be thinking them.”

“Wait, you’re gonna’ do it again?!” Klaus nearly screamed, instinctively pulling himself away from Noctua at the mere thought of hearing that voice inside his skull again.

“No, no, herr Burgermeister, not this time. I will merely experience what you have experienced and know what you know. It’s a process designed for espionage, so the target is meant to remain completely unaware of the intrusion, if the warlock is disciplined enough. And I am” Noctua finished, pulling off his left glove. “Now please, Klaus, gather your thoughts and close your eyes. On my honour, it won’t hurt a bit.”

“On my honour?” Klaus thought to himself, confused and even strangely amused by such an expression, but he had given up trying to argue or really comprehend the moment he signed the contract. Noctua walked around the table to Klaus and bade him to shut his eyelids. The moment he did so, he felt two fingers gently pressing against the centre of his forehead, and the sudden touch caused him to shudder and recoil slightly. After that, he began to recall the events of the last two months as best he could, trying to imagine things as vividly and accurately as possible.

He was expecting a barbed spike to pop up in his skull at any moment, just like when Noctua had first “spoken” to him, but, to his great surprise and relief, nothing like that ever came. Finally, after about a minute, when he at last could not recall anything else concerning the butcheries, he felt the fingers lift from his head and opened his eyes. Noctua was already leaving. Just before the door, he turned around, and gave Stolz a small bow.

“Worry not, mister Stolz. I am well aware of how all this seems. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. But trust me - there’ll be no more innocent blood spilled on the streets of Stuttgart. Or at least it won’t be spilled by the same hand.” And with that, he was gone.

Klaus-Peter Stolz slumped back in his chair, feeling utterly exhausted, utterly confused and utterly useless. What even happened? How? How could he have…?

“Greta?” he called, weakly, after a couple of minutes. He felt tired. So tired. His head was buzzing and his mind was foggy, as though he had awoken from a drunken stupor. Come to think of it, that bottle of whisky did seem rather attractive all of a sudden…

“Yes, mister Stolz?” Greta leaned in through the door, evidently concerned and thrown out of balance herself.

“Please, cancel all my appointments for today. If they ask why, tell them…” he paused, deciding on how to describe the experience. “Tell them, I’ve had an unexpected and very difficult meeting, one which has left my brain fried I’m afraid.”

“You exaggerate sir, but what am I to actually tell them?”

“I wish I was, Greta. I really wish I was…”

 

Noctua walked out of the Rathaus onto the gloomy, windy streets of autumn Stuttgart, closing his jacket and pulling up his collar even before he stepped out. He hated autumns, especially European ones. There was, undoubtedly, a certain charm to the way in which his continent’s trees changed their colours and repainted the landscape in this time of year. But from the places he’d usually visit �" the trash-filled back alleys, half-ruined buildings and festering sewer systems �" that could scarcely be perceived. Therefore, all he was left with was the wind, the rain and the chilly morning air.

He crossed the market square in front of the ugly Rathaus building, where people were already beginning to gather in order to buy and sell all manner of the more traditional sort of goods and products. Had he not been in such a hurry, Noctua may well have stopped to buy something himself �" not out of any pragmatic necessity, but more so due to the symbolic significance of supporting a more traditional yet, sadly, increasingly fading and irrelevant way of life. Symbols and traditions, after all, were far more influential than most people might assume.

But he was in a hurry, and as such mundane concerns came a distant second to him. He had to make progress before nightfall, or he risked another corpse on the streets, and another stain on his conscience. If this turned out to be what Noctua feared it may be… well, no point in contemplating that particular topic now. Instead, Noctua began to replay the information he’d received from the mayor’s brain once again, cataloguing every memory and impression he’d acquired into neat little stacks within his own consciousness.

He was sorry about how he’d treated the poor man, if he were to be honest. Doubtlessly he’d come off as a brute to the mayor, an intimidating strongman who basically twisted Stolz’s arm into doing what he desired, and now that his initial anger and frustration began to fade, Noctua felt the slightest hint of shame at how he’d conducted himself. T’was not befitting of a knight, to use telepathy on unexpecting targets. Even less befitting was to amplify one’s voice into convincing their employer to go along with one’s suggestions. He’d have to apologise for that later. But for now, his mind was clouded with worry, anger and guilt, each of these as unwelcome as the next, yet all annoyingly persistent in nibbling at Noctua’s patience. He tuned them out as best he could and focused on the memories which were not his.

 

When the first murder occurs three months ago, I find the crime so unbelievable I take a trip down to the precinct, and later to the city morgue, where the diener explains to me all he is able to deduce from the autopsy. The victim is a man, most likely homeless due to poor hygiene and health, though precise identification proves impossible, largely because parts of the face, head and even dental structure are missing. Worse, it appears they’d been ripped off by a canine jaw of some sort, though no one can suggest an animal of corresponding size and strength. More disturbing still, many organs, including lungs, liver, heart and a large number of intestines, are also either gone or sprawled around the victims.

 

So far, everything was lining up with Noctua’s worst expectations. He wondered why no one had even tried to draw a link between these butcheries and the murders from ten years ago. Still, it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots if Noctua didn’t move fast on this. He began walking at a swifter pace, his heavy boots thumping on the slick, grey cobblestones of the town square and its surroundings, and replayed another memory piece.

 

The two following nights, two more bodies turn up, both in a state similar to the first corpse. Whereas the first man is never successfully identified, the two who follow are. One is a local man, returning from a late night’s shift when last seen alive, the other, an elderly woman, Mrs. Hagen, a well-liked pillar of the community. They are identified via DNA tests, as their faces and other features prove, once again, too demolished to serve that purpose. Three nights after that, two bodies are found in a different place, two young college girls who apparently lost their way in the suburbs, their bodies likewise brutalised.

 

Navigating through other people’s memories was less like watching a film, as some people might imagine, and more like watching sped-up footage of a first-person 3D simulation. Noctua experienced what other people knew when he searched their memories, more so than simply learning it. The process was, with him at least, near-instantaneous, but he always made sure to sift through the gathered fragments afterwards, to isolate the redundant and unreliable pieces from the essentials. Memories, after all, were vulnerable to altering �" they could be emotionally and instinctually “coloured”, so to speak, in a certain way, and there could be large and crucial chunks missing from them, holes within the unfolding story which could, unfortunately, only ever be filled through external effort by Noctua himself.

 

Despite their best efforts and the veritable mountain of pressure I put them under, the police repeatedly return not only empty-handed, but also completely clueless. There is no discernible pattern to the killings �" they target people of both sexes and of every age and status, they occur at inconsistent times in inconsistent locations and there are never any tracks leading from the victims, bizarre when one takes into account the copious amounts of bodily fluids spilled at every crime scene. The police dogs brought onto these scenes categorically refuse to cooperate with their owners. The dogs’ handlers swear up and down that their hounds can pick up some scent �" they simply become timid and refuse to track it, no matter how their handlers may try and coerce them into obeying. That in particular is what disturbs me the most about the entire affair. Just what in the world am I dealing with here?

 

What indeed, Alexander mused, turning right into a narrow, unremarkable alley where he’d parked his car. Noctua liked privacy in everything he did, and the places he parked his vehicles at he considered no less important than where he himself may choose to rest. Before he had some confirmation of his suspicions, he wished to keep his presence away from prying eyes, the same reason why he’d entered the Rathaus through the back door. Now that he knew where he’d be heading first, a change of tactics was in order. Noctua would dispense with the cloak and brandish the dagger, and if Hartwig hesitated to meet him after viewing that, it would be as good a confirmation as any.  

He didn’t doubt Hartwig would have something to do with this �" all the evidence pointed in his direction. One of his kind was surely responsible, there was enough proof of that… More than enough proof, in fact. So much proof it made one wander what might have gone awry within to Stuttgartrudel for them to have become not only homicidal, but downright sloppy. Noctua would never claim he knew Hartwig all that well, but “lazy” was not an attribute he’d ever consider attaching to the man.

 

After the first week, the killings cease, as suddenly as they began. Five people are dead in total, and the locals from the area in which the butchering has taken place are greatly unnerved. But after three weeks pass and no more bodies turn up, I allow myself to believe, or rather, hope, that things will return to normal for good. That is as good as jinxing the damn thing, apparently. About a month after the first victim is discovered, another killing takes place. Two nights after that another, and so on. In total, four people die this time around, and once again, after a week, the killings cease. I am at wit’s end about the entire situation. The national press takes note this time, however, and the “Stuttgart butcheries” become a widely-discussed topic for a few precious days. And though, in this age of information overdose, talk of the problem dies away almost immediately after it peaks, it does manage to grab the attention of several prominent people, one of whom is my old acquaintance and one-time co-worker in Berlin, Paul Reigener.

 

Noctua almost scoffed at the final memory. He doubted this Reigener character actually properly understood the advice he gave to Stolz, or how little the Order would care for a couple bodies left rotting in the streets every month or so. They would financially ruin the city before they sent a kill-team to deal with the issue, provided they’d send one at all. There were always far more lucrative contracts available for the knights than hunting after beasts through filthy alleyways and chilly german forests, and Noctua knew only precious few of his former colleagues would even seriously consider the contract, and certainly not for a sum easily paid by the city council.

He finally approached his vehicle, an unassuming black Volkswagen with no overly outlandish features. Naturally, all the car windows were bulletproof and the bumper was reinforced to better withstand high-speed impacts, but otherwise the car appeared perfectly ordinary. Huginn was already perched on one of his rear-view mirrors, his head cocked to the side quizzically as he regarded Noctua’s approach, a clear sign of impatience on the raven’s part.

“How much did you catch?” Noctua called to his companion, speaking out loud. As good as he may be at it, one should not rely on telepathy too much whenever he doesn’t need to. It puts unnecessary pressure on the brain cells, and Noctua knew of sorcerers who became unable of initiating oral conversations after becoming too accustomed to speaking directly to the minds of others. Great as their powers may be, Noctua had seen one too many of his fellows become slaves to them, rather than their masters. Nothing was good in excess, and that went double for something as dangerous as magic.

“Enough. So, would you have done it?” Huginn’s words echoed inside his skull, a slightly altered version of his own voice this time. Huginn’s “voice” was never entirely the same, largely because it was not in fact a real voice. Instead, one could describe the way in which Alexander’s companion spoke as stringing together thoughts of words and adding a certain flavour to them. The most readily available flavour, and the one Noctua’s mind was most familiar with, was naturally his own voice.

“What do you think?” Alexander asked, walking around his car and unlocking the trunk. They both knew what the raven was talking about.

“I don’t think, I know, silly. I know what crosses your mind. And I know you’d take the job no matter how that all ended. Just as you did all the others” Huginn turned his beady eyes towards the warlock. He looked like a perfectly ordinary raven in most aspects, except for those very eyes �" they were far too pronounced, far too intelligent and expressive for even a bird as intelligent as a raven to possess.

“Then why even ask? Good grief,” Alexander replied, irritated now as he opened his trunk and began to select his armament for the mission. He would go in quietly at first �" walking in with anything larger than a handgun would be as good as a declaration of war, but he could also not afford to take chances. He went over his assorted collection of firearms and weapons �" most of them would get him put away for life in Germany without a doubt �" and eventually settled for his favoured, classic loadout. A pair of his trusted CZ-75s he concealed beneath his jacket, checking each one last time to make sure nothing was off, and added a couple of tear gas grenades and flashbangs, though he would prefer to not use these. Yet should he get into this fight without a proper weapon, they might very well mean the difference between life and death for him.

“You know why. You keep doing this to yourself, Noctua. Taking jobs where no one is offering any, working for alms, forcing yourself upon your clients, dragging them into this crazy world of ours…”

“It’s their world too, whether they want to admit it or not” Noctua scoffed, cocking one of the pistols. “Not my fault people choose to tiptoe around uncomfortable subjects even when live are at stake.”

“You know what I mean, Alexander” Huginn’s voice grew more urgent now, pressing harder against the inside of his skull. “As much as you might despise what has become of the Order, you must understand that they cannot operate like you do. And you can’t afford to do this forever either. What if he proved too stubborn, hm? Have you considered that? Of course, you have, you just wouldn’t care, you’d simply work completely free of charge once again, risking your life and the lives of all the people you might save instead for nothing.”

“We’ve had this debate before, Huginn. Would you skip to the point? You know what I think of the matter one way or the other.”

“The saying from your country I always liked the most was “not even a mad hen pecks for free”. I like it because, apart from the hilarity of imagining an actually insane specimen of poultry running around aimlessly, it’s also a saying you ought to have bashed into your skull with an iron rod every morning, evening and afternoon you wake up, so that, just maybe, it might finally get through to you, silly. I’ll repeat �" if you risk your life for nothing, you might not be able to help those who would actually reward you for your help. Is that what you really want, Noctua? To burn out and be powerless to help people actually in need of it?”

“No Huginn, that is not what I want. And my answer will remain the same. I will help anyone who I know requires my assistance. No buts. No half-measures. No compromises. I am well aware compromises are necessary for the world to work” he spoke, checking the throwing knives he carried within his sleeves to see all were within easy reach.

“I do not care. Plenty of other people are free to compromise for the sake of their supposed greater good. But, as you well know, someone needs to take care of the trash. Someone has to wipe away the scraps and the leftovers. And that someone can only be worth a damn if he does his job to the fullest of his capabilities. That is, if he does not let innocents get torn apart every month in their own streets, simply because he failed to find someone willing to pay him for sticking his neck out.”

He finally looked directly at the raven, the black bird who remained his closest, only companion, who understood him better than anyone, and who, like everyone else, insisted he was wrong.

“Especially not if those same innocents are getting torn apart because of his very choices in the past” he exclaimed, leaning forward to pull an elongated, slender object from the car as Huginn turned his head away, disappointed and, perhaps only slightly, ashamed.

“You cannot be sure of that, Alexander…”

“Can I not? Do not misunderstand, it would be a welcome news for me, to realise I have nothing to do with history repeating itself in this town. But how likely is that, honestly?” he asked, finally pulling out what he was looking for.

His sword, wrapped in its dark leather sheath, seemed to glisten slightly even in the dull, cloudy morning of Stuttgart. The pommel was inscribed with the litanies and binding vows of the Order, vows which rang oh-so-hollow in this age, and still depicted the Order’s coat-of-arms. Despite everything he’d seen and done, despite everything he’d sworn to uphold and despite his current feelings about the group, Noctua would never remove those markings from the weapon. They were a memento �" both of what his life ought to have been, way back when, and that he had earned, for both good and ill, his current status and position. He earned that blade; he’d helped craft it. And he’d received it just the way it was now.

Besides, there ought to be at least one sword forged within the Order’s facilities which still helped uphold the ideals it was founded upon.

Noctua attached the scabbard to his belt, then went over his armament once more. Two CZ-75 Bs, both concealed beneath his jacket. Two tear gas grenades, attached to his belt. His jacket, naturally, contained all the essential esoterica he might require impromptu. His runic knife was by his right hip, as ever, and he made sure that his sword would be easily discernible and not obscured by his uniform. There was, after all, also a more pragmatic reason to bring it along.

Huginn now perched on Noctua’s arm, excited as ever by the prospect of Noctua picking a firearm he was particularly fond of for any given task. The raven was a Norseman at heart, much like his maker, and though he may scoff at technology and science and broadly reject advances these had achieved in general, that disposition seemed ever to vanish when firepower was being discussed. Unfortunately for Huginn, Noctua preferred to work quietly and not draw the incorrect kind of attention, so using anything too loud or messy was usually off the table.

“You ought to take it” Huginn said, and Noctua knew what he meant instantly. One of the perks of telepathic communication was that there was very little chance of misunderstanding or uncertainty. Those who spoke to each could send pictures, impressions and desires hand-in-hand with spoken words.

In this case, Huginn meant, as he always did, that Noctua ought to arm himself with the elegant yet simple Mossberg 930 in the back of his trunk. The raven seemed to have developed something of a crush on the weapon ever since Noctua last used it over a year ago when hunting for wendigo in northern Nunavut, and was constantly urging Alexander to use it again.

“No” he replied, closing the trunk.

“You’re taking the bloody sword, but not something actually useful against…”

“The sword is not merely for combat, Huginn. It is a statement. It’s also the reason why I’m walking to the tea house across the city. Something about this doesn’t feel right. I know Hartwig and his crew must be connected, but it feels… wrong, somehow.”

“If we get attacked…”

“We’ll be prepared. We’re always prepared. Besides, it’s daytime, they won’t be at their full power. The sword will do. It did the last time too. I want Hartwig to know I’m coming. I want to see his response. That’ll give me all the answers I need regarding his complicity.”

“And if he chooses to flee?”

“He won’t.”

 

A man dressed from head-to-toe in black, walking across the city with a very clearly visible longsword and a suspiciously designed jacket does, naturally, cause something of a stir in every city, but in Germany, where such heavy restrictions are placed on even ordinary blades, it was more unusual than one might guess.

Still, Noctua was not overtly worried about getting arrested or interrogated. If push came to shove, all the police would see once he pulled the sword from its leather would be a smooth piece of wood, a simple practice stick which anyone was free to carry. Of course, they would actually be looking at a meter long and two kilograms heavy steel blade, honed to a razor’s edge and inscribed with wards, runes and glyphs, a master-crafted weapon with only a couple hundred siblings ever brought into existence. Noctua had made use of this trick so many times by this point, he’d barely paused to consider it. Getting stopped by police was, simply put, a trivial matter for him these days.

What concerned him far more was the other beings his appearance might attract, specifically whether he’d be lucky enough to run into someone he wanted to see him �" someone who would recognize instantly what Noctua’s presence meant.

He sent Huginn to scout from above, and they remained effortlessly in contact via their mental link. Alexander did not wish to give away this partner he had acquired since his last visit, and in the autumn skies already packed with pigeons, sparrows and crows, a large black raven flying over his head would elude even the sharpest gaze.

Stuttgart was, comparatively, a small city, and with his ever-spry step, accelerated even more now by his incessant frustration and worry, Noctua swiftly made his way across the Schlossstrasse and into the depths of the old town. All the time, his gaze never ceased moving, scanning one aspect of his surroundings after another. From the sidewalk to the road, from the road to the windows, from the windows to the doors, Noctua’s cold blue eyes landed upon every single person around him. Whenever he made eye contact, his mind established a brief link, and so Noctua could take in and assess their initial reaction instantly. Confusion, bewilderment, a hint of fear in most, but never much more. All these were reactions he’d grown very accustomed to by now.

“Got her” Huginn’s “voice” sounded through his mind just as Noctua was checking the thoughts of a boy approximately twelve years old. One could never be too cautious of who enemy informants might be, or how they may choose to look. Better safe than sorry.

Noctua suppressed his instinctual desire to turn to the location Huginn had sent him, continuing to scan the other civilians in view. “Who?” he asked, using only telepathy now.

“A woman, approximately thirty-five to forty, brown hair, narrow glasses, yellow and black skirt” Huginn spoke, sending a mental image to Noctua as he finished.

“She noticed you?”

“Unlikely, but she’s definitely noticed you. She’s panicking internally, but is still able to keep an outer cool. She’s unsure of whether you’re here for them. Will you reach out?”

“Counterproductive. Should I confirm her doubts, I might not get an earnest reaction out of the pack. Better to see what they’ll do if they don’t necessarily know why I’m in town.”

Satisfied, Noctua turned toward the nearest side alley and made to vanish within, slowing down slightly to give the female a chance to warn the others. Still, he couldn’t just waste time, so he continued his advance toward the Heiligtum, internally considering which way of entry might be more productive.

“Thoughts?” he sent to Huginn, who made sure he’d only separate from the other birds above the main road once Noctua had been at least two streets away. The link between them had grown strong enough over the years they could afford to be almost three hundred meters from each other and not require a visual connection.

“I’d advise sticking to your original plan fully and walking straight through the front entrance. There’s bound to be regular customers in the shop, so it’s most unlikely they’ll try anything funny outright.”

“Agreed” Noctua mused, wondering what the reaction to his return might be. Anger? Fear? Confusion? Bluffing? Anyway, he decided he’d do best to concentrate now, elsewise he may not be able to tell when the times comes.

The Heiligtum. Shrine, some might translate, but Noctua knew it meant something more along the lines of “sanctuary” in this particular case. For a tea house and café, it was decidedly a fitting name �" a calm, quiet place, where all men could find comfort and relax with something warm to sip and enjoy. Of course, to its owner and his ilk, it had a more symbolic meaning, but either way, Noctua could not doubt it looked welcoming enough. The walls were a pleasing hue of wooden dark brown and beige, the windows were large but not completely revealing, so there was just the right amount of light passing through, and the paintings and old-school photographs which hung from its walls only added to its nineteenth century atmosphere.

Noctua had asked Huginn to hang back for now and observe at a distance. The raven was ever Alexander’s ace in the hole, and this time, that might very well be a game-changer should Noctua find himself attacked.

Arriving before the tea house, a comparatively small building within the depths of old Stuttgart, Noctua felt the need to once again go over his equipment, to check if everything was as it ought to be. He supressed it. He could never afford to show uncertainty. Save for Huginn, he was alone now. He used to think that, as a leader, it was more important not to show whenever you were uncertain, that you could afford to display doubt more often when alone. Nothing could be further from the truth. Alone, there was only one voice a man could obey. His own. And as a soldier has to trust his officer, so too Noctua had to trust his own judgment with his life. If only that trust hadn’t been broken on previous occasions…

He took a deep breath and walked into the tea shop.

 

Tanya’s tears could not be entirely concealed.

True, she was good at hiding her emotions at most times. She had to be. She was the older sibling, after all, she had to be strong for both of them, which meant that crying in the open was unthinkable. Besides, it discomforted the customers, to see a still fairly young girl like her bawling her eyes out while at work. They might get the wrong impression of the café, which might lead to herr Hohenbach’s reputation taking a hit. Simply put, crying at work was not an option.

And yet her eyes remained red and moist since the moment she had woken up. She cried at home, of course, and not a little, so she supposed she might have spent all her grief once she came to work. The smell of freshly ground coffee and hot tea always made her feel more at ease �" they reminded her of safety, solitude and warmth. And, naturally, her work was not an easy one �" the Heiligtum café prided itself as an old-school establishment with respect for its customers, their time and their money. A combination of pleasing aromas and a difficult, day-long job should have by all means put her mind at ease for just a little bit. And yet, she still felt the urge to cry all the same.

She suppressed it, though. She’d learned that trick a long time ago. Whenever you’re sad, look for a flower and focus on its petals, mom would say. Yes, she remembered that phrase quite distinctly. Look at the petals, mom would tell her whenever her teeth began to ache. The petals are a wondrous thing �" when put together, they look entirely different than when they’re alone and separated.

There was a handful of flowers in pots placed around the café, real flowers with real petals, and one of Tanya’s favourite pastimes was tending to them. Their smell, to her a hundred times more powerful than to most, reminded her of happier days, and when combined with the warmth of tea and the pleasing colours of the café’s main room, it could cheer her up from almost any melancholy.

But not from this. Once again, after so many years, she found herself grieving for a loved one. After all these years, that pain had returned, as strong as it had ever been, eating away at her heart and lungs, burning in her chest cavity, twisting her small intestine into knots of painful memories.

That is why, even at work, she could not help but cry a little.

Fortunately, they didn’t have many customers that day. Tanya was most grateful for that, as usually they’d get all manner of people in here during the weekend �" their establishment was one of the more favoured and respectable in northern Stuttgart, and, especially during the summer, there were days when new customers arrived as soon as the old ones left. She didn’t know how her mind would respond to such amount of stress.

Herr Hohenbach implored both her and Torsten to take a break for a couple of days, but Tanya knew she’d eat herself up if she was left alone at home. It didn’t help that the Time of Change was upon her either. Waking up naked, tired and sweaty every morning will work wonders on a person’s attitude, and copious amounts of coffee both siblings drank could only help replace proper sleep up to a point.

Torsten returned behind the desk, her twin a veritable copy of her in almost every aspect �" the same dark brown hair, the same hazel eyes, the same hawkish nose and pronounced jawline and the same thin lips. Tanya had even taken to wearing her hair short, so that none could separate the two by appearance through merely a scant glance, with one of her bangs ever covering one of her eyes. Torsten joked that he had to be careful about showing off his girlfriends in front of his sister �" if he wasn’t around, Tanya could very well swoop in and take his place for an evening. Tanya found it juvenile, but Torsten still had a point. Looking at him was almost like looking into a mirror.

Today was no exception. Where Tanya’s face was twisted by sadness, Torsten’s teeth had been audibly scratching against each other for a couple of days now, something which, if nothing else, drove Tanya to greater anger as well. The pup was furious herr Hohenbach kept insisting he sit on the side-lines and do nothing to catch the culprits, he was itching for a fight, and Tanya was glad he failed to get into one yesterday after school �" such a thing might have had catastrophic consequences.

Still, she understood her younger brother. She often got the impression they shared a soul, to a degree, though she had no knowledge whether such a thing was even possible. She knew too little about magic to speculate on that. Heck, she barely knew enough about herself! Either way, it appeared as though his anger spread into her, and her grief spread into him, as time went on, and so they, in a strange way, kept each other equally miserable. They really needed something, someone, some target to take the edge off, something to squeeze and punch and chew and…

“Stop it!” she caught herself internally, almost biting her own tongue to retain control. “Remember who you are. Think of the petals”. But the petals failed to calm her.

“Think we’ll get more customers today?” she asked as her brother returned to her side.

“Can’t tell. Can’t hear any familiar footsteps down the road. Though there is someone interesting approaching” her brother mused, cocking his head to the side slightly so as to get a better angle at the oncoming sound which had so intrigued him. Tanya paid him little mind at first, but then, she realised he was right. There was something interesting about the footsteps coming in from the north. The boots were heavy, probably military or something akin to that, and the steps taken with them were firm and decisive, indicating a driven man with a specific destination in mind as the source.

Ordinarily, Tanya would still pay such a thing little mind, but it was Saturday in old Stuttgart �" no one who came here at such a time had business to attend to, certainly not on this street at least. Most people who came here came for tea, coffee and biscuits, not to discuss serious affairs.

Call it paranoia, call it sixth sense, call it whatever you desire, Tanya sensed trouble looming in the air. And perhaps, just a little bit, she yearned for trouble. She wanted to hurt someone, yes, there was no point denying it. She wanted for someone else to have a day as miserable as hers had been.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Torsten turned to her, his expression changing slightly �" he too seemed to be spoiling for a clash, if nothing else then at least a verbal argument, where he could expend his pent-up frustration and bitter rage.

“Let’s not read into it too much. Could just be a busy man with a busy day” Tanya said, though she was evidently trying to convince herself more than she was her brother. Something didn’t feel right about this, and Tanya had learned to trust her instincts long ago.

“Let’s just wait and see what the person will have to say and what he’ll do. You provoke him in any way, I’ll pull out your teeth, got it?” Tanya hissed at her brother, though he paid her little regard, his focus now entirely on the red door of the café. The footsteps were clearly audible now, right behind the entrance. None of their seven present guests seemed to have taken note of their behaviour. Martin was still weaving his way through the tables, asking for orders and taking away empty mugs and cups, though he too had evidently noticed something was off. Right as Tanya wanted to walk over and talk to their superior about it, the doors were opened by a figure dressed head to toe in black clothes, with a thrice-damned medieval longsword by his side.

Instantly, Tanya’s skin began to itch, goosebumps rose on the back of her neck and her entire body grew rigid. Had she been less disciplined with her behaviour, she would have instinctively lowered her head and began growling like an angry dog, but she managed to maintain control over herself. Torsten evidently had more trouble doing so, but he too managed to remain composed.

That scent though?! The newcomer practically oozed danger to her �" not aggression or malice, but simply lethal danger. It was, for lack of a better expression, like looking at a pile of dynamite �" hardly impressive as it was, but all knew the power stored within. Tanya took an instant, unreasonable and primal, dislike of him.

The man smelled of death, of old blood and older magic. Tanya didn’t need to know much about magic to understand who this man was. The fact he had come here so brazenly, however, displaying his status for all to see, confused her. What was his game here? Had he come for them? Surely he had �" coincidences like this simply didn’t happen. But why then walk right into what he must have known to be the lion’s den? It made no sense.

Yet, no matter what might happen, Tanya felt just the slightest bit of gratitude towards whomever or whatever may have brought the knight to her doorstep on this day. The man was here with hostile intent, surely, with the aim of killing or driving out those she still loved. That was good, excellent in fact. Tanya needed someone to punch, badly. With every passing moment of her inactivity, the risk of her taking out her suppressed rage on an innocent person increased. And here was a killer, a murderer of her kin, with surely hostile intentions, come to her at just the moment she needed to cause a bit of misery herself.

She glanced around at Torsten, briefly, and saw her brother was thinking the same thing. Yet she couldn’t give anything away. The stranger dutifully wiped his boots on the rug before the door, then went straight to the desk. There was no hostility in his movements, but Tanya wouldn’t let herself be fooled. She knew that, should he wish it, the knight could attack them both in an instant, and she kept her hands on the ready by her sides.

Then she forced a smile on her lips, her eyes drying slightly now that excitement filled her stomach. She sniffed at the newcomer, probing for his emotions and intentions, but came away mostly empty-handed. The knight was apparently no amateur, and he kept his goals veiled behind a web of politeness and formality as he walked up to the Eisenstein siblings.

“Good morning” he spoke, his German very good though with a clearly audible accent, one suggesting Eastern Europe. “I’d like to order a coffee, please.”

Almost thirty seconds passed before Tanya realised both her and Torsten had been simply standing there, staring at the stranger who kept a polite, easy smile on his face the whole time. The request was so mundane, so common, she was taken by total surprise. Tanya was the first to come to, whilst Torsten glanced back at Martin, who was now hurrying back to them, likewise sensing trouble.

“Naturally, sir. What will it be? Latte, espresso, double…”

“Just regular coffee will do. What do you call it… americano, yes, that’s the word.”

He was still very polite about the whole thing. That bothered her. Had she miscalculated? Perhaps this was merely a coincidence. Or maybe he was trying to make her think that, to make her doubt herself? Or maybe…

“Very well, sir, anything to go with it? Some sugar, milk, cream?”

“No, thank you kindly, I enjoy my coffee the same way I enjoy my nights” the knight replied, his deadpan tone leaving her uncertain as to whether his last line ought to have been a joke.

Tanya shook her head uncertainly, and bade Torsten to begin making the coffee. Whatever his ulterior motives may be, a customer is still a customer. The knight began observing the place, his gaze slowly moving from painting to painting as he took the room in. Several guests threw surprised looks his way, owing likely to the sword still strapped to his side, but few spared him more than a brief glance before returning to their own matters. The same couldn’t be said for Martin, who had finally managed to make his way over to his subordinates, very evidently nervous.

“Good morning sir! How may we be of assistance?”

“Well, your underlings here have already taken my order, so I’d just like to pay in advance if at all possible” the knight said, reaching inside his coat. Tanya tensed at that, clawing her hands involuntarily under the desk, and even Martin grew rigid for just a second. A false alarm. The man simply withdrew a small, dark wallet from the inside of his jacket, pulled a few coins from it and placed them before Tanya. “I believe this ought to cover it?”

“Y-yes sir” Tanya replied hesitantly, her anticipation fading now. What game was he playing? If he registered the tension in the waiters around him, the man made sure not to show. He still had that vexing polite smile on his face, which made Tanya despise him on a base level. She knew the smile was fake, and she hated herself for knowing it almost as much as she did him for wearing it. It was the same smile she would wear on a regular day.

Torsten placed the man’s coffee before him and retreated, his hands pressed to his sides. The stranger, however, made no move to take a seat. He took the cup, thanked the staff, and took a long, deep sip, savouring the dark liquid.

When he put the cup down, his expression had changed slightly �" from simply polite and cordial to a more quizzing, investigative one.

“Excellent coffee, young man. You clearly have a knack for this kind of work” he said, then turned towards Martin. “Could I perchance speak to the manager?”

Martin grew really uneasy at that. “Wh-whatever for sir? Is something wrong with your coffee?”

“No, not at all, the coffee is quite delicious. But something is wrong, Martin. Something within this city is wrong. And I believe herr Hohenbach knows what it is. So, is he here?” the knight said, and now there was a clearly audible shift to his tone �" under the polite outer veneer, something cold and demanding echoed, an attitude which would not tolerate dissent.

Silence spread then, though none of the other customers took note of it, continuing to mind their own business. Tanya could not help but stare directly at the man’s face. There was something harsh about it all of a sudden, an unspoken threat of sorts, and Tanya came to the startling  realisation that the man standing across from her, with his polite smile and calm, even voice, was fully willing to kill her right then and there without so much as batting an eye. She wanted to reach across the table, to grab his face and pull it off, tear wet chunks of flesh from this masque and see what he was really like underneath that façade, she wanted to rip out his heart and kick him out of the doorway, she wanted to kill him as fast as possible so that no one else she knew got hurt. She knew she wouldn’t live through another tragedy like that.

But she couldn’t. She’d have to slaughter all her customers if such a thing came to pass, and who knows whether that’d be enough? And she refused, categorically, to commit such an abominable act, even should it be the only option. Be a hunter, not a butcher, yes, those were herr Hohenbach’s words, don’t become a monster. That meant she would have to run; they would all have to run. But where to? Stuttgart was the only home she knew, the only place where she could have a life without merely surviving.

She suppressed a twitch in her fingers as her body made to scratch with claws that weren’t there, and began to formulate a plan. One of them would have to remain here, so that the customers wouldn’t get too suspicious. Martin would be the best pick. He was a fairly passive person; he wouldn’t be much use in a fight. Besides, she and Torsten, whenever they worked together, were unstoppable. She didn’t know how good this knight was, she’d never fought a knight before to tell the truth, but d****t all, she’d end him here and now before she let him touch her remaining friends, even if it cost her life and soul!

Her resolution calmed her. Barely thirty seconds had passed. She regained her smile, looked the stranger directly in the eye and spoke.

“I believe herr Hohenbach went in the back, to the storage room, he’s going over the inventory. Should I call for him or would you prefer to come along?”

The knight took her in then, measured her from top to bottom, his smile never fading but never reaching up to his eyes. Two tiny shards of ice they were, piercing through her skin and burning under her nails, and she had to throttle the immense urge to gouge them out then and there. Anger was eating at her from within, she knew, but the mummer’s farce was nearly over, she was more than sure. She spared a glance at Torsten, and thought, no, she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. They always thought the same, felt the same, worked the same. Yes, together, they were complete, one soul in two bodies.

“That would probably be a good idea” the knight conceded eventually, putting down his coffee and nodding towards Tanya.

“Torsten, could you come and help? You know the storage room better than I do. Martin, tend to the customers” Tanya said, already walking to the exit door.

“Now, Tanya, I think I ought to…” Martin began, but Tanya cut him off.

“I know, I know, but you know how I am with people, Martin, they’ll always prefer to talk to you rather than have me hovering over their shoulder” Tanya said, her voice as cheerful as possible. She knew Martin would understand. If anything went wrong, the Stuttgartrudel would miss her and her brother a lot less than it would Martin as a Delta. Tanya and Torsten were Zetas, and they were each other’s only family. No one would miss them. Martin had a wife; he’d soon have little ones of his own. No point in him risking his life here.

The knight walked behind her, either oblivious to the unspoken dialogue going on between the café staff, or very good at pretending to be so. “Well, any chance I might actually get to talk to Hartwig?” he asked.

“Apologies sir. Right this way” Tanya spoke, letting Torsten go first, then the intruder with her as the tail. They walked down a narrow flight of stairs to where the Heiligtum stored its goods. The room was fairly spacious for a such a place, which suited the twins very well. It was, after all, also the place where herr Hohenbach had taught them how to fight. Almost as if he’d been preparing them for this very day. Now to just time it correctly and it would all be over soon.

Twenty steps, nineteen steps, eighteen steps.

Could she do it? Could she murder someone like this? In cold blood, from the behind?

Twelve steps. Eleven steps. Ten steps.

She was certain she could. That frightened her, to a degree, although not nearly as much as it probably ought to have

Five steps. Four steps. Three steps.

The door to the storage room was bulky and heavy, it’d muffle all sound almost perfectly

once they were closed. Certainly, none of the guests upstairs would hear a thing, even in the quiet of the café.

Two steps. One step. Zero.

Torsten pushed open the heavy door. “Herr Hohenbach?” he called out, as if the manager was actually meant to be down there. She decided she’d go for the neck �" that ought to prevent him from causing too much noise. She didn’t know if mages required words to cast spells, but she decided not to take chances.

Torsten walked in, the stranger followed. Tanya decided to make her move the moment he was three feet inside. It didn’t matter how quick he was. She’d be quicker. She was always quicker. Faster, stronger, tougher, nimbler than humans. She could do this. She was a predator.

“A predator you say?” a voice appeared inside her head, unwelcome and invasive. It sent a migraine into Tanya’s skull and made her flinch. A second’s irritation, but that was enough. Before she could do anything, the knight swirled around, one hand reaching into his jacket, grabbing something from within its pitch-black depths. Tanya’s hand shot out, clawing at the man’s throat, but his action took less time. A cloud of grey-white powder hit Tanya in the face, scratching at her already sore eyes, filling her nose and forcing a wracking cough out of her, rendering her confused and still.

The knight grabbed her below the throat, extended his right leg, swept her from her feet by tripping her and sent her rolling into the storage vault. Torsten watched the entire thing wide-eyed, a hand on his temple indicating he too had gone through a migraine. He growled, arching his back and preparing to leap at the stranger himself, but was hit in the face with a small leather pouch, from which the same filthy white dust began to spill. Tanya gasped for air, immediately springing back to her feet and turning around. Behind her, the knight closed the heavy door and turned off the lights. And he was gone.

Tanya suddenly found she couldn’t breathe very well. Partially it was due to the powder, she suspected. Upon entering her mouth, she could taste it had a metallic residue, and suspected she knew what it contained. Silver. B*****d.

Partially, however, it was due to the events which had just transpired. He knew what they were planning, the son-of-a-b***h pulled the plan straight from their heads. The very thought of such a debasing, violating action made Tanya want to vomit with hatred and fear. Worst thing was, she didn’t even realise he’d been rummaging through her brain until he decided to show his hand. That wasn’t right. She ought to be more sensitive towards such actions than regular humans, she was…

“Good morning, Tanya. I have a few questions. You will now answer them. I know you’ll struggle and refuse, so I apologise for the pain in advance.”

Once again, the voice, that terrible voice inside her skull. She knew it belonged to him, it had the same cold, stoic quality to it as when the knight spoke physically, though there was no hint of an accent now. Tanya’s gaze flew across the room. Even in pitch blackness, she could see with minimal difficulty, but now her eyes were even more sore and wet than before, as she struggled to remove the residue of the silver powder from her face. She instinctively sniffed at the air and crouched down low, casting a brief glance at Torsten.

Her brother was now similarly impaired, and so the two siblings stood back to back, frantically expecting an attack from all sides. Torsten was evidently scared now, wildly licking at his lips, and Tanya realised that, for all his cocksure bravado and boasting, her brother was just kid at heart. Whatever had she done? She sentenced them both to die down here. If Martin doesn’t come to help them, if herr Hohenbach…

No! This was her mess, and her mess alone! She wouldn’t let anyone else suffer because of it! She’ll kill this monster, here and now, and then, she’ll go searching for the b*****d who gutted Priska and Micha, no matter what herr Hohenbach…

“Intriguing” the voice in her head whispered, making Tanya shudder with revulsion once again.

“Get out of my head!” Tanya shrieked, continuing to look over the room.

“You hear him too?” asked Torsten, still surveying the room around them. Nothing made sense, the room was not big enough for the b*****d to have hidden anywhere, not without them noticing him move. It seemed as though, the moment the lights went off, the knight had simply vanished, melted back into the darkness which had birthed him.

Tanya tried to sniff the man out, but to little avail. Her nose was hit the hardest by the powder, and she could hardly breathe through her mouth, much less try and track the warlock. “Why can’t I see him?!” she yelled in desperate frustration.

“The light!” Torsten cried, grabbing Tanya by the arm. “He’s using the shadows, Tan! We turn the light back on, he’s done for.”

“Right!” Tanya yelled back, mostly to bolster her own resolution. Blinking rapidly to help her see at least, she and Torsten made for the light switch. She hoped that, should they turn it back on, whatever magic he was using to remain invisible would be undone, and then…

“Mistake,” his voice came, completely audible, from her right. She turned just in time to see the figure, black as midnight in his outfit, literally appear out of nowhere from the gloom, as though drawing substance from the shadows themselves. Tanya’s heart skipped a beat, it seemed, but she would not be cowed. The moment he got close enough, she’d grab him, the neck, a limb, something, anything, and then, with one strong tug, it would all be over. No matter how swift he may be, Tanya had the strength of a beast, and…

The knight’s arm shot out once again, this time releasing a small, angular object from his palm, which flew straight at Tanya. She swiped it away with ease, though it did leave a small cut as its blade hit her fingers. Only too late did she realise that was exactly what he’d been counting on her to do. Before she could refocus on him, the stranger’s closed right fist hit her square in the jaw, she couldn’t take the punch and was sent flying ignobly to the floor.

How could it be? What of Tanya’s strength and endurance? What of her resilience even herr Hohenbach had praised? She collapsed like a sack of potatoes, her head spinning madly and once again coughing up residue powder. Goddamn that s**t! She couldn’t focus at all!

Dimly, she perceived as Torsten tumbled to the ground next to her, apparently too stunned by Tanya’s swift defeat to mount a proper defence. Tanya was furious she’d let him down so. She looked around, and once again, the knight was gone, vanished into the shade.

“You… you okay?” Torsten managed to cough out, still wheezing on the ground. From the sound of it, the knight punched him in his chest, and not gently. That only served to make the effect of the noxious powder even worse.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” she rasped, forcing herself back onto her feet. Her head was spinning like a windmill and her cough showed no sign of passing. Damn that s**t! Damn that b*****d! Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Tanya tried to rise at that, her enhanced physiology already repairing the damage done by the impact. The punch had been strong and precise enough to break a regular human’s jaw, but her pain was already subsiding. The moment she stood up, she’d punch that sorcerer’s head clean off, let him see what he thinks of that. Then, another movement caught her gaze.

The knight materialised from darkness, barely two feet from her, swiftly crossed the distance and kicked Tanya in the ribs, the impact sending her tumbling to her side in agony. Torsten, still on the ground, growled at that, but the mage was gone once again, nowhere to be seen. Moments later, he became visible behind her brother, at roughly the same distance he’d shown himself from her, and delivered a roundhouse kick right into Torsten’s left temple, the force so focused and brutal Tanya feared for a moment that Torsten’s neck might get snapped. Fortunately, her brother merely howled like a beaten dog and fell back, face first onto the cold stone floor.

Tanya realised she was next and struggled once again to stand. The knight did not give her that chance, but she was expecting that by now. As he appeared once again, preparing a downwards punch aimed directly at her nape, Tanya twisted around and grabbed his arm. Yes! She had him. Now all she had to do was pull, and they had won.

If the knight was surprised by this turn of events, however, he did not let it show. Instead of trying to free his entrapped arm, he immediately reached inside his jacket with his other hand, and threw something to the ground before turning away. She looked down at it �" a stupid mistake, she realised at once. That same instant, the small, oval object exploded in a flash of light, overwhelming her finely tuned senses and leaving her screaming on the ground. Her eyes were stinging, her ears were ringing with noise, and her throat was still so full of that disgusting silvery s**t!

Torsten tried to get back up, and like clockwork, the knight was upon him, left hand extended in another punch to the head. Though already dazed, her brother, bless his soul, managed to catch the flying fist in the nick of time. The sorcerer simply waved his right hand, sending a wave of indigo light across the room, bright enough to hurt Tanya’s still pained eyes and certainly blinding Torsten, who was taken off guard by this. The stranger followed that up with a swift punch to the throat, his palm opened, which made Torsten gasp in pain and release the arm he still held, then followed it up by grabbing her brother’s head with both hands and slamming it against his knee. Torsten fell to the floor, how his face remained relatively unscathed Tanya had no clue. The light ceased, and once again, the knight was not there when she looked.

She had to get back up. She couldn’t stay down. If prey stays down, it’s as good as admitting defeat. That’s all she was now �" prey. No better than a rabbit in a cage! A predator? Her? What was she thinking? She wasn’t capable of killing anyone, certainly not a monster like this! She was useless, so weak and so utterly useless, just like when mom died. And now she’d die here, in the cold and dark, unable to protect Torsten, unable to protect her friends…

“Curious” the voice came once again, making her want to vomit. “But now it’s over. Remain still. Please.”

“Get up Torsten!” Tanya snapped, hate returning to her some measure of strength, finally regaining her footing.

“Run, sis’,” Torsten spat a bloody saliva from his mouth, then was wracked by another terrible cough.

“No! We can do this! Like we always do! Together, back to back!” Tanya screamed, gazing around in anticipation as she helped Torsten rise. “He has to become visible in order to attack. And I bet he’s already used up most of his toys, isn’t that right? Just don’t take your eyes off him once you see him, and he’s useless!”

“Not quite,” the knight spoke, appearing directly in front of Torsten and stabbing forward with the longsword, straight at his eye. Her brother was even swifter than her, and deflected the sword upwards with ease, but the knight seemed to have expected that as well. Instead of retreating, he barrelled forward, whilst Torsten’s hand was still extended, and smashed the pommel of his sword into her brother’s forehead, sending him back to the cold stone floor. Tanya roared and began slashing at the intruder, but the moment she made her first step, the knight kicked her in the knee, which caused her to lose her footing for the slightest moment. That’s all it took for him to pass into offense.

He swiped at her with a mighty sideways blow, putting his whole back behind it. Tanya caught it with ease, the impact reverberating through her arms and spine, and only then realised something that threw her off even more. The blade was not unsheathed �" she was holding soft, smooth leather. Effortlessly, the knight reversed the weapon, and Tanya’s right temple exploded with agony as she collapsed once more onto the stone.

She’d be able to get up in no time, she knew. Torsten was already trying to rise, laying right beside her, and their unique anatomy would allow them to recoup from their injuries in moments. Then, she heard the characteristic little click of a gun safety being released, and looked up.

The figure of the knight, still shrouded in darkness, towered above her, a handgun clasped in each hand, one aiming at her, one at her brother. She knew it was over. She could try to go for his feet, or go to grab the gun from him, but at such a small distance, the bullet would find a way into her no matter what she did. It wouldn’t matter at all if it was silver, which she was sure it was.

So, this is what death looked like, then. Like a towering, shade-wreathed phantom with shards of ice for eyes. She closed her own eyes at that thought. She was a coward, she knew, but she didn’t want to stare down that muzzle when the bullet came to claim her life.

“Tanya Eisenstein. Torsten Eisenstein. I have a few questions I’d like to ask. Cooperate, and I swear on my honour, neither of you have to suffer here. Continue to resist, and you will force my hand. You fought well, everything considered. Now…”

“Noctua!” a new voice sounded, as a beam of light swept into room from the open doors. Tanya tried to turn her head from where she lay, and saw Hartwig Hohenbach standing in the door, dressed as ever in a blue shirt under a grey vest, his blonde hair and beard wild and unkempt. Behind him, Martin tried to peer into the room, and froze as he saw the twins pinned to the ground below.

“Please, Noctua… don’t. I beg of you” Hartwig spoke, his voice pained, desperate, saturated with fear and… reverence? Reverence? For this monster? Why? Tanya had known herr Hohenbach for more than half of her life, and not once had she seen him so… humbled?

“Hartwig. Long time no see. Would you mind explaining all this?” Noctua asked, his tone conversational on the outside, but with that ever-present icy edge to it just below the surface.

“I know why you’re here. I can explain. It’s not one of us, Noctua, I swear to God.”

“Then why” Noctua began to speak, though his eyes never left the twins, “why do two young werewolves, under your command and directly in your care, if I’m not mistaken, attempt to lure me into a trap and assassinate me like a pair of common thugs? I thought you said the Stuttgartrudel was above such conduct?”

“We are, nothing’s changed about that…”

“Well, you can surely imagine why I find that hard to believe. After all, I come to a city plagued by three consecutive werewolf attacks, and then, when I issue a fair warning to give you chance to prepare an explanation, two of your people try to murder me in your own establishment…”

“Alexander Noctua, I swear to you upon my father’s grave, this is one big misunderstanding. I humbly apologise for Tanya and Torsten’s conduct and assure you it was entirely unsanctioned. I will deal with them later. Now please, I beg of you �" release them. Don’t let it all be in vain.”

Noctua’s eyes never left Tanya’s throughout that entire ordeal. Now that he was closer, she saw he was younger than he seemed at first �" he couldn’t have been older than thirty. He contemplated Hartwig’s words for a precious few seconds, seconds which seemed like years to Tanya. Then, he raised both his weapons and, slowly, deliberately, holstered them beneath his opened jacket. He walked over the Eisenstein twins, picking up his sword and the sharp metallic object Tanya now saw was a throwing star of sorts, and retrieving even the small leather pouch which contained that godawful dust.

Then, to her surprise, he walked over to Torsten, who was still only partly-conscious, and offered the boy a helping hand. Whether he was still dazed, or too weak, or simply grateful and impressed, her brother took the proffered hand and rose to his feet with Noctua’s help. All the while, Hartwig and Martin barely made a sound.

When Noctua walked over to Tanya and repeated his gesture, she had to force herself not to spit in his face instead. What was this? Why could this random stranger afford to walk all over the most senior members of the pack, as though he were some sort of long-lost friend? She shook with rage as she clambered to her feet, still unsteady and shaking, but hatred and anger bolstering her resolve.

Noctua said nothing at that, turning towards herr Hohenbach and taking off his right glove, hand extended in a greeting.

“It’s genuinely good to see you, Hartwig. I just wish we’d met under different circumstances. I apologise for spooking your pack, but I did my best not to cause permanent damage. Those two are stronger than most, I have no doubts they’ll walk it off in no time.”

Hartwig seemed a lot more at ease all of a sudden, as though a terrible, overbearing burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He shook Noctua’s hand firmly, to the point the knight winced just a bit at the strength of his grip, then turned his attention to Tanya and Torsten and his expression soured once more.

“You two �" into my office. Now.” He didn’t need to raise his voice. Both twins had obedience towards the Alpha written into their genes, and scrambled beside Hohenbach and the still concerned Martin up the stairs and away. Tanya’s hearing, although slightly woozy from the many blows to the head she’d taken, was still clear enough to hear out the rest of their conversation, however.

“I’ll call the pack immediately, Noctua, take it as a gesture of good faith. Besides, your presence is just one more reminder it’s high time we do something about these butcheries. Perhaps, with your help, we’ll be able to finally make some progress.”

“Are you sure you want to make that much progress, Hartwig? What if it turns out one of you is responsible after all? What then? You know my rule about this.”

“We had a deal, you and me, long ago, and I am a man of my word. Should the traitor be found out, I’ll let you deal with him as you deem fit.”

“We’ll see about that when I go through the pack. For now, let’s say I believe you. Who else could be behind these murders? Do you have any suspects?”

“I’ll tell you everything when the others arrive, it shouldn’t take longer than half an hour. All you need to know is, I have a rough idea of who we’re looking for. Make no mistake, Noctua, I want to put an end to this as much as you do.”

“I sure do hope so, Hartwig. I sure hope so.”

Tanya walked up the stairs without pause, with Torsten dragging himself behind her, still banged-up and dizzy. The anger within her now slowly gave way to surprise, and something else… something which felt good, something she hadn’t felt since the night Prisca and Micha died. She felt hope.

 

Noctua was sitting behind a large, oval table in the small, aesthetically pleasing office of the Heiligtum, directly above the main hall of the café. The room had a single window through which one could peer into the street in front of the café. Now, that window was covered by a heavy drape, so not even the few slivers of light which managed to fight their way through the grey clouds could not reach into the room beneath them.

Not that it mattered overmuch, their weak shine would not have been able to illuminate the simple, plainly elegant room he found himself in, better than the electric chandelier hanging from the yellow ceiling. Unlike the mayor’s office he’d found himself in earlier today, this was as much a meeting place as it was an office, and so whilst no less than five fully stacked bookshelves lined the walls, the central table took up much of the remaining space, with a much smaller cousin pressed against the remaining wall next to the doorway.

Noctua could sense Huginn watching, curtain or no curtain. He’d used the time he had whilst waiting for Hartwig to assemble his people to fill the raven in on what he had learned upon arrival. Though he’d been sufficiently convinced of the innocence of Hartwig himself, as well as the two youngsters who had tried to jump him upon arrival, that by no means proved the rest of his pack were innocent in this matter, and until he was certain of that, there was no point in giving away Huginn’s existence to potential enemies. Way too many factors still indicated the killing had been carried out by some sort of rogue werewolf �" Noctua would have absolutely no doubts, in fact, of the perpetrator’s nature, had the crime happened anywhere but Stuttgart.

But as it just so happened, the murders did occur in Stuttgart. One of the three cities in the world Noctua knew of which still housed a fully operational and cohesive werewolf Pack, and one with who’s Alpha Noctua had been personally acquainted. Still, there was too much evidence to indicate a werewolf had been the culprit for him to easily discount that possibility.

Firstly, there was the monthly hiatus, which was the primary indicator, naturally. Werewolves underwent the Time of Changes for seven days straight on a monthly basis, whenever the moon was full, and in that time were driven purely by primal, bestial instincts unless fed human blood. Hartwig had assured him his pack had found a workaround to remedy this, and at the time Noctua had deemed it sufficient. But things change as time goes on. Noctua had certainly changed from the way he’d been back then. He wondered what else might have changed.

Secondly, there were the bitemarks and signs of feeding evident on the bodies. The bitemarks were easy to recognize as canine in nature, though, if he were to be honest, they didn’t actually prove all that much. Plenty of lupines had existed throughout human history, albeit most were considered extinct by this point in time, and no two werewolves were completely alike when transformed. Still, the type of injuries inflicted upon the victims’ bodies definitely did nothing to aid the Stuttgartrudel’s case in this matter.

Finally, there was the behaviour of the dogs brought to the crime scenes �" if that didn’t scream magic, Noctua didn’t know what did. Dogs, unlike cats, had no natural inclination towards magic and were not able to process it, much like most humans, so any magical residue, which a werewolf was more than certain to leave behind, would have merely left them confused and spooked. Once he was done here, provided the culprit had still not been found when he walked out of the building, he’d head over to the most recent crime scene and take a look around. He didn’t think it likely that would be the outcome, but he’d learned long ago never to completely discount any possible outcome.

It didn’t matter for now. Hartwig had ordered all the Stuttgartrudel members to arrive in no less than forty minutes, and made it abundantly clear what it’d mean should any of them fail to show. As far as Noctua was concerned, that was as good of an admission as any, and all that would remain then was to hunt the killer down. He had been hesitant to simply remain in one place for more than forty minutes, but some things could not be helped, and Noctua was certain his case would be at least partially solved after checking the memories of the Stuttgart werewolf population.

If they don’t tear him to pieces before all were arrived, that is. From across the table, where many pack members were already seated, Noctua received glances ranging from unnerved and perturbed to ones which spoke “I am going to gut you like a fish” with a gusto. He didn’t mind it overmuch, taking the time to study all those present one after another. Most were dressed in ordinary civilian clothes, with the exception of café staff, and had he not been trained in the occult, there would be no way for him to distinguish these creatures from baseline humans.

Noctua was seated at the far end of the table, the two chairs immediately to his side left vacant. The closest to his right sat Martin Glauplatz, who was by and large the most anxious of the pack. Noctua had gone over his profile �" thirty-two years old, meaning by werewolf standards he was beyond the halfway point in life, brown eyes, light brown hair, smooth chin and cheeks, no distinguishable features. Mild and even-tempered, one of the oldest still living members, a Delta not necessarily for his lacklustre combat prowess the Stuttgartrudel seldom employed, but mostly for his keen mind when it came to negotiation. Martin had contacts and friends aplenty throughout the city and country. Alexander understood why Martin was as nervous as he appeared �" the werewolf had recently married, a regular human woman no less, and would be raising a pup in a matter of months. Noctua wouldn’t pretend to understand the second sentiment, but he could sympathise with trying to keep a loved one from harm.

Still, he couldn’t completely approve of such a match. It was a risk, allowing a new werewolf to be born into the world, and Noctua was not certain how much Martin’s partner truly understood about raising a creature like that. He would have had to tell her, naturally, there was no way around that, and Noctua was inclined to admire any woman loyal enough to learn of something so shocking and remain devoted to her soulmate. ’Twas charming, in a way, albeit it would result in yet another potential predator wandering the streets of Germany.

Yet Alexander no longer considered himself the arbiter of what was right and wrong, content these days merely with deciding what is necessary for the sake of peace and security of his own species. It was the main reason why the Stuttgartrudel was still in existence, truth be told. Sometimes, Noctua wondered whether it had been the correct choice to pick �" to be aware of such potential danger and remain inactive. He’d pondered that especially after he’d learned of the recent string of murders, and was halfway tempted to simply correct his mistake immediately upon arrival, no questions asked.

No. He was not a crusader anymore. He knew where that road led now. This town itself was one eternal reminder of that.

Across the table from Martin, Petra Spatz cast a twenty-second poisoned glance in Alexander’s way, the Beta of the Stuttgartrudel as different from the mild and unassuming Martin as could be. Still wearing the yellow-and-black skirt Huginn had spied her with on the Schlossstrasse, her angular glasses did precious little to conceal the vitriol her expression conveyed. Petra was Hohenbach’s oldest acquaintance, a fierce werewolf of thirty-six years, and prickly in her age. She was prideful, vengeful, stubborn and quick to anger, but also fiercely devoted to the group and its safety, which Alexander admired greatly. He was fortunate enough it had been her who spotted him on the way to the tea house, as he learned she had sent a message to Hartwig, who was away from the place at the moment, and had someone less decisive caught wind of him, the manager and Alpha might not have gotten back in time. And if that did not happen… well, Alexander did not wish to contemplate overmuch what he might have done in such a case…

He had few doubts Petra would have preferred to dispose of him as swiftly as possible. Alexander wouldn’t blame her for wanting that. He’d likely make a similar case were their roles reversed. He wondered how such a match would go. The two pups he’d dealt with as swiftly as one could hope, but then again, they severely underestimated their prey. Had Petra more experience in a fight? Noctua found himself doubting that. The only way the Stuttgartrudel could hope to keep a low profile was to categorically avoid taking part in any sort of combat, especially within their lupine form.

Their primary, human form, was of course still far better suited for combat than that of a pure human �" adult werewolves were, on average, at least twice as strong as a fully-developed man, even the females. Their biology was likewise enhanced, so that their bones did not break nearly as easily, their wounds sealed faster and their blood clotted far quicker than that of a human. Their reaction speed was, if honed, faster than a human’s by several precious nanoseconds, and they had the potential of coordinating their movements well and truly beyond what any regular human could hope to master. And all that, of course, not mentioning their lupine form, where they became the embodiment of carnage in the shape of an oversized wolf, only fitting of creatures designed as the ultimate living weapons.

Could Noctua take such a monster on? Definitely. It all depended on how many pack members would come at him at a time. One on one, however, Noctua knew that all the speed in the world would not make the difference for the werewolves, transformed or otherwise. That was why, even as Spatz continued to size the sorcerer before her up with hungry, burning eyes, Noctua could afford to remain at ease.

Except Petra would not be the only one he’d be fighting in such a case. Two other pack members, two Epsilons, Dietfried Mänke and Cornelius Stalzel, seemed likewise prepared for a brawl. The former was a plain looking brown-haired man with tired, watery eyes clothed in a worn, patched suit. The latter seemed bursting with energy, twitching and shaking nervously, his ginger hair unkempt and his breath still heavy with the scent of blood he’d consumed last evening, likely trying to gain some sleep after a row of difficult transformations.

Alexander understood why the pack was in such an abysmal state. The Time of Change was upon them, a problematic period for any werewolf wishing to remain sane, and the mounting stress derived from the murders likely did little to ease their pain. Noctua wagered that, were he similarly afflicted, he’d be itching to take his own frustrations out on someone as well. Naturally, that didn’t mean he’d allow them to do so.

He wondered what the youngsters would do should another fight ensue. The twins, Tanya and Torsten, sat the furthest away from him, at the far end of the table, and neither seemed entirely sure what to do or say now that the man they had tried to murder not an hour ago sat behind the same table they did, as their guest of honour no less. Hartwig had talked with the pair immediately after summoning the rest of his pack to the meeting, and though not even Noctua could pick up on any screaming or yelling from the other room of the establishment, it didn’t take a detective to deduce the talking to he gave his wards had been less than pleasant to say the least. Noctua found his gaze was drawn to the pair more often than to the other Stuttgartrudel members, though he made effort to conceal the fact.

Torsten reciprocated his interest, albeit somewhat hesitantly. The lad was evidently still not certain how to feel about the man who had so brutally beaten him and was apparently fully prepared to execute him but half-an-hour ago. On the one hand, he sensed in him the desire to attack, to once again measure his fledgling strength against Noctua’s and, in a peculiar way, redeem his failure to protect his sibling. On the other, Noctua sensed something distantly approaching admiration for a man who had so easily bested a werewolf, mostly unarmed no less, as well as a desire to learn more about him. Torsten wore his dark brown hair swept down and longer than was common, and his deep, sea-green eyes had a sort-of mischievous spark to them, a spark which brought back a painful memory to Noctua.

Tanya, on the other hand, made every attempt to avoid looking at the sorcerer. She was possibly even more conflicted than her brother was, seeing as trying to assassinate Noctua had mostly been her call, and she felt responsible for an admittedly rash action which could have endangered the Stuttgartrudel. Of her own teal eyes, identical to those of her brother, one was permanently concealed now beneath a lock of dark-brown hair, and she did her best to look solely at her feet from the moment she entered the room. Sitting as they were, side by side with identical haircuts and uniforms, Noctua could only safely tell one apart from the other by the expression each wore.

Alexander had no doubt that Hartwig sufficiently admonished the girl, but truth be told, he bore little ill will toward her for that action. Everything about her, from the way she spoke to the way she tried to fight back downstairs, spoke of a lack of experience and self-confidence in situations involving violence, so Noctua was fairly confident this was not something Tanya might stoop to easily. He doubted she’d ever killed anyone in her life, honestly, and in that sense, one had to almost admire her conviction when trying to protect those closest to her, being fully prepared to lose her life or her innocence for the sake of protecting others. He supposed her reaction was at least partially his fault �" he had, after all, sought to intimidate the pack to some degree. Still, should they all survive this day, Noctua hoped the girl would take the morning events to heart in the future and refrain from impulsive violence, even if only against targets who might warrant an aggressive response.

Hartwig himself sat between Tanya and Torsten, directly opposite the sorcerer, his look a grimace of concern and unease. Being the Alpha, Hartwig radiated natural authority, even at a time like this �" his heavy brow, large nose and pronounced chin making his face stand out amidst a crowd. His well-kept beard of blonde hair showed only a few signs of grey, despite him being in his forty-second year of life, almost a senior by werewolf standards. Alexander knew he usually wore heavy-rimmed glasses to enhance his appearance of a simple manager, but in truth, Hohenbach’s eyesight outmatched that of most humans. The various items on his table were neatly and efficiently laid out, and as the pack silently expected its final members to arrive, Hohenbach went downstairs to close the tea house down and bring something to drink for all of them, meaning Alexander finally got to finish his coffee.

Eventually, Noctua grew tired of the silence. He had originally tried to convince Hartwig to allow him to search the minds of his pack immediately after each of them arrived, but was eventually dissuaded from this by Hohenbach.

“Don’t try and stall me, Hartwig. We must finish this as soon as possible if the killer is not one from your number” Noctua had warned the pack leader then.

“I’m trying no such thing. Think for an instant. What happens if you do locate the culprit amidst our number? Do you think they will come quietly? I doubt that. Naturally, there will be a fight. If so, it’s more than likely you’ll end up killing the perpetrator, and will be left to explain to the members who arrive later the meaning for your actions. And I am not certain they would see your reasoning as anything but excuses.”

“I care precious little for the opinions of your pack.”

“But I do, Alexander. And I might be Alpha, but if I let a knight of the Order…”

“Former knight.”

“Be that as it may, if I let you simply kill one of us without demonstrating proof of their guilt for all to see first, my authority will come into question. And I don’t think that would be in either of our interests” Hohenbach argued, adjusting his glasses. Against such logic, Noctua couldn’t very well object, and so eventually conceded to wait with the “interrogations” until all were gathered.

“What if there is more than one perpetrator amidst them? Will that not simply put me in a disadvantage?” he asked the Alpha.

“I find that exceptionally unlikely. And even if that should be the case, the rest of the pack will side with me once evidence has been provided. Understand, Noctua, most of them are simply trying to lead regular lives despite our condition. If they hear one of them has so recklessly endangered the fragile harmony we’ve so painstakingly worked on… well, mayhaps you won’t have to be the one who executes them.”

After ten minutes of awkward, uncomfortable and, most importantly, useless silence, Noctua decided to initiate a conversation. Not a proper interrogation per se, it would do him good to find out more about the situation as it currently stood. Who knew, perhaps if this all did prove in vain, he might gain some valuable pointers from the rest of the pack.

“So, how difficult is it to gather sufficient supplies for the Time of Change these days?” Noctua asked Hohenbach, knowing the Alpha would be most receptive to his questioning. Still, Hartwig flinched as though slapped when the sorcerer spoke, and Noctua remembered that, for all their professional respect, he was still an enemy in this place, a guest most unwelcome.

“Depends on what you mean” he replied, ignoring the venomous glare Spatz gifted him with from across the table. “If you’re asking about accessibility, that’s actually easier than it used to be, I’d say. Blood banks usually collect larger reserves these days, and so even five or six blood sacks disappearing at a time from their supplies is not necessarily seen as all that odd by the higher ups. They’ll blame supply defects, faulty distribution, incorrect inventory orders and so on, you know how it goes” the Alpha continued, folding his fingers.

“Inconspicuousness becomes the difficult part. We have to collect the blood from several cities all across the country, so as to avoid taking too much from a single place at a time and raising suspicions. We also have deals arranged with several more… enterprising employees in certain banks, who are willing to slip us some of the supplies for a tidy sum and cover up the missing parts.”

“How are your finances holding up?”

“Well enough, for now. Every member pretty much pays for his own expenses, and this place makes enough money that we have a reserve should any one of us require it. Recently, in fact, Martin’s business has received a substantial donation from a couple of other companies, and with the spare money we ought to be set for at least another year…” he paused, looking to his Delta, but Martin kept quiet all the while. “But we have to be careful, more so than ever these days. One step too far, too much gone from one spot, and someone somewhere might get suspicious and begin asking the correct questions. With the way the world is so interconnected now, I fear how swiftly their questions might lead them to the Heiligtum.”

“But you have managed to secure enough for everyone, correct?” Alexander pressed the issue.

“Yes, it would be a considerable problem if we didn’t. Naturally, we have backup plans and contingency measures in place for just such an occasion, but I can, with certain pride I must admit, confidently say there hasn’t been a reason to stoop to them since your last visit here” Hartwig gave a tired smile.

“I see. Have there been any issues with the changes in any of the pack members?”

“None I might know of, no, so I’d say all of us manage to get through them.”

“Has there been any deviant behaviour, any packmate of yours under psychological…”

“F**k’s sake, I can’t hear any more of this Czech shite!” Petra smashed her fist against the table, making it shake and almost break up in the place of impact.

“I’m not Czech, actually” Noctua protested mildly, though he did not care overmuch for the insult.

“Stand down, Spatz!” Hartwig raised his voice, going from calm and considerate to commanding and resolute in an instant. It was one of the reasons Noctua reserved great admiration for Hohenbach in particular, not just amongst werewolves, but amongst his associates in general. Petra, however cowed she may have been, refused to let the issue go.

“Oh, give me a break with that s**t, Hartwig! You allow this stranger, this hunter, this Czech-or-whatever invader, to ask whatever he likes and answer like a good little puppy his every question, so that when he eventually decides to kill us all he doesn’t need to overdo it, that sound about right?”

“Shut up, Petra, you don’t know what you’re…”

“Did he not just attack your own wards? Did he not stick a gun in their faces? What kind of a friend does that?”

“That was self-defence…”

“The pups only jumped him because he decided to intimidate upon arrival! A real friend would have approached us in good faith…”

“Did I not?” Alexander interrupted before Hartwig could reply, his voice cutting through the room like an iceberg across ocean waters. Noctua knew how to put a chill into his tone if so desired, and even two highly agitated werewolves instinctively lowered their heads when he imbued his voice with just the tiniest amount of magic. Logomancy was a useful skill like that, but Noctua had to be careful not to overuse it. “I gave you more than enough time to warn your packmates and allow you to prove you had no hostile intentions towards me. You have to forgive me for walking in armed, though you can see for yourself there was good reason for doing that.”

“F**k off with that attitude, killer!” Petra managed to regain her confidence. “You don’t get to walk all over us just because the Alpha trusts you! You ought to count yourself honoured he calls the pack together at your beck and call, and instead you pester him with questions about our inner workings! The arrogance you must possess to think yourself so important, so…”

“This is not about me” Alexander cut her off then, having heard enough. “This is about you, Petra, and the survival of your pack. I like to say things as they stand. And currently, things stand like this for you �" two or three more killing sprees by this werewolf, and the federal government is going to take notice. When they do, they are going to speak to the Order and negotiate a contract. And once a contract is negotiated, the Stuttgartrudel is as good as gone. Because the Order might have gotten sloppy, they may be bloated and overconfident, but they are still true to their word, and absolutely will honour a contract they have signed to a T, so a commando will be sent to this quiet little city.”

He let the words resonate for a moment. He was sure every single one of them knew just what the Order was, what it represented and what it was capable of. “So, when they find your rogue �" and you can be certain they will �" they’ll have with them a telepath, one who will rip his secrets from his grey matter no questions asked. That, in turn, will lead them to discover the Stuttgartrudel, and, well, mages might not be actively gunning for your kind anymore, but if given the opportunity they absolutely will try to finish you off. Meaning even if you manage to dispatch the first commando they send, more will follow, until they drown you in your own blood. You barely have a dozen members left, Petra. Before I entered the city, I ensured that, even if it came at the cost of my own life, I could take out all of you if need be. And that’s just me, Petra. You would not be able to resist a single team for longer than a week. And all of this I can guarantee will happen within the next six months, if any more bodies turn up in these streets. So, you have a choice �" put up with my questions and be helpful, or refuse and join the other Packs in extinction. Your call.”

For a split second, he became certain that Petra would attack him, leap across the table and go for his throat then and there. His dialogue had been designed as much as an exposition piece as it was meant to be a provocation, and should she fail to pass, Noctua would check her memories on the spot, for he would be certain she was the culprit. Hartwig was convinced of her innocence, but Noctua sensed a bond deeper than was usual between packmates linking those two, so he was understandably sceptical. It was up to Petra to prove him wrong.

Petra’s right arm began to twitch slightly, her eyes narrowing and her upper torso lowering itself to become level with the table’s surface, a definitively aggressive posture. The room was dead silent in that moment, even Hohenbach remained as still as a statue behind his table. Tanya raised her eyes for the first time, and to Noctua’s surprise they were filled with nothing but worry, not a trace of anger or hostility within the girl now. The sorcerer remained seated in his place, his eyes locked on the growling Petra, and though his body was relaxed, in his mind the next battle was already playing out, a million different possibilities with varying degrees of probability running behind his eyes simultaneously.

Finally, with speed barely perceptible, Petra’s nails bit deep into the wood of the table, and the werewolf pulled, leaving a nasty scratch mark across the furniture. Then, she averted her eyes and leaned back, hostility slowly trickling out of her pose. Alexander merely watched her withdrawal without commenting, then turned back to Hohenbach.

“If you are so certain none of your members are guilty, who else could it be?”

“I actually already have a theory” Hartwig nearly jumped from his seat, evidently relieved as tension simmered out between his lover and the knight. The other werewolves, most of whom had been watching the stand-off with a mix of anger, confusion and worry, likewise released the breaths they’d been collectively holding back, especially Torsten. The Alpha walked over to one of his cabinets and pulled out a large map, then walked over to Noctua and laid it across the table before him.

It was a map of the city, a series of circles and crosses drawn on it with a marker. Small boxes of text were written on its side with swift, precise handwriting. Alexander understood immediately what it represented, but he let Hartwig explain.

“I have begun compiling this map after the first two attacks were made public. It details the locations and circumstances of the murders. The circles represent the attacks from September, the crosses from October. I have not yet added the latest incident, so if you could just let me fix that quickly…”

Hartwig took out a marker, dragged a finger along the streets of miniaturised Stuttgart, then drew a small triangle in one vacant spot. “The first November attack” he spoke, stepping back and letting Noctua examine the map for himself.

At first, the attacks did truly seem very random, some occurring a few blocks from one another, some on the other side of the city outright. However, after a few moments, a pattern did emerge, if an unlikely one. No matter which part of the city the murders occurred, they were never further than two kilometres away from a certain central location, albeit a sizeable one. Noctua’s finger trailed along the semi-spherical green area located in the south-west quarter of the map, designating a large forested property located within the city limits.

“Little Schwarzwald?” he quizzed.

“Indeed. The attacks never seem to occur further than a certain distance from that place, in fact, the last one occurred right next to its western edge” Stalzel spoke up, licking at his puckered lips.

“Cornelius was the one in charge of surveying the area after the police were done” Hartwig elaborated. “I sent a packmate to all attack locations, naturally, only after the police had left �" no point in drawing too much attention, and besides, they could never tamper with what we were looking for. Alas, our last endeavour proved as fruitless as all the previous ones, unfortunately.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn’t common at all for werewolves to find nothing when hunting, what with their excellent sense of smell and a flare for tracking.

“The scent from the place - it’s mighty strange, first and foremost” Stalzel began recounting, evidently excited at the opportunity to speak up. “It almost smells like one of ours, almost, but there’s something… different to it. Something less human, I guess you could say. None of ours smell quite like that. In fact, I’ve never met anyone who does.”

“That might simply mean the culprit’s pretty far gone” Noctua suggested in a neutral tone, though internally he could feel his liver turning to lead and his lower spine began to tingle with discomfort. The prospect of having a dedicated werewolf serial killer behind these attacks, one who actively goes after humans due to the pleasure he gets out of it, was not a comforting one.

Werewolves were creatures whose lives were governed by blood. Human blood, more specifically. Their origin lay within generations of largely unsuccessful attempts at enhancing, formulating and selectively breeding certain transformative mutations to produce the perfect killing machines, the chronically unstable and eternally cursed werewolf being the result of magic users trying to breed a race of beings devoted entirely towards the elimination of humans.

A human mind is not well suited to control a quadrupedal carnivore, naturally, and the transformation process itself is so painful that, by all accounts, it puts its subjects into a state of delirium and frenzy. This, understandably, diminishes their cognitive capabilities, something their breeders needed to work around. They needed a trigger, something that would be able to bring back a werewolf’s addled mind into a state of at least partial consciousness. And, since they were already creating these to be the hunters of humans, they apparently decided to kill two birds with one stone. Noctua loathed whichever diabolical b*****d it was that came up with the idea of instilling a craving for human blood within the werewolves, but nevertheless, only ingesting a certain amount of blood after transformation could hope to restore a werewolf’s tortured psyche into something resembling coherency.

Of course, the mutation process proved extensive enough that it altered even their regular, human forms, but Noctua was unsure whether their makers had intended one of the nasty side-effects this had �" the more frequently werewolves consumed large amounts of human blood and flesh, the more common it was for their two forms to… blend, for a lack of a better word. In short, with every man they might devour, the human within them would diminish, and the beast would grow. Some werewolves, he knew, usually those who had acquired their status by chance or accident, eventually broke under the pressure the changes placed upon them and willingly embraced their murderous nature, becoming some of the most infamous serial killers and war criminals in the history of mankind.

“Perhaps, I’ve considered that as well” Hartwig chimed in. “Nevertheless, we can at least confirm that all the attacks were committed by the same creature, seeing as the same smell was present on every single crime scene.”

“And I presume you already have a suspect based on the likely point of origin?” Alexander inquired.

“Indeed, we do. Tell me, do you know who owns much of Little Schwarzwald, sorcerer?” a new voice sounded through the room. Noctua turned, unsurprised he did not hear this particular individual ascend to the office, even though he picked up on his presence from the moment the newcomer set foot on the stairs.

Erik Grautener, Gamma of the pack and one of Hartwig’s most trusted agents in sensitive matters. One of the three werewolves Noctua had actually met during his last stay in Stuttgart, and undoubtedly the most dangerous of the bunch. If Hartwig tasked anyone with tracking down the perpetrator on their own, Alexander never doubted it would be Erik. The man was a professional. Noctua could respect that, he even admired it, in any creature. It was also the reason why he trusted Grautener the least of all the Stuttgart werewolves.

The Gamma was about twenty-eight years of age, not that different from Noctua actually, though werewolves did age faster than humans, at least physically. He had a dashing face with sharp, angular features, fair skin and thick blond hair, every woman’s dream all in all, and his build certainly only added to his appearance. He had a soft and spry step, and took his seat besides Martin immediately, even his regular movements seeming somehow sped-up. Of all the Stuttgart werewolves, Erik was the second most lethal in combat and the most dangerous, as he lacked Hartwig’s cautious nature and acted impulsively.

Noctua’s mind ran back to the blood-stained gravestones of the Stuttgart cemetery as he looked into Erik’s eyes. Those green eyes were aflame the last time he saw them, burning in the setting sun, fuelled by rage induced by what they saw. Both of them were so young when they fought their first duel. Sometimes it seemed to Noctua that an entirely different man had lived in his body up to that point. He still occasionally wondered which one of them might have won had Hartwig not intervened. Back then, he was quite eager to find an answer to that. Now… well, not so much.

“Can’t say I do, Erik. Good to see you again” Noctua greeted the Gamma. The werewolf merely grinned in reply, his smile a line of pearl-white teeth, likely aided by the fact they were completely newly grown.

“Have you ever heard of the von Weide family, Czech?” Grautener continued, leaning over the table. His expression remained reserved, but Noctua could not overhear a tinge of bitterness in the background.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure” Noctua replied, going over what he knew of Stuttgart.

“One of the oldest families, took residence in Stuttgart in the early seventeenth century, during the religious wars” Erik began to recount, looking from one packmate to another as he spoke. “Descended from minor nobility, allegedly, they became very rich after the unification, invested heavily into the early automobile industry, which, as I’m sure you know, has its origin right here in our little Stuttgart. Unfortunately for them, they bet on the wrong horse during both world wars, and ended up losing much of their revenue source and influence over the town, relegated to little more than wealthy relics of the past. Currently, only one member of the family remains, the young Kaspar, after his mother passed due to severe illness three years past.”

“Sad to hear. But how is all this relevant to our case?” Noctua asked, though he already suspected where the conversation would be heading, and he did not like it one bit.

“The traditional residence of the von Weide family, often called the Jagdhutte by the locals, lies within the last piece of Schwarzwald preserved within the city, in the North district. The family themselves insisted on keeping it that way, a large and mostly untamed patch of wilderness within the modern suburbs, and they have had the funds to keep it so throughout the previous generations. I hope we don’t need to spell out what that is for you?” Petra quizzed, her voice still sharp and irate.

“No, you do not. Right then, suppose Little Schwarzwald does lie in the centre of the attacks, approximately. That in and of itself proves nothing. Do you know whether the murderer even entered the Schwarzwald on any occasion?”

“Actually, we do” Hartwig interjected, before either of his underlings could speak. “Every one of us who was tasked with tracking the scent left at the crime scenes was able to follow it to the same location �" a small stream, hidden within the depths of Little Schwarzwald. There, every single time, the killer entered and we were unable to continue tracking, his trail became too weak to follow afterwards. This he did always, no matter what the distance was between him and the forest, which would make sense if one supposes he regains his senses only after he has killed.”

“So, you do actually suspect the young Kaspar, then?” Noctua pressed, weighing his options should that prove to be the case. From the sound of it, this Kaspar was fairly high up the social ladder. Could a man trying to live an active life in society truly conceal monthly, week-long disappearances without raising some kind of suspicion?

“Yes, for several reasons” Hohenbach nodded to Mänke, who cleared his throat and began to recount in a dry, monotone voice, befitting his tired appearance.

“Firstly, as was already mentioned, the furthest any of us has ever managed to follow his tracks was to the stream located on his own property, no matter the distance where he likely regained his senses. I do not see any rational reason for this other than familiarity of surroundings, combined with the desire to either simply clean one’s messy fur after a kill, or, possibly, to throw off potential hunters in case he is aware of our presence. The second seems exceedingly unlikely, as he’d have no way to discover our existence insofar, and even if he did, he’d still be leading us to his approximate area of residence, albeit not directly. Therefore, I presume he has no knowledge of the Stuttgartrudel and is likely acting out of other needs, hygienic most likely.”

“Have you considered it might simply be a force of habit for the perpetrator to return to the same readily accessible source of running water? I doubt he can simply return home in his bestial form should he normally reside in a heavily populated area” Noctua replied, steepling his fingers and leaning back slightly. Several werewolves emitted a low growl at the mention of a “beast” form, but Noctua was not here to mince words.

“I have, actually, Polish, and it is a possibility, albeit not a probable one, especially given our other causes for suspicion towards him” Dietfried replied, now looking the sorcerer straight in the eye.

“Do elaborate” he said, not bothering to correct the polish remark.

“Kaspar von Weide had been absent from Stuttgart for some time, ever since his mother’s funeral in fact. Reportedly, he spent his time travelling around the world, spending family fortune as he went and generally having an extended vacation. He was twenty-two, understand, young and easy-going, so nobody really expected to ever see him back home lest he ran out of money to spend. To the best of my knowledge, that has not happened, yet nevertheless he returned abruptly, six months ago, and became uncharacteristically recluse afterwards. Word around town is, after initially visiting the city library and archive with frightening frequency, he became a complete recluse, not allowing anyone to so much as take a gander near his property, and has never been seen attending any social events or festivals he’d partake in regularly before his departure, not to mention his absence at the resident nightclubs. Overall, he seems to have undergone a radical change of character, one not easily explained by any… conventional means, but which would line up quite well with what we already know.”

“I see” Alexander admitted. “That does indeed sound suspicious. But do you have any actual reasons to believe he is now one of you? There could a million and one other reasons for this behaviour other than lycanthropy,” he said, paying no mind to the scratching of teeth Petra emitted as he spoke the term.

The werewolf state was a contagious one, transmitted as easily as any disease onto another person. Human minds and bodies were not built for transformation, neither were they entirely suited for it, and so the attrition rates amongst werewolves were always high. Werewolf bloodlines, that is, werewolves born with their condition, might be the more common alternative these days, yet in the beginning, simply spreading the affliction through bite or blood was far more common, if only because few werewolves lived long enough to raise a family of their own.

“Unfortunately, no, none of ours were able to get close enough to him for that” Erik spoke up again. “And we can’t afford to simply try our luck, understand. We have no notion of whom he might contact, or what he could try to do if we reveal ourselves prematurely…”

“All this, of course, supposing he is actually a werewolf now” Alexander finished, fixing his gaze on Hartwig. “Wouldn’t that be a massive coincidence? A man turned into a werewolf returns home, to one of the last cities on the planet with an active werewolf group, and remains completely ignorant of it? You can imagine why I find something like that difficult to swallow…”

“I believe, Alexander” Hohenbach cleared his throat, speaking in a wary, serious tone now, “that in your line of work, with you particularly, you see people dismissing possibilities, simply because they seem unlikely, quite often. I would ask you to afford us the same consideration you regularly require from them.”

“I’m not dismissing” Noctua objected, although the words did strike truer than he’d expected, and he turned to look to the door. “I’m simply observing probabilities and possibilities. It’s what I do, Hartwig. And there is one big difference between me and my clients, a fairly crucial one.”

“And what would that be?” Erik asked, a mocking edge to his voice, barely audible. Alexander looked the Gamma straight in the eye then, and saw that, even more than the twins before, the werewolf was spoiling for a fight, the rage from ten years ago just as bright as it had always been.

“That I understand what I talk about. More specifically, I understand you all. I understand just how strong pack bonds are between you, all of you, even if you may detest each other on a personal level. The Pack comes first, correct?”

“You might think you know, but you don’t understand, Polish!” Cornelius burst out, lowering his head now. “Whatever might a sullen loner like you understand about the importance of a pack to one of us? To any creature, in fact? How would you know what it’s like, to rely on someone, to trust someone so completely, to try so desperately to protect them from harm! Men like you, those who actually spread death and misery wherever they go - they’re on their own, always and forever, because they rightly disgust all beings more than any one of us ever could! What would you know of protecting your family, huh, Polish?!”

Alexander’s gaze never left Cornelius’s throughout his tirade. The werewolf initially countered it bravely, but as silence spread through the room, as chilly as the wind blowing through the streets, and Noctua kept looking the creature directly in the eye, Stalzel eventually averted his eyes, staring intently somewhere beneath the table. No one dared speak a word, not even Petra or Hartwig. The silence was only broken after Noctua finally decided to speak up on the matter.

“I suppose I wouldn’t.”

He left the sentence hang in the air for a moment, then continued.

“But I do understand how you all feel about the issue, and that is sufficient. I know you’d try anything to shift my attention from your members, which is why I am naturally sceptical of your claim. An active, homicidal werewolf, unaffiliated with a group of werewolves in his own city �" it does not sound likely. But again, I am not ruling anything out. Soon enough, we’ll know where the truth of the matter lies.”

“And what if… what if we are actually innocent?” Martin spoke up, for the first time during the entire meeting actually. “If the culprit is not from amidst our ranks… if none of ours has done it… what will you do?”

“Apologise for wasting your time and harming your staff” Noctua replied matter-of-factly. “Then I suppose I’ll head over to have a look at the most recent crime scene, see if I mightn’t spot something which has evaded your attention. If nothing comes of that either… well, we shall have to wait and see.”

“So, you won’t be returning here?” Martin asked, and though he did his best to hide it, Noctua could not overhear the echo of hope radiating through his voice, hope that after today, the Stuttgartrudel would never have to deal with a man like him again. He didn’t blame Martin for that, in fact, to a degree, he sympathised. Alexander knew what he was, what he meant for creatures like him, and what he meant for baseline humans. He wouldn’t want to deal with a creature like himself more often than he had to. Martin managed to stomach it all admirably.

“Highly unlikely. I’ll keep in contact with Hohenbach and provide him with updates on the investigation as I see fit” Noctua explained, looking over to the Alpha. “Should I perish whilst tracking the culprit, I leave it to you to continue where I left off and rid the city of him. Don’t mistake this for a delegation of duty �" it is in your interest, even more so than in mine, to rid the town of this monster before anyone begins to suspect anything.”

“How… how likely is… that?” Torsten managed to speak, his voice still somewhat uneven in its tone.

“Not very likely” Alexander replied.

An awkward silence spread through the room once again, Noctua looking back into the map sprawled before him. Could it be the werewolves have actually given him a lead? He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try, should his current investigation prove fruitless. After all, he now had at least one specific clue as to the whereabouts of the perpetrator. If push came to shove, he would await the killer at the spot he apparently used regularly to wash himself. Considering that detail, Alexander suddenly looked up and refocused on Hartwig, who tensed instinctively when he noticed the sorcerer’s reaction.

“Come to think of it… why didn’t you ever wait to ambush the killer?” Alexander asked, quietly, yet in the silence of the room his words still echoed like a gunshot. Hartwig squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, whilst the Eisenstein siblings, much to Noctua’s surprise, both shot irate, accusing glances in the Alpha’s direction.

“Well… understand Noctua… I didn’t… I don’t rightly know what we’re dealing with here. I have responsibilities towards the Stuttgartrudel… and if… if this one is as… inhuman… as monstrous as his scent indicates… I could not… I cannot risk one of my packmates getting hurt” he finished, resolution entering his voice with the last couple of words. At that, both Tanya and Torsten, ignoring the appalled looks of the other werewolves, abruptly stood up, backs arched and heads lowered, taking even Alexander by surprise.

“We could have taken him, sir!” Tanya growled, her voice once again sparking with anger, that kind of heavy, corrosive acid which burns one’s throat as it is let loose. “We could have ambushed the f****r at any point during the second month of attacks!”

“We could have prevented what happened!” Torsten made no attempts to lower his voice, both his hands biting deep into the thick wooden centre of the table now. The werewolves all around them became rigid then, evidently even more shocked than Hohenbach, unsure how to react to such a ludicrous situation.

“Tanya… Torsten… we’ve gone over this… we hide more than one of you by the stream, whilst you are still transformed, and he… it won’t show itself… it’ll sense us, sense our intent, and refuse to approach. And… and if you’re on your own, I… I have a duty… no, an obligation… to keep you safe. I made a promise…”

A strange feeling washed over Noctua then, a feeling he was not exactly unfamiliar with, but one which, in the heat of the moment, he could not exactly discern. Shame? Melancholy? Compassion? Guilt? He was unsure.

“To hell with promises!” Tanya roared then, something berserk in her voice, the inner beast which, though it may only manifest itself under the gaze of the full moon, remained ever present within all werewolves. No, not just werewolves, Noctua corrected himself. Every man has a beast like that inside him. The only difference was, probably, that a werewolf’s beast gained a face from time to time.

“Either one of us would have gladly given their lives to catch that b*****d! Either one could have taken him on, so that…” Torsten began to spew forth.

“Enough!” Hartwig rose to his feet, roaring like a bear, and the room fell silent immediately. The pups nearly dropped back onto their arses in an instant, overwhelmed by the Alpha’s sheer physical presence and the anger within his voice. Noctua recognised that anger well enough. It was the same anger he would feel whenever people, be they clients, victims or perpetrators, failed to see he was ultimately trying to help them. He also recognized that, for all his usually calm demeanour and warm words, Hartwig Hohenbach was without a doubt the most dangerous creature within the room.

“I’ll repeat this only once, so best pay attention. You are forbidden �" totally! �" to go searching for the killer, be he a werewolf, a thrice-damned vampire or any other kind of being, from this world or another! You understand? Forbidden! And why, you ask? Well, listen and do your best to remember what you’ll hear, because it will certainly come in handy to you with such a disposition. See him?” he pointed his finger toward Noctua, now standing upright, towering over the rest of the pack.

“He could have killed the two of you today. He would have had every right under the sun to do so. He held back because he needed you alive. So, how long did it take him to pin you down?”

“We were tired” Torsten muttered, unwisely.

“How f*****g long!?” Hartwig replied, his voice booming through the room.

“…. About three minutes” Tanya replied, averting her gaze.

“Now, I don’t know what we’re up against, but I can guarantee you, whatever you’d meet by the stream during the night, it wouldn’t be taking prisoners. And, based on your abysmal performance today, it’s likely neither of you would be walking out of there in one piece, if at all. So, we’d have not one but two corpses. One of which would resemble a giant wolf with human organs and brain. Is that what you want, hey? To die a stupid, pointless death, and expose your remaining sibling? And through them, expose all of us?” he gestured around the room, and now, all the remaining werewolves lowered their faces, as though an exotic flower of some kind had suddenly sprouted beneath the table.

Torsten did not reply, too stunned to utter a word. Tanya, to Noctua’s surprise, nevertheless tried to speak once more.

“We should have done something…”

“We have! We have pointed him in the right direction” Hartwig nodded towards Alexander once again, who did his best to maintain a neutral, distant expression throughout all that.  “This man, Tanya, whom you have just today tried to murder, has been dealing with cases like this since before you were old enough to talk. He has seen and fought more creatures and beings than you know exist! And he has always managed to come out on top. If anyone has a chance of confronting our butcher and walking away from it, it’s going to be him!”

Finally, even Tanya’s words ran out, and she dropped her eyes to the ground just like everyone else. Hartwig, however, had to visibly restrain himself from yelling further. Noctua was unsure just how much of the conversation could have been overheard from the outside, but knowing Hohenbach, the office was likely not easy to eavesdrop on. The Alpha finally managed to calm himself, and relaxed back into his seat, though his easy-going attitude was gone now, even when he addressed the sorcerer once again.

“In summary, Noctua, I didn’t want to send anyone the first or the second month, mostly because I hoped against hope it would cease on its own. After it became apparent that was not going to be the case, I was actually planning on dispatching Petra or Erik to deal with the issue… but now, that you’re here… There’s so few of us left, Noctua, and despite what we are, what we’re capable of… I don’t wish us to end. And as Alpha, I can’t waste the lives of my packmates, unless there is absolutely no other way. As the leader… I… I have an obligation… a duty to…”

“I understand” Alexander said, calmly and contemplatively, though he was not looking at Hartwig then. Every group needed a man devoted to its own good, some might even say every group ought to look out for their own first and foremost. Noctua would never dispute that sentiment. It was the way of the world, and the harder-pressed the group was, the less it could afford to act nobly. Few groups he knew were more hard-pressed than the Stuttgartrudel. No, Noctua couldn’t blame Hartwig for not wishing to risk his own people for the sake of others.

Yet he could not concur either. He could not, and he resolved long ago he never would. Because someone like him, someone who could afford to choose what he wished to do in life, had a moral obligation to choose to be better than that. To take the harder path, to find a more just solution, to make life a little bit easier for others, even if it made it more difficult for him. Because if everyone decided to take the easier way out, then how long would there remain one to take?

“Anything else you think I ought to know?” he asked, prompting Hartwig to scratch his chin and, slowly shake his head after a moment of consideration.

“Not much else I can tell you. You know all there is to know about us, and I guess you’ll have your own ways of tracking the guy down once you find a lead. As for us, we won’t interfere unless there’s no other choice. I risk exposure even by convening this meeting, Alexander, so unless the situation becomes really dire, I have full confidence in your reliability. Nevertheless, should things prove too perilous, it is in our best interest to likewise lend you aid. In case that comes to pass, you know how to contact me?”

“I’ll find a way, should it prove necessary” Noctua replied, though he considered such an outcome most unlikely. Either he’d kill the culprit or he’d be killed in turn. One way or another, there would not be a point when he could call for reinforcements. “And, the way I see things, it just might all end in a few moments already. The rest of your pack has arrived” he added, sensing the presence of five other werewolves, two males and three females, ascending the stairway.

Hohenbach tensed at that, knowing this would be the most stressful part of the entire process for the pack, and very clearly dreading the prospect of actually finding the rogue within his own ranks. Then, with a deep sigh, he looked around the room once again, his gaze flying from one face to another, resting upon Tanya’s still ashamedly lowered head, and spoke up.

“Well, high time we get this over with. Forgive me, Alexander, but I truly do hope your case does not end here.”

 

Noctua really hated autumns. Despite the wealth of information he had gathered in the span of the last two hours, that was the single most pressing, irritating though on his mind as he walked across the streets of Stuttgart to the latest crime scene. He pulled a tablet of dark chocolate from his jacket and bit off a mouthful with a vengeful crunch, as though the food was responsible for his current predicament.

His case did not end within the Heiligtum. Alexander was unsure whether he ought to be pleased or displeased about that all. It was early afternoon already, and he’d spent most of the day chasing a lead which proved almost entirely useless. There were about four or five hours left until nightfall, and he had to find out as much as he could about the culprit before that came about. Information was the greatest asset one could hope to gain pre-battle, after all, and the amount of information available to Noctua at the moment was abysmally low.

All of the Stuttgartrudel werewolves, after a somewhat lengthy process of persuasion and coercion by Hartwig, submitted themselves to Noctua’s inspection. He went through the memories of every single werewolf, all completely sincere and truthful in nature, and frowned more and more with each failure. All of the memories were fairly uniform, actually, so that made the process slightly easier �" the werewolves undressed, made sure the doors were locked and the windows were closed, poured a sack or two of blood into a small bowl, then gagged themselves and waited, quietly, for the changes to commence. They rarely had to wait for long. Soon, their bodies were wracked by pain, their skin began to tear, teeth and nails falling away, replaced by razor-sharp fangs and hooked claws, matted fur of various colourings growing throughout their body, their skull and skeleton creaking and burning with pain as they changed form, all the whilst the semi-conscious werewolves had to force themselves not to scream and risk an inquiry by the neighbours. Then, there was ever a minute or two of bestial, animal ferocity, one which, although the werewolves themselves did not remember, Noctua could see through with a bit of effort. He checked all of them, the process left him sweating and exhausted and he learned nothing useful for his effort.

All those hazy memories ended shortly after, with the exhausted werewolf, whose bleeding wounds were still sealing themselves and whose new body was still morphing into proper shape, dragging itself towards the bloody bowl and lapping up its contents hungrily, upon which, slowly and arduously, clarity returned to their minds. Noctua was somewhat surprised by what came after �" most of the werewolves simply laid down on the floor and began to watch TV, of all things, which they usually switched on before the transformation or, in case they forgot, would clumsily attempt to start by using their jaws and claws. Naturally, it helped that, when transformed, even the smallest of them still stood at nearly a hundred and fifty centimetres in terms of height, so they had little trouble reaching most domestic utilities.It

Still, it was all for naught. Not one of the werewolves had anything remotely suspicious within their memories, neither in terms of actions or emotions. Nevertheless, Noctua wished to be as meticulous as possible, and so the entire process took him about two hours, two hours that seemed like a month to both him and, he suspected, the assembled pack. Yet it was a necessary sacrifice �" the Stuttgartrudel members were now all beyond suspicion. And though he could feel full-well the hateful glares stabbing into his back as Hartwig escorted him out of the establishment, Alexander still preferred a bit of earned hatred to an unnecessary bloodbath.

The only problem now was that, unfortunately, he now had even fewer leads than he had when leaving Stolz’s office. Of course, he knew there was one location the attacker would most certainly visit every night he was on the hunt �" the stream within Little Schwarzwald, whose location Hartwig and the others allowed him to gleam from their minds. However, he also knew that the perpetrator would only visit the place after he’d made the kill. Noctua didn’t �" no, he wouldn’t �" wait for more innocent people to get hurt. He had to find a way to prevent another attack, no matter what it took. But what could he do?

He was not certain he’d find enough material for a scrying ritual, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to enact it before dusk fell now. Nevertheless, he decided his first stop would be the last, still fresh crime scene, on the road by the source of all this terror, to see whether maybe, just maybe, he could find something useful there. And then… well, there was only one other suspect he knew of. It wasn’t as though he had better clues to go on.

Huginn, of course, thoroughly debriefed himself on the situation by rummaging through Noctua’s memories, and now flew above the sorcerer’s head in small circles. The raven enjoyed flying whenever possible, especially after a ride in the car. Alexander returned to his vehicle directly after his business within the café had been concluded, though he opted for a less obvious route this time around. Upon returning to his car, he restocked his pocket of pulva lunis, the specialised mixture of ground silver and salt splashed with a dose of Osiris’s Dream, and drove the vehicle to the nearest butcher shop in town. There, to the very apparent puzzlement of the elderly shopkeeper, he bought a massive slab of fresh, bloody beef, which, wrapped in a thick bag, he stored in the backseat of his car as he set off to his main destination.

Now, having parked the car in a fairly secluded spot in a small alleyway between the tightly-packed houses of the Stuttgart suburbs, he was walking along the wide, scarcely traversed path made from large rectangular stone blocks, the imposing greenery of Stuttgart’s “Little Schwarzwald” as it was colloquially known, to his left. He knew the police would be long gone by now �" after all, the murder was almost two days old, and there wasn’t much one could recover from a crime scene like this. The proper examinations would be conducted back at the precinct. Which meant that everything the police had no chance of spotting would be freely available for Noctua to investigate. Yet, for whatever reason, he too doubted he’d find much. 

“So, what do we do after this?” Huginn sent his way, flying low so that he could hear what Alexander might reply out loud.

“Depends on what we find.”

“What do you expect we’ll find?”

“Not much, to be honest” Noctua sighed.

“But you just have to make sure, hey silly?”

“Better safe than sorry. You never know, we might run into something useful there. Besides, it won’t take that long to set up the trap.”

“So, you are going to give this von Weide fellow matter a go after all?” Huginn quizzed.

“What other leads do we have, Huginn?” Noctua contemplated, asking his raven as much as he did himself. “The Stuttgartrudel proved a complete dead-end, and Hartwig gave me all the info he had on the matter. I made a point of specifically asking those of the Pack I trusted the least whether they knew anything more about the case. All of them were negative, even Erik. I was so sure they’d know something. So, we have to make do with the little we gained” he said, lifting his face to the grey, cloudy skies, a bitter smile marring his features. “I’d say this is the price of overconfidence.”

“Well, given the circumstances, your suspicions and expectations seemed rational enough” Huginn mused, his voice a query echo of Noctua’s own.

“And they have been proven unsubstantial” Alexander finished. “No point in mulling the matter over now. Let’s look the place over, perhaps we’ll find something to point us in a truer direction” he resolved, swiftly cutting the distance to the crime scene.

Two students, a boy and a girl, both eighteen years of age. Micha Straffel and Priska Kante, both studying at the same high school. Classmates, likely returning from an evening shift. Both of them living within the North district. Both of them murdered at around quarter-past-ten afternoon, brutally mauled and ripped apart by an unknown assailant. Bodies discovered the following day at six in the morning, already cold. None of the local residents saw nor heard anything suspicious that night. The perpetrator left no obvious tracks behind him. Wounds on the victims seem to have been inflicted by some kind of animal teeth and claws, though no matching dental structure has been identified. A mystery for any regular investigator, to be sure.

Finally, Alexander came upon the place where the deed was done, putting the chocolate back in its place. The stone of the pavement was stained red four metres across �" the monster was evidently having fun smearing the two helpless humans across the floor as it devoured its prey. It was cold and windy, true, but there was no rain, and so the stains were still clearly visible, an ominous slap on an otherwise mundane-looking piece of public space. Noctua lent down and pressed his hand against the cold, coarse stone, trying to sap some remains of the most recent emotional imprint. He was only ever partially prepared for what came next.

Agony spread throughout his body, the scratching of massive claws, the tearing of slicked fangs, the suffocating, omnipresent reek spreading from grotesque, gaping jaws. Fear. So, so much fear, absolute, unbridled horror and despair, a recounting of a life now lost, intense inner mourning of a million moments never to come. Alexander closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and calmed the raging emotion which was not his, a single tear flowing down his face. He needed information, not sensations, especially not these. He slowly moved his hand across the stone, from one red spot to the next, trying to get an impression of something more specific, like the colour of fur or the approximate size. All for naught. Once again, Noctua quietly lamented the fact Kyra was no longer with him. He lamented the loss of his old commando in general, but in terms of information gathering, Kyra was definitely the one he missed the most often.

He stood back up, straightened his jacket and walked around the crime scene, eventually resting his gaze upon the tightly-packed, gloomy form of Little Schwarzwald. Were the weather different, the forest might look welcoming, beautiful even. As such, with most of its deciduous trees having already shed their crowns, the only the dark greens of the evergreens remained, rising against the roiling grey skies. The trees of the forest were tightly packed, and Noctua could not help but feel the sudden urge to scan through the woods with his mind, to see whether that persistent feeling of being observed from somewhere had any merit to it.

“You’re being watched” Huginn sent to him telepathically. Had Noctua not been groomed to never react overtly to new information, he might have jumped at the unexpected news then and there, betraying his advantage. Instead, he continued to look the forest over, hoping the creature watching did not have eyesight keen enough to notice an increase in his sweating.

“From the forest?”

“No, from one side of the road. Don’t look just yet. It’s the two young fellas you mentioned attacked you earlier today. Tanya and Torsten Eisenstein, I believe you said they’re called?”

“Hmm. How far away are they?”

“They’ve been watching you for about a minute or so, I’d wager. Now, they’ve begun walking towards you, approaching rapidly.”

“Either of them noticed you yet?”

“I don’t believe so. I’ll fly low and perch on one of the garages on the other side of the road. Don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“Right, you do that. I’ll see what it is they want here.”

“Perhaps it’s a coincidence?” suggested the raven, flying off to find an optimal resting place.

“Do you actually believe that?”

“No.”

Noctua continued to survey his surroundings, then, as the twins got about two hundred meters away from him, turned towards them and began approaching. The road was long, straight and wide, there was nowhere to hide and neither of the siblings attempted to do so. The boy, Torsten, seemed surprise when Noctua acknowledged their presence, seemingly knowing they were coming, but Tanya’s expression never changed as she continued walking forward. She wore a dark-brown woollen jacket and blue jeans, though she did not bother with gloves, a scarf or a hat despite the chilly weather. Torsten, likewise, had no accessories fit for the cold, and wore dark blue trousers and an olive-green jacket. Most notably, however, both of them were carrying seemingly empty backpacks on their shoulders, and as Noctua narrowed down the reasons why they would be dragging these along with them, he did not like the most apparent answer.

Still, he tried his best to be cordial when approaching the two. Truth be told, he did not wish to antagonize them overmuch, yet his resolve was firm in the matter he was certain they’d bring up. Before he could say anything upon walking to them, Tanya told him in the most straightforward manner possible.

“We want to help you find and kill the b*****d.”

“No” Noctua answered, likewise seeing no point in beating around the bush.

Tanya did not give up. She lifted her gaze and looked the sorcerer straight in the eye, though only one of hers remained visible due to her long bangs. There was something familiar within that eye, in more ways than one. Noctua suddenly felt the need to avert his own gaze elsewhere. He didn’t. Not yet.

“We’re… sorry… sorry for attacking you. Me and Torsten both” Tanya spoke. Torsten slowly nodded in agreement.

“You ought to be sorrier about not finishing me off” Alexander replied. This time, his response did startle the twins somewhat. They looked so alike, they even grimaced the same way, Noctua thought.

“W-what?” Torsten managed. “I thought you’d…”

“Well, naturally, I disapprove of you luring strangers into your basement and trying to kill them, but now at least I know you don’t do that on a regular basis. It was impulsive, however, and reckless” he admonished them, but not too harshly. He felt no enmity towards the siblings for the attack. In this matter, fortunately, he was strong enough to be gentle. Yet there were things which bothered him about their conduct.

“It’s true that sometimes, especially when one finds himself in a situation akin to your own, acting on impulse, immediately, is the only, no, the best option for resolving a problem. In my case, you were more than certain I was a knight of the Order, and I apparently knew or at least suspected your secret. From what you likely gathered, I was planning on assassinating your Alpha, which, should I succeed, would throw the entire pack into disarray. Am I correct insofar?”

He knew he was, but he wanted them to be a part of the conversation, so he waited for them to slowly nod in agreement.

“So, you wagered that, should you kill me, then the Pack was likely safe for the time being, and should I kill you �" an option you did not consider seriously enough �" then the Pack would only lose two low-rung members, which would also serve to warn the others. Am I correct?”

Again, they nodded.

“See, your essential flaw in this thought process was that you failed to consider other factors. Most notably, you failed to actively consider my other possible intentions. For example, that I was, as was the case, not convinced to open hostilities with your pack. Your attack, were it to be unsuccessful and were I not to receive any additional information from you or Hartwig, might have simply convinced me that the Stuttgartrudel had a guilty conscience, and something to hide. All in all, you would have done your pack a lot more harm than good” he finished, crossing his arms and turning to the forest, scratching at his chin in contemplation.

“Of course,” he continued, uncaring of the bewildered glances the siblings began sharing “none of that would matter if you actually succeeded in killing me. Remember this, both of you �" some things can’t be done by halves. Killing’s one of them. If you’re going to try and kill someone, you need to be absolutely certain you’ll finish the job.”

“Well… we did try…” Torsten began, unsure where the conversation was headed.

“No one cares about the effort you put in, Torsten. No one. Harsh reality of life, you might say. In terms of tangible objectives, most of the time, the only thing that counts are your results. And you, for all your determination, had no way of actually knowing whether you’d be able to defeat me. You rushed in with a blindfold and slammed your head straight against a wall.”

“I think that was your knee” the boy growled, but Noctua ignored him.

“I’d say I understand your point” Tanya mused, looking towards the grey skies. “You’re saying that we should have made sure we could kill you before attacking you. But how could we have done that?”

“You couldn’t” Noctua replied, blatantly.

“What, so you’re just that indestructible, hey?” Torsten grimaced, and Tanya frowned with disdain.

“Not at all. We baseline humans are quite fragile, and I’m no exception. But going into that fight, I already had all the advantages I could ask for.”

The twins looked at each other, clearly confused.

“In every confrontation, there is one basic principle. Know thyself” Alexander spoke, raising his finger in the air to put emphasis on his words. “Have either of you read the Art of War?”

“Yes” the twins replied unanimously.

“Its basic tenant can be summed up in three sentences �" if you know yourself and the enemy, you are going to win every battle that comes your way. If you know yourself, but not the enemy…”

“Yes, yes, we remember” Torsten interrupted. “How’s that translate to what happened in the Heiligtum?”

“All quite elementary, actually. Tell me, how long did our little scuffle in the basement last?”

“About four or five minutes in all” Tanya paused to consider.

“And how long does it take to memorise the martial arts I used, learn how to prepare and utilise the specialised gadgets I employed and memorise the strengths and weaknesses of werewolves of various sizes, ages and genders? How long did it take me to read through your surface thoughts and gather something about your personalities and combat experience?”

“Wait, wait, that’s not…” Torsten began.

“That is all absolutely a part of combat. Information, knowledge, and foresight to acquire it all. Physical aggression, for all intents and purposes, is the final crescendo, the brief and formal climax of a clash between two beings. When we descended those stairs, I already knew more than I needed about you two to ensure a swift victory, whilst you were still pondering whether mages like me cast their spells orally or psychically.”

“Which is it then?” Tanya could not help herself.

“I see no reason to tell you now” Alexander replied, without contempt, though that still made Tanya frown. “Victory is ever decided before the battle commences, and information has the greatest weight on the scales of success. Simply put, I knew myself going down those stairs, and you did not.”

“But we do know ourselves. We’re not dumb, you know, and we know our own abilities and tendencies, Czech…”

“I’m not Czech and that’s not nearly enough to say you know yourself in battle” Noctua corrected her. “To know oneself in combat, you need to know not only what you can do, but also what you can’t or won’t do. More specifically, what your opponent can and cannot do to thwart you. And you find that out in two ways �" either you train, consistently and meticulously, to experience and memorise every possible situation, or you try and find out as much about your opponent as possible beforehand. A combination of the two is ideal, and you, unfortunately, currently possess neither.”

The twins went silent at that, so Alexander prepared to wrap it all up.

“Finish all that you start” Noctua continued, pacing around the former crime scene, studying the place as he spoke yet finding little of import. “That is the best way to grow in life, as far as I know anyway. Naturally, some things you start you might have no hope of finishing, successfully or at all. That is why you must weigh your every action before committing to it. Presumably, then, you should only ever lament failure of an action you have decided to undertake, not the undertaking in-and-of-itself. But that is not the way you feel it, is it?”

“…No” Torsten slowly replied, his gaze now drawn to the blood-stained stone of the pavement.

“No” Tanya said later on, looking back to Noctua at last.

“Precisely. You chose to commit to an action you did not fully understand, had no assurances of successfully carrying out and thus regretted later on. So, I tell you, in good faith �" live your life in a way so that you won’t have regrets about what you do after the deed is done, one way or another. Of course, you’re going to blunder along the way to getting there. I blunder constantly, make no mistake, and I’m a lot older than you. But that is the only way for you to gather knowledge and, thus, come to know thyself and win battles, both literal and metaphorical �" by trial and error, through failure and success, all in all, through experience. And that is why I cannot afford to let you pursue the killer. At best, you’ll only end up harming yourselves, which is something that, based on my agreement with Hohenbach, I cannot allow to happen. At worst, you might unintentionally sabotage my entire operation. There is no benefit to having you come along with me as you are.”

“That’s a wordy way to say “you’re too inexperienced”, don’t you think?” Torsten murmured angrily.

“I have found that, if you try and convince the person instead of just telling them something, they are more inclined to listen” Noctua gave a soft smile. “Doesn’t work all the time, unfortunately, but it’s an effort worth making.”

“Or you just like to listen to yourself” Tanya scoffed, prompting a short, heartfelt laugh from Noctua

“Maybe you’re right, actually” he said, intent on ending the discussion. “I don’t get to talk to many people nowadays. Still, my decision is final. Go back home, kids. I promise you, he won’t be getting away from this.”

He turned his back on them now, walking off the pathway and onto the soft, wet carpet of fallen leaves covering the floor of the forest next to him.

“Wait, damnit, you can’t just leave!” Torsten cried behind him, grinding his teeth.

“I can and I am. What is it that’s meant to prevent me? And hurry it along, there’s not that much time before sunset” he called, though he did not make an effort to turn back.

“Just a moment! We can be useful to you!” Tanya called, descending the small slope down which Noctua was already heading.

“Oh? And what would that be?” Noctua asked, pausing briefly.

“A clue! A piece of the puzzle we’ve managed to uncover” Tanya said, standing before Noctua, her expression a cross between angry and pleading. Torsten stood by her side in a moment, and Noctua could once again barely tell the twins apart. Both had that same zeal about them, that sort of unique devotion, rare amongst humans, but completely expected of werewolves with a pack.

“Truly? I do recall asking whether anyone had managed to uncover anything else about the case back at the meeting” Noctua said, his voice now as cold as the first time he’d spoken to them. He didn’t appreciate this reveal at all, and swiftly turned their conversation into an interrogation.

“So do I, and we did well not to tell you. Now, we can prove to you that we can be of use and participate” Tanya stated, agitated despite Noctua’s changed demeanour.

“I see. So, what clue is it you’ve managed to find that you thought prudent not to share with me?” Noctua asked, concentrating.

“One neither of us would be dumb enough to think about so long as you’re surveying our thoughts” Torsten grinned, and the siblings exchanged a brief smile at that. Alexander had to admit, he was slightly impressed, and pulled back his mind from their brains, though he kept his expression neutral.

“Good grief, you seem to be quick studies” he said flatly. “Good, very good conduct, both of you. Selfish to the bone, naturally, but a fine move all the same.”

Both werewolves blushed slightly at that accusation, but it passed rather quickly.

“I could simply dig through your brains to find the answer, and you couldn’t do anything to stop me” Noctua said, putting on his best poker face.  

“But you won’t” Tanya finished for him, a confident grin now on her face.

“No, I won’t. But why?” Noctua replied after a pause. The girl was getting good at this. Both of them were. Alas, too little too late.

“Because I paid attention to what you said. In combat �" and this is a clash of wills, if not bodies �" you need to consider not only what you and your opponent are capable of doing, but also willing to do. And you, herr Noctua, are not willing to hurt us, now that our innocence has been proven. I don’t know why, but there’s a deal between you and herr Hohenbach, stating you won’t injure or attack any member of the Stuttgartrudel unless they kill or attack an innocent human. Besides, you keep mentioning honour and dignity and all that” she gave him a wry smile “and to force your way into an unwilling mind just to learn something new, if it is being offered in a fair exchange, would be most dishonourable, I’d wager.”

“Clever girl” Alexander finally chuckled, dispensing with the cold mask. “Alright then. Point me to your clue, and I’ll be willing to consider whether I’ll allow you to stay and help me.”

The werewolves looked to each other, then Tanya sniffed at the air and closed her eyes, walking blindly towards a spot amidst the trees, to a medium-sized, oval rock lying amidst the roots of a large tree.

Tanya opened her eyes, looked at the rock before her, gave a small satisfied grin and stepped aside. “We came here yesterday as soon as it was safe” she said, growing a tad wearier now that she remembered the reason for their visit. “The cops had already searched the place itself, and Petra went to confirm the scent led to them same spot as ever. But we came too. We had to… I had to… see where it happened. And, going along the path, I… we found this” she said, a hint of pride colouring her dour tone.

Noctua knelt down by the large, sloping surface of the stone. It was slick and partially covered by moss, but still, he could not mistake what the Eisenstein twins were getting at. There was a handprint on the stone, if one could call the massive limb which left the stain there a hand. The print was made using dried, dark red blood, so a person not knowing what he was looking for was very likely to miss it, and to Noctua, it no longer held any distinct aroma, though he did not doubt for a second the twins could still smell it with ease. Torsten grimaced at the mere sight of it, or, more likely, of what it represented, whereas Tanya did her best to avert her gaze.

One thing began to concern Noctua far more than anything else, however, upon studying the paw print closer. 

“Good grief” he murmured, discreetly relaying the info to Huginn.

“What, why?” Torsten quizzed.

“Tell me, what is one of the most obvious differences between a wolf and a transformed werewolf, besides the size?” Noctua asked both of them, continuing to study the massive pawprint.

“The structure of the paws” Tanya replied instantly. “It is usually from eight to twelve centimetres in breadth and from nine to thirteen in length, and with larger, slimmer fingers than a regular wolf’s. Why?”

“This one’s fifteen centimetres broad, seventeen long and it’s two central fingers end beyond the edge of the print” Noctua replied, calmly, though he was anything but on the inside. “It’s also got slightly less bulky, more elongated fingers than the average. Do you know what that probably means?”

Neither of them spoke up. Noctua knew it wasn’t because they didn’t know. They just didn’t want to admit it. But he had no such qualms.

“Going off of this print, for which I am grateful, I’d say this is the biggest werewolf I have ever encountered throughout my career. Worse, it looks like he’s at least partially merged his two forms already. All in all, I’d wager he’s an even more dangerous opponent than I would have originally guessed” he finished rising to his feet and looking back at the twins. “Is this really the only footprint you have found after three months?”

“Y-y-yes” Torsten murmured. “He’s… it’s unusually good at covering its tracks. Never steps onto mud or soft ground, never leaves scratches or other such marks at any place other than besides the corpses. I don’t… I can’t really explain it in any way other than it doesn’t want to be found…”

“Curious” Noctua looked back at the print. “So why did it leave this one?”

“I’m guessing it didn’t notice. Look at the spots, right there, see? Where the stains grow even weaker? I’d wager there were leaves covering the rock, and whilst it was retreating, it failed to notice most of the rock was no longer covered.”

“I see. Well, this changes the situation categorically” Noctua spoke, adjusting his jacket and turning back towards the roadside.

“It… it does?” the twins asked, again, simultaneously, with just a dash of hope.

“Of course. Previously, I had considered the job too dangerous to take two rash rookies with me. Now, I know it’s going to be too dangerous. Not just for you, but for me as well. So, the possibility of you two going after it is now categorically dismissed.”

“Wait, what?!” both of them yelled.

“As I said �" this is the largest werewolf I’ve ever encountered. If this pawprint is genuine, which I’d guess it is, then this job has officially become too risky for you to participate. It’s going to be bad enough taking it down, and I can’t afford to take care of you whilst doing so” he said, quietly contemplating the newest reveal. A werewolf of this size, here, in Stuttgart of all places… But how? And how could it have mutated so quickly? Something wasn’t adding up here, yet Noctua could not, for the life of him, figure out what.

“But we had a deal, Czech!” Torsten shouted, fuming with anger. Tanya merely lowered her gaze, yet Noctua could almost see a black cloud of hatred and fury sprout from her back like wings.

“Yes, that I would consider your involvement once again. I have, Torsten, believe me I have. But upon this newest discovery… no, that’s simply not acceptable. I couldn’t hope to take a thing like this down and protect the two of you at the same time.”

“But… but we helped you!” Torsten cried, his hands clawing against his trousers. “We helped you find a clue! Gather information, isn’t that right? We’ve proven we can be useful!”

“Undoubtedly. And selfish” Noctua turned back to the road, beginning to walk away. “Do not forget, you should have given me this information back when I first asked. By not doing so, you might have contributed to my death and the possible annihilation of the Stuttgartrudel, not to mention the deaths of dozens of innocent citizens. Nevertheless, I did actually consider taking you on in this matter, until I saw the size of our opponent. Given the amount of strength, speed and dexterity it is likely to have, I am more than certain the two of you would fall to it quickly. And, again, that is not something I can allow.”

“So that’s it? The honourable knight just makes and breaks a promise on the spot?” Torsten gasped in disbelief.

“No promises were broken. I promised to reconsider, and I did” Noctua said, intent on ending the discussion then and there. “You’re still far too inexperienced and this will be even more dangerous than I originally thought. I fail to see a single reason why I should allow you to remain here” he said, intending to take another step, but was stopped by a terrifying, mournful scream coming from behind him.

“He killed them right here, you b*****d!” Tanya could not hold back her pent-up emotions any longer. The stream of pure, bottled-up anger in her words took Noctua aback, and the sorcerer stopped dead in his tracks halfway from the forest. He turned to see the older twin almost fuming with rage, that specific toxic concoction Noctua was well acquainted with. Her back was arched and her legs were slightly bent, though he sensed no hostility from her, not like before. This time, it was only anger, clear, undistilled and, for now, impotent rage.

“This is where they died, you hear?! Priska! Micha! Our friends! Our! Friends! Here! Two days ago! And why?! Because everyone within the Pack puts our own lives first! Says we’re all too few, too precious to risk even one of us getting killed! And now you too! What is the deal with you?! What is the deal with all of you?! People are getting killed by a monster! A monster, a real one! Who cares if some of us die?! Are our lives more valuable than theirs?! Don’t you want as many people as possible after it?! Huh?! Don’t you?! Well I do! And so, I tell you this, Alexander Noctua! If you refuse to allow us to help you tonight, we’ll be going after him on our own! And I don’t care what happens, I don’t care who says what, I don’t care about herr Hohenbach and his orders anymore! I’ve waited long enough! I have to do this, understand?! We have to do this, and we won’t get a better chance!”

Alexander stood still at that, listening to Tanya’s angry monologue with his face still turned away, not speaking a word. Only when the sister was finished did he look back at her, his features now softer than when last he’d spoken, though not by much. Still, Tanya did notice.

“So, the last two victims… those two high schoolers… so that’s why you’re so flustered” he spoke, slowly.

“Yes!” now Torsten was the one who screamed, and though the street was empty and Huginn kept watch, he still grew worried someone uncalled for might overhear a tad too much. “And we could’ve prevented it as well! Had we acted sooner, had we…” he went silent for a moment, seemingly holding back tears, then continued. “Had we tried to track the b*****d down sooner perhaps… perhaps…”

Noctua turned back to where the werewolves stood. Twelve years ago, when faced with this same situation, he wouldn’t have known how to react, wouldn’t have known what to say or suggest. And now, even though he thought he did know, he, for the first time that day, found himself speechless.

“I felt this before!” Tanya cried, tears streaming down her face, clawing at her chest. “I did, and I hate it! I hate, hate, hate it so much! To be so impotent, so useless, so… aaargh!” she yelled, slashing her hand against the nearby tree and leaving a deep bruise. “You can’t understand that pain, sorcerer, not unless you’ve lost loved ones! You know? You can’t! And the thought of the thing that killed them running around free, the thought that I let it happen…” she lowered her head between he thigs, squatting down now, with her brother laying a protective hand across her back.

“It’s a terrible feeling, herr Noctua” Torsten added, and Alexander was taken aback by the sudden calm and respect within the boys’ voice. “You feel like… you feel like, if you don’t do something, if you don’t hurt the ones who hurt you, who hurt those you care about, you’ll be eaten from within, left a hollow husk, you know? No more joy, satisfaction, passion, nothing. We’ve gone through that once, and we were but kids then, too stupid to fully process all it meant. We did nothing then. I’d wager, if we don’t do anything once again…”

He paused, caressing his sister’s hair as she sobbed.

“You tell yourself… tell yourself… it’s going to be better… that you’ve no chance to succeed either way” Tanya let out amidst heavy sobs. “But… the more… the more you think on it all… the worse it gets… and… I just… can’t… I need to know I did something… you know? I need to…”

“We know we don’t stand a chance alone, herr Noctua, even more so now. And we don’t want to die, neither of us. But I’d say it’d be better to die doing the right thing, than live on, knowing every day your life came at the expense of someone else’s, that you let matters settle themselves in your favour instead of righting your own wrongs.”

Alexander remained quiet after that, waiting for Tanya to stop sobbing. He contemplated. He reminisced. And he carefully weighed his options.

Eventually, he returned to the werewolf twins, and, much like he had earlier that day, outstretched his hand. First to Torsten, who, after momentary hesitation, gripped it and stood beside the black-clad knight. Then, he did the same to Tanya, just as before. This time, she merely lifted her reddened eyes to his, but still made no move to stand up.

“I see” Noctua spoke, calmly. “Both of you walk the path of vengeance now. That’s a bad path, Torsten. Very bad, Tanya. They say before you choose to walk it, you ought to dig two graves �" one for your enemy, and one for yourself. Personally, I’d advocate you reserve a graveyard. It’s very hard to turn back once you’ve committed to it, you know. I had to drag my friend from it by force. It wasn’t pretty” he spoke, his voice never rising above a whisper.

“But” he continued, hand still outstretched, “I am also aware words do nothing to convince those whose heart is already set on revenge. They must experience it, feel that sweet, momentary bliss of a vengeful blow, only for the sea of misery from which it briefly arose to swallow it back up again. You must achieve your vengeance to understand it is pointless,” he said, a sad smile spreading across his features “and that only true forgiveness can ever satisfy you, and help you earn your right to live. Revenge will not undo your grievance; it doesn’t have the power to change the past. Yet I am aware it doesn’t look like that from the other side of the fence. Therefore” he said, and moved his hand closer to Tanya “I will allow you to seize your revenge tonight. I will let you stay at my side and help me defeat and, possibly, kill the creature which devoured Micha, Priska, and eleven others of this city. This, I solemnly swear. And I do this, not to lend you the strength to carry out your vengeance, but to help you find the strength necessary to deny it.”

A minute passed before the older twin gripped Noctua’s hand and rose to her feet.

 

“Are you pulling my leg?” Huginn sent, his thoughts ripe with disbelief as he perched himself on a naked tree branch above Noctua’s head. For his part, the sorcerer said nothing, simply pulling out a pair of small binoculars and dropping to one knee by the dark trunk, slick and slippery even in these late hours. “We go through all that trouble to set up the trap in time, we do our best to finish before sunset, we even manage to get those two numpties to help, and all the same, we end up with the police, of all things, halting our progress. That’s just… just… why?” he almost wailed.

“We expected things might get more complicated, Huginn.”

“Too complicated, if you ask me. That seems to be a trend with all our latest jobs, don’t you think? We get a clue, which leads us to a different clue, which ends in a blind alley, then we get a different clue through improvisation… I miss our straightforward jobs, is all.”

“When’s the last time we were given a straightforward job?” Noctua asked, looking upwards to his companion.

“Bulgaria, Grudovo, two years ago, the rusalka brood. No second clues, no other leads, no ulterior motives, nothing. Just a good old-fashioned purge of some angsty carnivores” Huginn replied immediately, and they both chuckled at that slightly.

“Fair enough,” Alexander admitted, looking through the binoculars. “But you have to admit, those are always less common for us. Magic is ever deception, am I correct?”

Huginn merely sniffed in resignation, looking back to the object of his irritation. The two of them, one crouching, one perching, stood on a small elevation hidden in between the densely packed trees of Little Schwarzwald. Approximately one hundred meters from them, the forest parted into a large open space, forming a neat circle of open space, containing the Jagdhutte, the ancestral house of the von Weide family.

The building was, despite its age, seemingly well-preserved, with solid stone walls and a dark-brown chiselled roof covering its third store. Two sets of large, rectangular glass windows lined its front side, though almost all had indigo curtains pulled up, obscuring Noctua’s vision. The house was painted in matted beige colour, and though in places the paintjob was falling off, for the most part the colouration remained intact. A short row of stairs led to large, oaken doors, still adorned with a rusted, metallic knocker in the shape of an eagle. The one room Noctua could see through the opened window proved too poorly lit for him to decipher much beyond the bulky abattoir at the opposite wall.

The garden, sticking out by the sides of the house, was significantly worse for wear, overgrown with weeds of all sorts, with waist-high grass and vines slowly worming their way up the sides of the manner. Due to this, the exact border delineating the end of the forest and the beginning of the garden was left somewhat unclear, as even the rather crude-looking wire fence, meant to delineate the area, was mostly smothered under the mountains of plantlife.

The sizeable parking space before the house, on the other hand, was almost entirely free of such natural intrusions, being made of asphalt and lined with a small moat filled with gravel. It was rather clearly separated from the narrow road connecting the house to the nearest road by a large, steel gate, simple in design yet evidently better kept than the rickety fence surrounding the rest of the property. Now its wings were wide open, and the space beyond it housed not one, but two cars, one a slick yellow Ford, the other, the characteristic blue, yellow and grey car of German police officers.

Indeed, two policemen were in fact conversing with the owner of the house on the stairway leading to it, one was a rigidly composed, thin man with unusually pale skin, the other, a somewhat more corpulent fellow with an impressive beard of ginger hair. Noctua paid both of them little heed, for his interest lay solely with the owner of the manner, the surrounding property and much of the forest he was currently hiding within.

Kaspar von Weide, currently the primary suspect of their case, looked older than he ought to be.  His face was haggard and his eyes were clearly bloodshot even at the considerable distance from which Noctua was observing him, with massive dark bags under both. His blond hair had the colour of old straw and looked just as mismanaged, shaggy and unkempt and reaching down to his shoulders. He wore a simple white shirt with the buttons paired incorrectly. Even as he spoke to the police, Noctua noticed he would regularly bite at his nails and generally keep his hands in motion. His cheeks were faded and his face gave the impression of a gaunt man, though Alexander could not very well judge how thin

 he actually was due to the shirt he was wearing. All the evidence pointed to the man being at the very least severely disturbed and caught within a self-destructive spiral of some sort.

Yet Noctua was anything but satisfied with what he saw. “Huginn,” he called, “fly closer, discreetly, and check him. You know what you ought to look for.”

“Sure” the raven replied, sounding less than thrilled. “Should I check his mind?”

“As gently as you can, only surface thoughts” he replied. Werewolves were a lot more sensitive towards deeper intrusion, and he didn’t want to give away their presence just yet. Huginn huffed in irritation, then lifted himself into the air and made a slow beeline towards the manner, eventually perching himself up on the roof directly above the three talking men. Noctua put down the binoculars and began planning their next course of action.

Originally, they had wanted to enter the house before sunset, so as not to give the werewolf they were tracking the advantage of its war form or, possibly, confirm that Kaspar was indeed not a werewolf, but merely a troubled man going through a difficult period in life. This plan, naturally, also presented a number of obstacles. Even in his human form, based on his size and smell, the werewolf serial killer would be prodigiously strong and fast, and though the advantage they could gain over him would be significant, it would by no means guarantee victory.

Then there was the problem of the twins’ transformation. Both siblings brought within their backpacks a bowl and a blood sack, to ensure they could transform safely even outside their home. However, should they enter the house first, only for the twins to later begin transforming, they would be rendered almost completely defenceless for far too long. And, even should he be able to protect them during that time, there was no guarantee they’d be able to regain their consciousness and not attack Noctua first, reducing them to little more than further complications within the operation.

Of course, now, none of this mattered. The last thing Noctua wanted to do would be to alert the police to his presence. He was confident the two officers were safe even if von Weide was a werewolf �" it would, after all, be as good as admitting guilt if an officer went missing whilst inspecting his house. However, it also meant that he and the twins could not act until the officers left. How long they’d stay, naturally, was anyone’s guess.

It was a good thing too that the von Weide family still owned such a comparatively large amount of land. It meant that their house was at least a few kilometres away from the nearest inhabited building, and in the North district, where, as Hartwig had mentioned, people had been moving to en masse during the last couple of years, that was an unexpected blessing. He couldn’t fully discount the possibility of their attack taking place inside the house, for one reason or another, and should that happen to be the case, Noctua could use his firepower much more effectively if he could afford to forego silencers.

Alexander stood beside the tree and waited. He could, even at this distance, barely make out Huginn’s small frame perched atop the roof, though he was confident the werewolf would not catch his scent �" he was downwind, fortunately, and quite a distance away. And there was absolutely no chance of von Weide spotting him, of that he was more than certain. Still, as he re-examined the exhausted face of their primary suspect, something seemed… off. He’d wait for Huginn to confirm his suspicions, but he doubted the raven would be able to physically spot something he’d missed. Soon after, Huginn’s voice came to him, in his usual monotone reporting style. Noctua knew how much the raven hated scouting duty. And Huginn knew just how valuable it was to Noctua.

“The police are currently asking him about the possibility of a feral animal living within his grounds” the raven reported, sending images of the others’ faces along with the message.

“How does he respond?”

“A lie by omission, it would seem. He states he knows of no such animal, and though he is correct, its more than clear he’s not saying everything. The police haven’t picked up on it though.”

“I see. Send me detailed images of his eyes, face, ears and hands, would you? Then continue eavesdropping and report whenever something interesting comes up.”

“Roger, silly,” Huginn said, sarcasm incarnate. Noctua waited for a handful of very sharp, clearly defined impressions to appear within his mind, then closed his eyes and began looking them over. The eyes were hazelnut brown, bloodshot through and through and moist in the corners, the thin eyebrows were of the same colour as von Weide’s matted hair. His teeth were slightly yellowish, but not filthy by any means, his ears were large and fairly evenly round, and his fingers, all of the appropriate length and breadth, were tipped with regular, blunt and thin nails of vaguely pinkish colouring.

“The police are saying they’d like to check the house and the garden. They have a warrant” Huginn reported, now very clearly irritated.

“Well, that seems to have been unavoidable. Will he let them in?”

“Yes, he will, though he isn’t comfortable with the idea. I think that proves it.”

“We can’t make hasty judgments like that, Huginn. For all intents and purposes, this man is already our primary suspect. We mustn’t succumb to confirmation bias. Especially now that a handful of new clues don’t fit within the puzzle.”

“Why do we always have to go looking for conspiracies, you absolute ham sandwich?” Huginn sighed, already beginning to fly back to the sorcerer.

“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not ought to get you” Alexander gave a slight smile, then pulled a strip of dried meat from his jacket. “Besides, I would have thought the personification of thought would enjoy a bit of mental exercise, ey?”

“That’s all we ever do, Noctua. Searching for clues, hunting leads, scrolling through grimoires and fighting seven kinds of s**t on a Sunday. When’s the last time we stopped to think about something we actually liked to do?” Huginn protested, nimbly soaring amidst the trees to where Noctua was waiting. As the sorcerer was standing there, he spied the waning sphere of the permanently half-hidden sun travelling ever further to the west on the heavenly palanquin. It was getting late. By the time the police left, they’d have a window too narrow to intervene before transformation took place. Ah well, Alexander thought, at least we didn’t set that trap for nothing. 

As Huginn descended, Noctua extended his arm, still holding the piece of jerky, and let his raven perch on top of it. Landing softly, Huginn sent the entire, intact conversation he was able to record, into Noctua’s head. The sorcerer let it play out in his mind for a few moments, eyes closed, whilst the bird tore hungrily at the piece of meat in its talons. Briefly refocusing on the house, Noctua slowly turned away, back into the woods.

“Good grief” he said out loud, “this is getting less straightforward by the second.” Huginn gave him a glare which radiated smug satisfaction, but his companion was too lost in thought to comment.

 

Tanya and Torsten were just bickering about something as Noctua stepped back onto the small clearing where they had set up their trap. The smell of freshly slaughtered meat was hanging in the air, and Noctua had noticed immediately it made both werewolves far more jumpy than usual. A hungry werewolf, even one with his mind mostly intact, was still instinctually driven to chase after the smell of blood, be it that of man or beast. Yet the twins behaved admirably and managed to restrain themselves enough so as to be of help to Noctua during preparations.

After the conclusion of their discussions by the last crime scene, Alexander set about devising their course of action. He now had on his hands two young werewolves who, whilst certainly helpful if it came to direct combat, were mostly a hindrance to his initial goal of luring their culprit out. Hartwig had not been wrong �" if the werewolf sensed one of his own, sane or not, chances are he would attempt to avoid if he felt he was at a disadvantage, and attack should he perceive and edge. Werewolves were pack creatures �" one not of the pack had precious little trust towards others of his kind, especially in case he’d grown more feral over time.

But he could work around that hindrance. He did, after all, have a few good playing cards still up his sleeve. The only caveat was, in order to effectively play them, he would require the siblings to not only obey him, but to fall in sync with him, to realise when he needed what from them and when their personal input was detrimental. And that, naturally, proved no easy task.

When he finally walked out onto the clearing, both twins briskly turned towards him, startled and wary. Noctua understood why. For creatures with such sharp hearing, it must have been unusual for anyone to be able to sneak up on them, let alone a baseline human. Now that he no longer wished to make his presence known, Alexander once again began to tread softly, striving to produce as little noise as possible at all times. One never knew whom he might alert to his presence. He was certain, however, that if Tanya and Torsten did not try to talk over each other in that particular moment, they would be able to hear him with some effort.

He lifted his gaze to look at the large slab of meat, suspended some three metres above ground by a sturdy climbing rope. With the twins’ help, Noctua managed to wrap the other end around the strongest branches of the naked tree, ensuring the rope would loosen no matter how hard the bait got pulled. The meat itself had the rope largely wrapped around its bulk, so that it would certainly take any creature attempting to tear the meat down several attempts to do so. Carefully concealed beneath the hanging bait, shrouded by leaves and pieces of fallen branches, lay a large, specially designed bear trap. Old fashioned? Perhaps, Noctua mused, but effective nevertheless. No matter its size, should a werewolf be unfortunate enough to have one of its limbs ensnared by the device, it would certainly take considerable effort and time for it to free itself. And to Alexander, speed and mobility were ever the most important factors.

“Would you mind not sneaking up on us like that? Just once would be nice,” Tanya murmured, calming herself yet remaining irate all the same. Noctua guessed his ability to remain under their radar, likely being the first human able to do so, consciously unnerved both werewolves.

“How do you even do it? I mean, I get the scent-covering lotion, but…” Torsten began.

“The uniform’s not just for show, Torsten. That’s all I’m going to say for now. And, Tanya, its always better if no one, yourself included, is able to detect me, than if someone unwarranted were to happen across me,” Noctua replied without pausing, walking over to the ambush site and once again thoroughly inspecting all aspects of their trap. The twins seemed to await some kind of response, but Noctua had his priorities straight in this.

“Huginn, see if those ropes are still secured,” he spoke, bidding the raven to fly down from the tree behind him.

“What, again? Oh, come on, I’ve checked five times already!” Huginn protested, underpinning his comment by insistent and bothersome cawing only a bird of his calibre was capable of. Tanya and Torsten, though they had no way of hearing the raven’s words, understood the noises it made well enough.

“And I would ask you to check the sixth time as well. It’s always better to check after an absence. No matter the issue” Noctua replied, crouching down and gently unveiling the metallic contraption with two rows of razor-sharp, teeth-like spikes serving as its framework. The trap was large enough to contain even a werewolf of the size they’d be hunting, though only just. The twins waited quietly, expecting a report of some sort, but Noctua had previously made it abundantly clear to them he’d continue to do all as he deemed fit. That, unfortunately for them, included having the two of them wait. A lot.

“All’s secure” Huginn’s voice grumbled within his skull after a few moments. Satisfied, the sorcerer covered up the trap once again, then walked over to a large hollow trunk and sat down. He pulled his hand-and-a-half-sword from its scabbard then, laid it across his knees and retrieved a small whetstone from one of his many pockets. He looked the blade over, wondering whether it would be of use to him once again in a short while. Ninety centimetres long, tempered using the aurichalcum method, as was standard practice within the Order. Due to this, in the last light of the sun, the steel blade seemed to gain a reddish tint, so Alexander, vain as it may be, liked to perform maintenance on it at sunset. Non nobis solum nati sumus lay inscribed on one flat of the blade. Ortusque nostril partem patria vindicat, partem amici stood written on the other. Even in the fading light of day, in the middle of a thick forest, Noctua knew the sword as well as his own hand, remembering every single dent and imperfection ever removed from the blade as he began to gently stroke it with the stone, the sound created by the friction strangely soothing to him.

Tanya and Torsten simply stood there and watched him, expecting and bewildered, and the entire situation almost managed to elicit a laugh from Noctua. Who indeed was stranger in this situation? The pair of shapeshifting beasts trying to live the lives of ordinary teenagers, or a man dressed all in black sharpening a longsword in the middle of a forest? One way or another, all three of them were relics of the past now, he dimly reflected as he looked up to the twins, pausing in his work to give a brief report.

“Police the police have arrived to inspect the house. They’re currently interviewing Kaspar, and it doesn’t seem like they’ll leave us a large window. I’ll send Huginn to check up on them in about an hour -”

“You what?!” Huginn protested with another bout of furious cawing, but Noctua paid him no mind.

“- but until then, there is nothing more we can do. Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. I would advise both of you to get as much rest as possible. You’ll feel extremely tired once I establish the link.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Torsten began. “You’re going to just wait and see? We’re not going to try and check up on him before he turns into his war form? Wasn’t that a whole big deal you just made, about how he’s too dangerous for us to take on?”

“Good grief. You think it makes a difference whether we ambush a werewolf that strong during the day or night?” Noctua asked, resuming in his sharpening. The scratch of whetstone against steel punctuated his words.

“I think we ought to take whatever advantages we’re afforded” the boy continued, clenching his fists, though he sounded unsure.

“Quite so. So, currently, our greatest advantage is this �" the police don’t know about us. They don’t know about me, and they don’t know about you especially. In short, they won’t interfere and will be left blissfully unaware of the entire situation. Should we lose that advantage, not only do we put the two officers currently interrogating von Weide in harms’ way unnecessarily, we also risk further investigation in your direction. Perhaps we’d be able to protect the officers once a fight commences and persuade them not to fire into our backs in confusion and warranted fear. Perhaps I could lure the policemen away, somehow. Perhaps I could even wipe away their memories convincingly enough, insert a long, highly detailed memory of their unsuccessful enquiry into the von Weide manor. It is unlikely, even for me, to be able to falsify a memory so expertly, but it is possible.” He made a pause after the last statement, looking to Huginn perched up on the branch beside the bait, trying and failing miserably to pull a sliver of meat from the larger carcass.

“It is possible” he repeated moments later “but improbable. Maybe the memories I insert will begin to feel iffy within their skulls after some time. Maybe they won’t escape unscathed, and will begin to wonder how they acquired their injuries. Maybe, if they do not report back on time, another patrol will be sent to investigate, before we can dispose of any evidence. Maybe, maybe, maybe…”

“Hmm” Tanya let out a deep sigh and squatted down to be level with the ground. “I see his point, Torsten. There’re too many “maybes” in this course of action for him. And you don’t work on uncertainties, do you, herr Noctua?” Tanya seemed to ever be the twin who heard him. Torsten mostly just listened.

“Let’s say the last time I did, things turned out fairly badly for all parties involved” Noctua replied thoughtlessly, looking from Tanya back to his blade. It’s edge now sported a fine line of rougher exterior where the whetstone had passed it repeatedly. “For that reason, we will fully commit to our plan B. Crazed or not, the scent of freshly slaughtered bloody meat is enough to pique the interest of any werewolf, conscious or not. Here, we also have one other massive advantage. What do you think it is, Torsten?”

“Why am I being tutored?” Torsten answered with a question, irritated.

“Because I don’t want you to die doing this, now or the next time,” Noctua replied.

“There won’t be a “next time” for us. We finish this, put an end to the killings, and we’ll never go hunting again,” Tanya replied resolutely.

“If you insist. But there are a select few truths I’ve learned during my life, and one of those is that once a man kills, no matter whom or what, life has a way of compelling him to do so again. Because once that first kill is made, you lose something, some integral part of your soul as of yet unidentified, and it seems to lead you down a slippery slope.”

“Was that how it went for you?” Tanya suddenly inquired, though there was no ill will in the way she said it. Not that Alexander would have disagreed with her had she meant it as an insult.

“No. I was raised to kill. Many within the Order still are, though not as many as before. My first kill came at age fourteen. It was messy, impulsive, in self-defence. I often regret how painful I made it back then” he stated plainly, trying and failing to ignore the horrified glances Tanya and Torsten sent his way. Here was a sight for the ages, hey? A man so monstrous, he terrified monsters. “There was never any doubt what I was raised to do. Though in many ways you could say I subverted expectations, this was not one of them. So, Torsten, what advantage presents itself to us if we lay in wait here?”

Torsten seemed not to register the question for a few moments. Then, as though stung, he shivered slightly and began scratching at his left temple.

“We get him where we want him?” he asked, as uncertain as they come,

“Not exactly, but technically correct. We choose our battlefield. The defensive party always has the advantage of being able to lay the groundwork. Here, we know which side he’s most likely to come from. We know where we’ll be waiting when he does. And we know we’ll have an advantage over him, as he’s more than likely to trigger our trap and be left one limb short. Currently, our best chance of defeating him is here. Here, we have every possible advantage. Here, we know ourselves.”

“How do you know he’ll come here? How can you be so certain?” Tanya inquired, standing back up and resting a hand on her brother’s shoulder. Noctua gestured to the hanging bait with his whetstone, then returned to sharpening. Soon, time would come for the final touch.

“If he remains feral after leaving the house, he’ll be driven here by instinct. If he reacquires sanity beforehand, he’ll be driven here by curiosity. Either way, he’ll have no reason to refuse to approach. You two will be hidden a sufficient distance from where he can smell you, and my already faint scent will be completely obscured by the bait. Huginn is the key to all this. As I said before, the moment he arrives and becomes ensnared, his mobility is limited. That’s when I send a signal to Huginn, and he sends a signal to you.  I trust you’ll have little trouble returning to our ambush site with your sense of smell. The trap slows him down, I grab his attention and you two bring him down from the rear. Try not to kill him, however. Something about that man seems… off. Provided, of course, he is even a werewolf after all. Though that’s not what’s bothering me” he finished, running his finger across the edge of the sword, nodding in contentment and temporarily put the whetstone aside, simultaneously retrieving a small piece of wet-and-dry-paper from his inner pocket to polish the sharpened edges.

“Then what is?” Torsten and Tanya spoke, once again, simultaneously. Noctua did not raise his eyes at that, still deep in thought, merely sending the pictures and impressions of Kaspar von Weide he got from Huginn directly into their minds. Torsten jerked his head as the unwelcome sensation came, and Tanya had to once again crouch down and rest a hand on the ground.

“Apologies” Alexander murmured, realising too late he’d forgotten to issue a warning before entering their minds. “I forgot you still weren’t accustomed. Either way, take a good look at those images. They should be fairly detailed the way I preserved them.”

For a minute or two, the only sound which remained audible was the scratching of paper on steel as Noctua polished the lower part of the blade. Then, finally, Tanya spoke.

“He’s definitely a werewolf. He looks exactly like the two of us do in the morning, if not a bit worse. Haggard, with greasy hair and dried sweat staining his skin, eyes extremely bloodshot. I’d say that’s not a coincidence.”

“True enough. I am fairly convinced of his state from what we know and what I’ve seen. But that’s not the only thing these photos tell us.”

“He’s not changed” Torsten spoke then, surprising his sister and even Huginn. The boy leaned against the tree, extended the fingers of one hand and began to count down.

“His eyebrows are fairly thin and there is a large gap between them. His ears are as round as ours with no signs of elongation. His index and middle finger are nowhere near the same length. His chin is not all that extended either. And there is not a drop of amber colour within his pupils. All signs of advanced lycanthropy, correct, herr Noctua?”

“Precisely so. In short, he doesn’t look like the werewolf we’re supposed to be looking for. His human body is not mutated anywhere near enough for his beast form to be as large as the footprint would indicate. I know of no way to conceal these changes to this degree. Which means that it is more than likely we have missed something.”

“But what? And couldn’t he just be a particularly large specimen?” Tanya asked, not wanting to begin lagging behind her brother in terms of observation skills.

“Not that large, I can say for certain. As for your first question, I don’t know. And until I do know, I’d ask that you try and temper your rage and bring him down without killing him. It may well be that things are more complicated than we assumed at first. Mind you, do not, by any means, hold back when fighting. You can’t afford that, and your first and primary duty is to live through this night. But, should an opportunity present itself to kill him, avoid it. We need confirmation, and I won’t be able to extract it whilst in combat.”

“So, we’re meant to fight our hardest… but hold back at the same time?” Torsten asked.

“Quite so.”

“That seems less than entirely easy,” Tanya scoffed, walking over to her bag placed on a smaller log by the shrubbery.

“I don’t recall anyone saying this would be easy. Good grief, you were the ones who insisted on taking part in this. I’m not forcing you to stay. But if you do” Noctua murmured, “our deal was you’d obey what I said. And currently, I say you both ought to rest before your transformation, because you can be sure you won’t get much time to remain at ease after that,” then took his whetstone once again and returned to polishing. They had about an hour before the sun set, and he was determined to get as much rest as possible. It would be a long and sleepless night, and he only had one coffee today.

The twins remained silent after that, with Tanya sitting beside her bag onto the smaller log and staring quietly into nothingness, whilst Torsten paced back and forth, wordless but evidently nervous, wanting to say something Noctua doubted he even knew. Thus, minutes passed, with the only audible sounds being the soft scraping of Huginn’s claws as he picked off small slivers of the bait, the crunching of dead leaves under Torsten’s boots, and the scratching and sliding of Noctua’s maintenance work. Eventually, after some time had passed, Noctua looked over the sword with a degree of satisfaction, sheathed it and detached the scabbard, then took off his jacket and neatly folded it in two. He rested his knees on the ground, placed the jacket between his thighs and calves and gently rested his hands on his thigs, in an approximation of the traditional Japanese Seiza position.

“Huginn, please go and check up on the manor house, see if the police had already left by any chance. I’d wager Kaspar will try and get rid of them as soon as possible, but you never know what the police might ask. Especially if they sense he’s hiding something” he spoke then.

“Why am I always the one flying back and forth between our destinations? All you’ll be doing is sitting around whilst I navigate through this mess” Huginn protested, though mostly symbolically. The raven and the knight had come to understand each other almost perfectly throughout the last couple of years, and Huginn knew Noctua never asked for anything he wouldn’t be willing to do himself.

“You’re less conspicuous, faster and have sharper eyes than me, and you know all this. The sooner you’ll do it, the sooner you can return” Alexander spoke, gently. Huginn gave one more irritated caw, then slowly spread his wings and vanished amidst the bone-like branches of the forest, as though slipping into a realm of his very own.

Noctua closed his eyes and tried and began to inhale and exhale in long, regular intervals. Dark rushed at him once he closed his eyelids, his oldest enemy and greatest ally, and just as he prepared to once again let himself be embraced by it, Torsten’s voice disturbed his building inner peace.

“Do all knights receive pets like this?” the boy asked, leaning against one of the thinner trees and crossing his arms, his jacket rustling with the movement. Noctua swiftly understood he wouldn’t be afforded time for meditation by his current company. He gave a thin smile. For all their power, for all their grief and talk of vengeance, the Eisensteins were still children for the most part. Inquisitive, curious and bursting with unspent energy. He opened his eyes and turned his head towards the boy.

“You’re lucky he’s no longer within earshot to hear your words. He’d be eating your tongue right about now had you said so two minutes ago” he stated flatly, though internally he was quite amused. The boy’s eyes widened in disbelief at first, but his expression swiftly turned from surprise to amusement, seeing Noctua’s words as a jest. Noctua felt no need to insist he was being dead serious.

“He’s no pet. He’s a being as intelligent as you and me, if not more so, whom I can command no more than I can command the wind. Huginn has chosen to accompany me throughout my journeys, for reasons which are his alone to disclose to others. He usually follows my instructions because he acknowledges my experience in matters of investigation and strategy, but don’t let that convince you he isn’t capable of thinking for himself. Or disobeying me, for that matter, from time to time.”

“So not all knights have animals for companions?” Torsten pressed. Tanya remained silent, still sitting in the same spot, yet she paid close attention to the unfolding conversation.

“I know of only a few who do” Noctua replied, as simply and curtly as possible as was possible when it came to the inner workings of the Order. Old habits die hard.

“Then why did he choose to accompany you of all the others?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. I am not at liberty to disclose that. I gave my word to him” Alexander replied, simply.

For a while then, Torsten said nothing, though Noctua saw more questions welling up within the boy. It was only natural, then, that the ensuing silence lasted for barely a minute.

“How’d you do it?” the boy asked, the probing undertone of his first question gone now.

“Do what?”

“Defeat us? Back then, this morning?”

“I’d thought I explained that already…”

“Yeah, yeah, we were careless, unprepared, I get that. I’m asking about the way you fought. How you vanished, how you knew exactly when and where to strike…”

“I see no reason to tell you” Noctua stated matter-of-factly.

“Please” Torsten added hesitantly, his face twisting with the plea.

Noctua contemplated the question for a few moments. Ah, good grief, he thought eventually, allies shouldn’t keep secrets. It’s not like knowing that is going to let him harm me. With those thoughts, he erased himself from Torsten’s mind.

The boy’s eyes opened wide as the sorcerer’s kneeling form simply vanished from his field of vision, and he tried to blink rapidly to remove an assumed problem. When that, naturally, failed to remedy the issue, he tried wiping his eyes with his knuckles, and then, still ending up empty-handed, sniffed at the air probingly, searching for Noctua’s scent. Sensing only residue smell, he furrowed his brow and tried to walk over to the place where he’d last seen Noctua, extending his hand probingly, as though afraid he’d turned completely blind.

Tanya took the whole scene in utterly perplexed, as she had not noticed anything change in her surroundings. She turned her head to Noctua and spoke directly at him, though to Torsten, it must certainly have seemed like she was addressing naught but air.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Letting your brother practice his assessment skills. It will certainly come in handy tonight.”

“Right, but what are you actually doing?” Tanya pressed.

“He replied to you?” Torsten asked, refocusing on the spot where Noctua was meant to be kneeling.

“Yeah, of course. You’re telling me you can’t see, hear or smell him?” Tanya asked, shivering slightly at the suggestion.

“No, I can’t. I thought he vanished or melted into shadows or…”

“For you, I might as well have” Noctua spoke, reappearing on the very same spot in exactly the same position as before. Torsten almost jumped at that, the transition so sudden and overwhelming it forced him to begin blinking rapidly. “So, Eisensteins, a little lesson in magic. I trust Hartwig taught you the basics. How many magical disciplines can a regular human have access to at once?”

“One” Torsten replied swiftly. “It can either be telepathy, telekinesis, biomancy or psychomancy, but never more than one.”

“Very good" Noctua nodded approvingly. “Now, which one of those do you think I’m using?”

“Well, if you’re making your whole body disappear, that would seem to imply you can control flesh, but you also make your clothing disappear along with you, so maybe you just manipulate the photons of light into obscuring you…”

“He’s doing neither. He’s a telepath, Torsten. Think for a moment. If he was anything but a telepath, how could he talk to us inside our heads? How could he read our thoughts and talk with that raven of his?” Tanya interrupted. “Isn’t that right, herr Noctua?”

“Quite right, Tanya” Alexander replied, content. “But, if that is the case, how do you think I am able to become invisible to you? And not merely invisible, but also completely devoid of smell and sound?”

Neither of the twins spoke at first. Just as Noctua was preparing to explain all to them, they exchanged glances and spoke unanimously.

“You delete yourself from our minds.”

“Very good. Say, are you familiar with the concept of solipsism?”

“Not beyond a few vague notes about it from our humanities classes” Tanya replied. “The philosophical theory that nothing except one’s mind is certain to exist within this world?”

“It also holds that objective knowledge is an impossibility. Not to bore you two with theory, but it did manage to highlight an important fact about human beings, and, by extension, werewolves as well �" all we know, all we are and all the world is to us, we perceive through our brain. Without it, nothing, not even our own body, functionally exists for us. Telepathy is commonly understood as a dialogue of thoughts, but if harnessed properly it allows the user to play with the mind and brain in a whole host of other ways. One of those is intercepting, tampering with or redirecting sensory messages headed into our central processing units. That is what the Order calls illusionism �" the power to create mirages and alter one’s perception of the world. Not to be confused with the art style” he added with a light chuckle. Neither twin laughed.

“Once I focus on a mind of an individual, I can intercept the information of my appearance, sounds and smells, and replace them with either blanks or convincing fakes. You could say people see right through me. Most don’t even register this being done to them. I can apply it to pretty much anything” he continued, deleting from beneath Tanya the log she was sitting on, much to her shock, “but with telepathy, it’s always easier when you know what you’re looking for. Of course, the more pronounced the appearance, the larger the object, the louder the sound and the keener the smell, the harder my job becomes. Very few people can create convincing human-sized illusions anymore, and even basic movements are a stretch. But erasing - that’s not that difficult, once you get the hang of it. It’s always many times easier to destroy something than it is to create.”

“So, you can basically become invisible?” Torsten spoke, a hint of excitement in his voice at that, whilst Tanya merely frowned at the idea.

“Not at all. Security cameras will see me just as everyone else, and the same goes for all other monitoring devices. It’s one of the reasons why things have become so much more complicated these days. The other is this” he spoke, then deleted himself from both twins’ minds simultaneously. This time, he knew, though they still couldn’t see him, they would notice a mirror-like imperfection in the place where he stood, as though the part of the log behind him didn’t quite fit.

“I… I think I see your outline” Tanya said after a moment, narrowing her eyes.

“With the fading of magic from this world, it’s become more and more difficult to convincingly erase one’s presence from more than one person at a time. I can counter that by either increasing the pressure I put upon your brains or broadening my concentration, but both come with significant caveats. This is the second option. I believe you can see a vague shape of me now, correct?”

“Yes” Torsten added. “But if that’s the case, how did you delete yourself so thoroughly when we were fighting down in the basement? I couldn’t sense you in any way down there, and you applied your magic on both of us at once, did you not?”

“That’s where this comes in” Noctua said, removing his illusion and pointing to his shirt and jacket, their midnight black more pronounced than usual in the fading sunlight. “Say, why are children so scared of the darkness?” he said, and to stem a rush of unwelcome memories, he looked up to the reddening skies, addressing his question as much to himself as the twins.

“Because…” Tanya began.

“Because they don’t know what’s beyond it” Torsten spoke quietly, lowering his eyes. “They don’t know what it conceals. Their mind begins going through possibilities, creating likely scenarios. And when people don’t understand, don’t know something, they begin to assume things about it �" usually the worst possible things. Their memory conjures the scariest conceivable collages of their ugliest experiences, and they will expect that, at any moment, any second, their vision will leap out of the darkness as reality. Isn’t that right, herr Noctua?”

The sound of claws scratching along wooden frames. The gentle tiptoeing of seven thin fingers on soft carpets. The dry rustling of withered skin. The soft hissing of a narrow mouth. Within the rustling of cold, dead leaves, Noctua could hear those sounds as well as if he were right back at home. He looked to Torsten, and he saw the boy with new eyes. Or maybe he saw him for the first time.

“Yes, Torsten” he said, straining to even his tone. “That is completely correct.”

 

Tanya could not believe her eyes when she saw the sorcerer… concerned? Distressed? Moved? One way or another, what her brother had said must have struck some nerve within the man, though she had no clue what it could have been.

She knew with Torsten, of course. Ever since their transformations began, even as little more than toddlers, her brother grew to fear their other form. He would be terrified of their mother, of her… and of himself. Even when changed, her little brother regarded their state as something unnatural, horrible even. Darkness meant transformation. It meant pain, strain and exhaustion, with nothing but a mouthful of fangs and an unrecognizable family to show for it. Ever since he was a boy, Torsten feared the full moon and the nights during which it shone in the skies more than anything.

It got better once he developed his other senses, fortunately. Their forms may have been twisted and gone, but they retained their unique smell, albeit slightly changed as well, and, for the most part, their personalities. And, eventually, he got used to it. And then, of course, it got much, much worse for a time, after mom died. In those days, Tanya didn’t sleep not because of her own pain and sorrow, but because she grew deathly afraid her twin may try and harm himself in some fashion. Those were some of the darkest days she’d ever gone through. She wasn’t about to go through a rewind.

Tanya didn’t recall suffering from such a problem, though she might have at a very young age. As far as she could remember, she had always considered both her forms to be just that �" her. She was neither wolf nor man, she was what she was and it didn’t change her essence. Hohenbach’s rearing had only reinforced that attitude in her, and she never feared what she became whenever the moon was full.

But this man… what could scare him?

“Either way” Noctua continued, the brief moment of unease now completely absent from his expression, “my clothing helps me blend with the shadows. I do not manipulate photons of light themselves �" rather, I manipulate others’ perception of light and darkness. In that sense, it’s not “true” umbromancy, as in I do not actually manipulate the shadows around me, but true umbromancy is now a lost art either way, so it doesn’t honestly matter all that much. If I retreat into a shadow, my opponent has a harder time seeing me, and his mind will already begin to do my job for me �" in other words, it makes it easier for me to erase myself if there’s less to erase. That’s why I wear all black.”

“At all times?” Tanya inquired, failing to completely avoid smiling at the question.

“Most of the time, these days at least” Noctua returned to his simpler answers.

“So, what about the silver dust?” Torsten enquired, likewise regaining focus.

“That was to further mute your senses. Again, made my work easier. It also slowed down your response time and made you unfocused, unbalanced your stance.”

“Then I take it you’ve had practice killing werewolves before?” Tanya grew more serious then, could no longer contain herself. This whole situation was so absurd, so uncomfortable and tense, she simply had to get what she thought off her chest.

Noctua turned towards her, and something, some familiar yet unknowable sensation, flashed behind his eyes briefly. “Yes, I have” he replied after a moment of silence.

“How many? How many of us have you murdered?” Tanya’s frustration began to grew, suddenly and exponentially. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was simply the tension mounting within her before the battle. Maybe it was how Noctua was always so straightforward, so blatant when talking about things like killing. Maybe it was the way he lectured her and Torsten as though they both were naught but pups to him. Or maybe it was the subconscious, echoing reminder, that this man had come to their town fully prepared to kill her and everyone she loved, due to mere suspicions. And that, due to mere suspicions, she and her twin tried to kill him.

Noctua’s lips tightened at that remark, and for a moment Tanya was certain he wouldn’t answer her at all.

“Seven” he eventually stated.

Tanya expected him to add something to his statement, as he usually did, but the silence remained unbroken after that.

“All of them attacked you first?”

No response

“How many did you attack first?”

No response.

“Do you ever regret killing them? Do you ever think about the lives you take? At all?”

He looked at her, sharply but with no ill will. That actually irritated her even more. “I see no use in telling you. And I strive to never do that which is useless.”

“So, killing is not useless, but remembering your victims is?” Tanya spoke, her ire dripping from every word.

“I never said that. What’s useless is to knowingly feed into another person’s vengeful anger. What’s useless is to help another person self-destruct. What’s useless” he said, twisting the ring on his right glove around, “is to play off someone in wasting their rage on random targets, and thus to reward them for such conduct.”

With an almost audible snap, Tanya’s anger withdrew, and suddenly she felt ashamed, more ashamed than she’d been in a long time. She still disliked the way he read her and everyone else like and open book, but now, she realised she disliked exactly what it was he read even more.

She was becoming bitter, she knew. She didn’t want to, but the anger, frustration and grief welling up within her was starting to overpower her. She wanted, no, she needed to put an end to all this, soon, before her heart became too warped to carry in her chest. She needed to…to… what did she need actually? To kill the one who had robbed her? To hurt him? To bring him to justice? To find some reason behind his actions?

“What are you going to do with this one, then?” she spoke after a long pause, her voice quieter now. Noctua, who had once again closed his eyes in the meantime, did not open them when she spoke, and at first, she thought he’d ignore her once again. Yet, after a few moments passed, he replied, eyes still shut.

“That depends on whether and how guilty he’ll be of his crimes.”

“So, let me guess, if…”

“There’s no point in guessing, Tanya. I decide what happens to him once we know all there is to know. Nothing more, nothing less. When it comes to judgment, there’s no point in theory.”

“By judgment, I take it you’ll kill him, correct?” Tanya asked, her tone somewhat acidic.

“If that proves the only viable option, then yes, I will” Noctua replied, as calmly as if he were describing what coffee he’d prefer to drink.

“Ugh, I hate this so much about you!” Tanya growled, her irritation still palpable even if tempered by humility now.

“What exactly?”

“You’re so… blasé about this… about all of this! As if it didn’t matter, as if it was but another job for you! You’re so cold, herr Noctua! Even when it comes to killing, no, especially when it comes to killing!”

“True enough. Then again, both of you came to me solely for the purpose of exacting vengeance upon a creature which hurt you. You were �" and remain �" fully committed towards killing it. Therefore…” Noctua trailed off, opening his eyes and looking to the sky.

“It’s not just killing d****t! It’s about why and how you go about it. And you’re too distant about it all! We want to kill the b*****d because he killed two of our only friends, and several other innocent people to boot. But what’s in it for you? What investment do you have? Money? Reputation? Other personal interests?” Tanya fumed, thrown out of balance as the sorcerer pointed out her hypocrisy. She knew she didn’t really have the right to speak the matter in the way she did, but something about the way Noctua spoke of death and taking lives rubbed her in the worst way possible, and she felt she had to say something to it.

“Would you find it so hard to believe if I told you I care about innocent people getting hurt as much as you do?” Noctua asked softly.

“Yes! Yes, I would, because you just don’t strike me as the type. You’re cold and meticulous and so utterly detached from everything! I don’t even think I’ve seen you angry once, and you did have reasons to get angry. For us, we have a very personal investment in all of this. But you �" why do you kill, Noctua? Why have you made killing your profession? What kind of a person would do that?”

“Hmmm,” Noctua mused, extending one of his arms in front of himself. “Firstly, answer me this question. Say I was not a factor in your current predicament, yet you still decided to take matters into your own hands and go into von Weide’s home to kill him. Perhaps you even succeed �" anything could happen. Only to then realise that von Weide was not actually your culprit, moreover he was not guilty of any crime you can confirm. What would you do then?”

“I wouldn’t get myself into a situation like that to begin with.”

“Fair enough. But what do you do in that case? Do you interrogate the man? He could try and fight back. He could lie to you. He might be a dead end, and you could unintentionally reveal your true identity to a completely regular person. Not to mention, you’ll have to find a way to immobilise him once transformed in some conventional way, if he is a werewolf. I’m sure both of you can attest that alone is a tall order. Or is there another way you could go about this?”

“We could investigate…” Tanya began, though she grew more and more hesitant. She did not come prepared for a conversation like this.

“A regular investigation can take days, weeks even, and we both want to apprehend the killer by nightfall. And it might not yield any fruit, even then. There are literal billions of unsolved cases stored within the archives of the various nations, some more famous than others. Many of them are supernatural in origin,” Noctua stated, grimly. Suddenly, a loud caw rang across the clearing, and from the darkening skies, like a blurry ink stain, the raven, Huginn, fell between the naked branches and landed on Noctua’s outstretched hand, immediately receiving a piece of chocolate from the sorcerer. Tanya grew quite fond of the bird, truth be told, and greatly admired the way in which he and Noctua seemed to be in ideal sync. In a strange way, it reminded her of her own relationship with Torsten.

Her brother was slumped against the tree opposite to her, watching the unfolding debate between the two with a curious expression. Tanya knew she hadn’t been this talkative in years, certainly not in more serious matters. But something about Noctua’s conduct, the way he seemed to feel the need to constantly overexplain himself and ask her questions, prodding and probing her, kept her attention fixed on winning the argument.

“Alright, what are you getting at?” she asked, less irritably now, but still bent on dragging some sensible explanation out of Noctua.

“Alexander here believes that since he has the gift not only to tell the truth from lie in a man’s mind, but also unveil the truth in full, he has a sworn duty to uphold and protect it, and the well-being of others which stems from truth, at all times. That often necessitates combat and, once that has been won, carrying out judgment over those who had committed crimes,” Huginn’s un-voice sounded in her head, a warped echo of her own voice, though with a distinct and somewhat disturbingly masculine edge. Tanya could not very well explain the sensation, though she noticed with some measure of relief that the more the raven “talked” to her, the less unsettling it became.

She was, naturally, quite surprised when Noctua revealed his “partner” to her, and downright terrified when she first heard the raven speak. And not only speak, but also speak in a manner which was utterly personable and human, quite unlike what she expected a magical creature would sound like. She inquired as to Huginn’s origins, naturally, but, like with Torsten, Noctua and the raven both remained tight-lipped.  

“To summarise Huginn’s words, I can do what few others can and no one else will, at least for the same price. Dealing with the supernatural, and those who commit crimes utilising it, necessitates battle and killing. There is no way around it, more often than not. Therefore, if I have the power to ensure that only those who are guilty meet punishment, I have a moral obligation to ensure such an outcome. Besides, even before I came to such an outcome, I was trained to take lives since an early age. Doing what I do now merely allows me to put it all to a more moral use, as there is no unlearning what one has been taught,” he summarised, beginning to stroke Huginn’s neck, and Tanya felt from his tone he wanted to leave it at that. But she couldn’t help it. Everything he said seemed wrong to her on a basic level of understanding. And the more he tried to wrap the debate up, the more she wanted to keep going at it.

“So that’s a more moral way of life for you is it? Travelling the world as a self-appointed judge, jury and executioner of whomever you decide has committed a crime? How can you honestly say that? How can you believe that? Do you truly think you have the right to carry out judgement on everyone you meet? Are you so unerring as to assume such a position? Have you never made a mistake in your life?” she pressed.

“Plenty. There many things I would like to go back and change. Many I regret, some more than others. And even when a man has all the facts �" and by no means assume my powers make that a certainty �" he can still err on account of personal biases, haste or a faulty perspective. But,” he said, no longer scratching Huginn and instead looking to directly at her, his expression growing more wary than before, “before we continue, answer me this �" if not me, then who? Understand, what I do is not merely a case of vigilante justice, wherein I perceive some system or another to be corrupt �" albeit the system I used to serve most certainly has become so �" and decide to take matters into my own hands because I disagree with the decisions being made. I take matters into my own hands because, frankly, there is no one else who can or does.”

“You can’t be the only sorcerer left in this…”

“Few enough are left that it doesn’t really matter. Fewer still who decide to work freelance. Local authorities then cannot be expected to be able to handle the problems caused by the supernatural, not without allowing for the deaths of dozens beforehand at least. And even if apprehended, local law is physically incapable of proving the guilt of certain perpetrators. I ask you, therefore, what am I to do? Sit on the side-lines and watch others suffer because I believed my input could harm certain innocents? It has, not once, and I cannot guarantee it will not again in the future. Make no mistake, I do not relish judging others, especially since I am inherently no better than them. If anything, that duty is a burden, just like every other duty after all. I simply wish to prevent people from suffering. God knows there’s enough of it in the world as is. And I have the power to do so, more justly than most of them. To do nothing, given my position, would be a far greater crime than doing something and getting it wrong.”

“And that gives you the right to take lives as you see fit? The fact that it might help prevent further bloodshed, or simply punish old crimes? If one man is all it took to do that, why have courts of law been established in every civilized country in the world? What of the rights of others? What of their right to live?” Tanya maintained, although she was beginning to waver. She had never before put too much thought into this matter, if she was being honest. But she had sot reply with something to what she perceived as being obviously wrong, even as she found she lacked the words to describe how.

“Who gives others their rights? Nature? I do not believe that is the case. Nature, fundamentally, obeys only one law �" the right of the strong over the weak, as observing any single ecosystem will shortly and repeatedly demonstrate,” Noctua said, waving his hand around to encompass the surrounding clearing, before steepling his fingers back together. “I will never accept such a right to be just, even if humans do put it to practice almost as regularly as animals and beasts. No, rights we give to ourselves, through the societies we are a part of. It is the basis of all just social contracts �" we gain certain rights by accepting certain duties.

Now tell me, do creatures which, for centuries, have sought the destruction, enslavement or assimilation of human societies and all their component members, be they human or otherwise, deserve rights? I would say they do not. At their core, they are not a part of our societies, more over they seek to undermine and destroy them in various ways, for greed or malice or negligence. They have no right to live. They are beasts, living only according to the right of the strongest, at least in relation to us. I consider treating them on those terms to be just. And the same extends to those who were and are members of society, but have willingly conspired with elements outside of it to improve their own standing or aid in their own ambitions. Such men and women have no right to live. Once they have betrayed their society, they live at the mercy of their power to defend themselves.”

“So that’s how you justify it then? You think you can kill anyone who goes against society? Anyone who breaks some unwritten rule you impose? That’s no better than vigilante justice, you must see so for yourself,” Tanya said, startled that anyone could hold such a position when it came to taking life.

“Once again, I ask you, why are you here with us tonight? Is it not to kill? To exact your vengeance in a tithe of blood? How do you justify that?” Huginn asked, to which even Noctua raised an eyebrow, and Tanya had to bite her lower lip in frustration. She did not want to discuss her own motives right now; the conversation was already spiralling out of control. In part it was because, on some primal level, she was well aware that her reasons for being here were, to put it mildly, impulsive.

“I am here to help you subdue and possibly kill someone who has already killed repeatedly and savagely, and who has robbed me of friends. I do it for reasons which are personal and singular. I don’t plan on justifying a career of murder on them. I merely wish to see justice done,” she said, although even as the words left her lips she grew dissatisfied with the answer. “Wait, no, I meant…”

“And why do you think it’s different for us?” Huginn asked, the distorted echo of her own voice filling her brain.

“It’s not a personal matter for you…” she began, struggling to order her thoughts as the raven continued to “speak”.

“Say, girly, can Noctua not consider it his personal matter to ensure his talents don’t go to waste? To make certain he does the best he can when protecting those who are innocent? If you have the right to take a life �" provided there’ll only be one �" to avenge and protect those you love, what forbids him from doing the same on a larger scale? I mean…”

“Enough, Huginn,” Noctua raised his hand and bade the raven silent, though the bird immediately snapped at one of the sorcerer’s fingers. Noctua seemed to barely notice. Tanya supposed he’d grown used to the occurrence by this point. “This conversation will lead us nowhere. Tanya, I understand why you feel the need to argue right now. I sympathise with it. And I often ask myself the same things you ask me now. But it’ll do neither of us any good to stress ourselves overmuch before the battle that is to come. Rest now. Perhaps, if you’ll still be so inclined, we can talk of this later, after our mission is complete.”

Tanya wanted to argue. She wanted to continue talking. And she realised, slowly, that the person she wanted to explain himself wasn’t so much Noctua himself �" rather it was her. On a primal level, she understood her reasons for being here were… impulsive, emotional even. But she hoped that, if Noctua explained himself, if he made her understand his… distance, then maybe… just maybe… she could be less impulsive about the matter as well.

“It’s getting dark. When do your transformations usually take place?” Noctua asked the twins then. Tanya felt strangely bashful at that, as though the sorcerer had asked her about something related to personal hygiene. And after all, didn’t he, in a way? To a werewolf, the process of transformation was ever painful, uncomfortable and, in a way, shameful. Tanya tried not to feel shame whenever transforming. Herr Hohenbach had ever told her there was no reason to be ashamed of what one was, no matter the potential it entails. However, every morning she saw herself, and her brother, lying amidst their shed fur and lines of lost teeth and nails… it was an ugly picture.

“Usually about half-an-hour after sunset. Give or take,” Torsten spoke, finally speaking up from his prolonged silence, though only slowly and cautiously.

“Then you best be on your way. I’ve no doubts you’ll be able to find the spot we agreed upon with few issues. Just remember �" remain on guard, watch for incoming danger, but by no means move out on your own. I’ll send Huginn to pick you up the moment von Weide �" or whoever else our culprit might be �" falls into our trap. Once that happens, you are to rush over as fast as possible and…”

“Try and pacify him before we kill him. We remember, herr Noctua,” Torsten gave the sorcerer a dry smile, prompting a nod of approval from Noctua.

“Just make sure not to forget it. Finally, in case he proves too strong for the three of us, you two will retreat at once, is that clear? The moment I signal you ought to withdraw, you will high-tail it towards von Weide’s mansion and do all you can to increase the distance between yourself and the enemy. I mean it. No heroics. We will only get through this by working together. Any questions?”

Tanya had many questions, but none of them pertained directly to the subject matter at hand. The twins simply nodded in approval, and even as they did so, Tanya could feel her heart begin racing. She was beginning to sweat, only slightly for now but that was enough to make her uncomfortable. Battle. She’d actually be going into a genuine battle. Against her own kind no less, and in her “true” form. Shivers ran down her spine at the full realisation of what was about to happen.

“Very well then. Just…” Noctua paused, as though unsure whether to say what had come to his mind. After a moment, he simply shrugged, prompting Huginn to fly from his arm and into the treetops, and said “Make sure not to get yourselves hurt. Please.” With that, he turned from the twins and returned to where he’d left his blade, crouching down beside it.

Tanya was left somewhat perplexed by that response, and turned to her brother to assess his thoughts on the matter. Torsten merely shook his head. Good, that meant she wasn’t the only one who found it weird. Then, silently turning around, both twins ventured into the depths of the forest proper. Next time they would see this place, they would emerge from it in a shape altogether different.

 

Two hours. Two hours had passed since the twins had departed. Almost two hours since sunset, since Noctua had been left alone to prepare for an enemy assault, hanging in the branches of the tree besides the juicy slab of meat he’d procured for just this occasion. Two hours. And yet still, nothing happened.

Noctua was anything but impatient, as anyone who knew him could attest. But this was getting discomforting. They were a distance away from von Weide’s house, true, but close enough so that the werewolf would certainly be drawn towards the scent of fresh, red meat once transformed. Without a debt that would be the case before he regained some measure of a human conscience, and even if a second, more sinister option were to be proven true, namely that von Weide did in fact commit his murders whilst fully conscious, he should still be drawn to at least investigate what it was which created the doubtlessly delicious scent. And yet, for two hours straight �" nothing.

Noctua sighed at that, quietly but deeply. This was getting too peculiar for his tastes. Though he made light of it when talking with Huginn, Noctua too hated when a case got needlessly complex. There was always a serene elegance in simplicity to him. And yet, as he sat there in the treetop, eyes closed and ears pricked, waiting for any sign of the monster that was a fully-grown, freshly transformed werewolf to come barrelling down the thicket towards his location, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d once again overlooked something.

Von Weide was almost certainly a werewolf, although his appearance cast doubt upon just how merged he really was. However, even if he wasn’t yet mutated, after transformation, he would have no reason not to come charging at their location within a relatively short amount of time.

Suddenly, a shiver ran down his spine, that same shiver which ever came when a man realised far too late, he may have made a mistake when filling out his assignment. That was the last straw for Noctua. If nothing else, he needed to trust his sixth sense. Of all his components, it had let him down on the fewest occasions.

“Good grief…” Noctua murmured, quietly, then reached out with his power. “Huginn,” Noctua thought, gently reaching out towards the raven who lay in wait several trees away from him, likewise eyeing the world around itself with a keen eye. Huginn’s vision was sharper than his even at night, a courtesy of his maker, and his psychic range was just as, if not more impressive than Noctua’s own. “Call the twins to me. I have a feeling we’ve overlooked something. We’re going in, to investigate the house.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Huginn’s un-voice sounded within his head, not a little concerned. “You’ll be walking right into the lion’s den there. Or more accurately, a wolf’s…”

“I know, Huginn. But something is not right. The werewolf should have caught on to the trap ages ago. It’s been two hours. That can’t be a coincidence. And thinking it through, I struggle to see a more suitable course of action for us. To waste the whole of night lying in wait for a prey which will never come would be the hardest blow we’ve taken so far.”

“But you’re convinced von Weide’s a werewolf, aren’t you? If that’s the case, then why risk walking into a place where he might have every advantage?” Huginn pressed, although he was mostly acting out of duty here. The raven knew Noctua ever demanded such dissent from him when making his decisions, to make sure his plans are countered and evaluated before they are put into place. Personally, Noctua could feel Huginn was quite eager to escape the numbing boredom that was waiting for their game to arrive.

“We’ll have the advantage of surprise, and we don’t have to actually enter the mansion if need be. We simply need to ensure that von Weide is still at the mansion, werewolf or not. Because if he is not, it means he has a more discreet way of escaping it. And if that is the case, then we have already wasted our entire afternoon on a largely pointless precaution.”

“Bet you anything you’re really wishing you had ordered us to move in before sunset right about now,” Huginn teased him, and for once, Noctua gave the raven no retort. After all, Huginn was partially right in his assessment.

“Just call them in and explain the situation, please. Simply, if at all possible. I’ve no idea of how much sanity they might have retained,” he sent to the raven, who joyously lifted to the skies with a loud sound of cawing. At that, Noctua jumped down from his throne of branches, going to stretch his back and stiffened knees as he did so. He needed a bit of stretching, true, but mostly he jumped down to ensure that, even should the enemy werewolf come charging in at the last minute, Tanya and Torsten would not become its primary targets.

He considered the possible dangers of such an approach. Fighting a werewolf in confined spaces could prove to be both advantageous and disastrous �" it all depended on how familiar Noctua would be with his surroundings. Considering the unexpectedness of their approach, however, he definitely saw it as a detriment. Speed and precision were the keys to surviving a fight with a werewolf, keeping one’s distance before the claws and jaws of the beast could get close enough to one’s throat whilst spraying the creature to reduce its strength. Werewolves soaked up damage well, but even they had a limit, and one could reach that limit far easier with firearms than with steel weapons.

That being said, Noctua had no illusions that it may well come down to using the longsword for him. He didn’t want to do so, in fact he wished to avoid that outcome until all was said and known. Once the blade was drawn, it could only be sheathed after it’d been bloodied, and he very much wanted to spill blood only after talking, if at all, this time around.

The soft rustling of leaves in the windless air alerted him to twins’ approach, though otherwise the two werewolves remained completely silent. Noctua was impressed by the grace and ease with which both twins moved once transformed, especially considering they were now the size of a full-grown lion each. And neither of them was fully grown just yet.

They emerged like a pair of shadows from amidst the trees, slinking besides Noctua with silence regular wolves and even many breeds of dogs could scarcely match. No sniffing, snarling, whimpering or barking, only cold, dead silence which betrayed their altogether human thinking. There was something inherently wrong about seeing animals behave like that, and though Noctua was, thanks to Huginn, better accustomed to seeing an occurrence like that, it still left him perturbed on a primal level. The feeling of unease did not subside at all when both massive creatures, each now reaching up to his waist, stood directly in front of him, their warm breath palpable against Noctua’s chest.

All the same, he had to marvel at the deadly beauty incapsulated in their bestial forms. Both twins had fur which matched their hair colour, as was common with werewolves, especially those who didn’t further mutate their forms by feasting regularly on manflesh �" dark brown the colour of walnut wood, lighter around the neck, stomach and lower jaw, but only slightly. Noctua noticed that, unlike the eyes of regular wolves, their eyes remained as they were in human form �" teal and with an all-too human pupil and iris. Likewise, their snouts were slightly shorter and flatter than regular wolves possessed, and their forelimbs were longer by several inches, just enough to make an observant man notice the difference.

In a strange, unknowable way, they were majestic, especially as both of them were completely calm and silent against the evening shade, though Noctua noticed they did begin to drool only slightly once they laid their eyes upon the bait hanging from above. A tiny amount of dried blood around their snouts attested to their transformation proceeding smoothly, but that didn’t mean a werewolf’s deeply ingrained hunger for fresh meat would be entirely curtailed.

Noctua reach out to the twins mentally, something he knew neither of the twins really appreciated overmuch. He understood the sentiment, though with their transformation, telepathy remained pretty much the only viable way for him to communicate with the twins. Whilst lying in wait he’d already done as much as he could to “pad out”, their minds, make them accustomed to the psychic touch, but there was only so much he could do in a single afternoon. He supposed the twins would have to simply endure the discomfort for the night.

“Everything all right on your end?” he sent the question to both werewolves, observing their response carefully. Tanya merely shivered and made to scratch behind her ears with one of her hindlegs, whilst Torsten snivelled in irritation and lowered his own large ears close to his head. That was not a good response one bit.

-It could be better, but I can work as per normal, if that’s what you’re asking-, Tanya surmised, relieving Noctua greatly. Despite their transformation, it didn’t appear Tanya would be left speech impaired, at least in terms of thinking cohesive sentences. Her “voice” was crackled echo of her physical voice, as if someone were speaking into a poorly tuned microphone.

-I…think…I…manage…for now-, Torsten’s thoughts were far more scrambled and hectic than his sister’s, not to a point of non-cohesion, no, but it would certainly make communication with him more bothersome.

“Is something the matter, Torsten? Should I go into hand signals with you instead? There won’t be an opportunity for that at all times, but I’d rather not have you falling over due to headaches so soon,” Noctua sent his way, slowly and with an appeasing tone. Torsten vehemently shook his head at that and began scratching at his neck, as thought trying to supress an infuriating itch of some sort. Noctua noticed that, though both werewolves looked near identical, Tanya carried her head noticeably more upright than her brother half the time.

-No. Hate… change… pass… soon… hope…- Torsten managed to produce, scratching at his neck ever more furiously. Noctua could very clearly feel his discomfort and Tanya’s sadness, and turned to her for advice. He could not make a direct link between the twins, that was beyond his power at the moment, but he could at least act as a go-between for the time being.

“He says it’ll pass soon enough, but I’m not so convinced. Is he always like this, Tanya, or is it just the stress of the night?”

-More often then not,- Tanya thought, and her voice seemed tired even in her thoughts. -It’s been like this since forever. Torsten’s never gotten quite used to his changes. There’s something in him that rejects what he is, I’d wager. As a kid, he’d get terribly afraid of even looking in the mirror whilst transformed. He still has an aversion to it. Combined with a dire situation like this… I wouldn’t be surprised if his thoughts got a bit hazy. But he can think and act logically, I promise, so there’s no need to fret.-

“If you say so,” Noctua thought, hesitantly. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. Huginn seated himself on Noctua’s right shoulder then, and Alexander decided to reach out into both twins’ minds simultaneously, to make sure they wouldn’t repeat the same question over and over as he explained himself.

“Listen to me now. I know my original plan was wholly different, but I honestly had no hope of foreseeing an outcome such as this. Von Weide, or any other werewolf for that matter, has not yet shown himself. Supposing he transformed within the house or anywhere within its vicinity, such an outcome seems highly improbable. Therefore, we must assume that either von Weide is not a werewolf, and we have been going about the matter in a completely backwards fashion, or there is a specific, unforeseen reason as to why he didn’t show himself. He must have been able to smell the bait, even if he were to be locked within his house, and so I believe there is something we couldn’t have accounted for at play. We will now enter von Weide’s mansion.”

-Could he… figure out… us?- Torsten wondered.

“I don’t believe he could figure out our trap, no. He had no way of knowing of us pre-transformation, and even if he did get somewhat suspicious after smelling the bait… there should have still been some perceptible movement. Instead nothing, zilch, nada. I don’t like it. I like what it’s making us resort to even less, but given the conditions we face, I don’t believe we have a choice,” Noctua conveyed, making sure the twins didn’t fully grasp how concerned he was.

-Weren’t you the one who insisted we ought to fight him on our own terms?- Tanya asked, failing to conceal the irritation within her thoughts.

“I was the one who suggested lying in wait. And now the situation had changed. I believe it was a countryman of yours who summarised it best �" the first casualty in any battle is the plan. In any case, we haven’t really got a choice if we wish to make progress tonight. As they say,” he said, turning around and prompting Huginn to fly off once again, soaring low, “if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed. We approach the manor at first, just to scout and see what happens. If we still get no response, we enter inside. I go first, then the two of you back me up. Is that understood?”

“-Won’t … smell… when… in front of… house?-” Torsten asked, his thoughts still struggling whenever trying to form a cohesive whole.

“Oh, he’s smelled you already, Torsten. Both of you. But there’s a reason why he isn’t showing himself. And if we’re to move forward, we have to know what it is. Gather the missing puzzle pieces,” Noctua grimly finished. “Now let’s move. It’s not far. Stay close and keep a look out. As unlikely as it seems, he could change his mind at any point and come charging out to greet us.”

 

They slid out like wraiths from the deep darkness of the sleeping forest �" a man dressed in all black and with a longsword by his side, two huge wolves silently striding besides him, one to each of his flanks, and a little shadow that was the raven circling above them, checking the path ahead. Yet no enemy came to greet them all the while, not a soul witnessed the fearsome spectacle emerging from the woods. The forest was, save for the occasional, sonorous hooting of owls, quiet and asleep.

The outline of the mansion emerged from the darkness like a cliff made of shadow, as was the habit of all buildings in all parts of the world. It seemed far more imposing and intimidating to Noctua now than in the light of day, with all its inadequacies and withering, half-forgotten corners plain for all to see. Then again, Noctua knew best that shadow could only ever enhance the presence of things, be they buildings, humans or otherwise.

The werewolves by his sides were palpably nervous, though had Noctua not been scanning through their minds, he wouldn’t have been able to tell with ease. Torsten in particular did his best to compose himself outwardly, making an effort not to sniff and snivel constantly as he advanced besides Noctua. The boy tried to focus and order his thoughts, with limited success.

Finally, they walked onto the large parking space before the ancient seat of the von Weide family. Noctua quickly glanced towards the windows of the building. As expected, all were black and quiet, no source of light penetrating from behind them. In and of itself, this of course confirmed nothing, but on a broader scale it only added towards Noctua’s mounting confidence.

He bade the werewolves to halt as he ascended the few small steps leading up to the door. He didn’t suspect a trap in this place to be very likely, but better to be safe than sorry. Huginn soared above him and slowly flew from one window to the other, peering inside to see as well as scanning the room with his mind. Though a connection between two familiar minds could be sometimes maintained for hundreds of meters, without eye contact Noctua’s and Huginn’s detection range was no more than five or six meters, even less if they were in a confined space. Alexander slowly approached the large wooden door, took off one of his gloves and laid one of his fingers against the wood.

There was a small trace of magical residue on the wood, the sort which accumulates over a prolonged period of exposure, and Noctua could feel it reverberating through his hand and arm, just barely, but enough. No man without a natural magical affinity could do so, and even the most skilled telepaths might have trouble getting used to discerning the feeling, but it was definitely there.

He sensed discomfort coming from Torsten, and turned around, sending a question into the boy’s mind.

-Smell… familiar scent… he werewolf… but…- Torsten’s thoughts came to Noctua slowly, as the boy was evidently confused himself by what he was sensing. Tanya likewise began to sniff at the air, then abruptly sneezed and licked at her gums. “-Not… the same… the one… murder… happen...-”

“As I suspected. Good grief,” Noctua thought to himself, privately this time. So the rabbit hole did indeed lead deeper than the Jagdhutte. However, that didn’t prove von Weide was unrelated to their case. And either way, he was still an unaffiliated werewolf. Noctua couldn’t very well let that be without investigation. “I’ll enter first. Do not come inside until I tell you. Huginn, you’re coming with me.”

“Oh, come on!” Huginn almost gave another bout of vehement cawing, but caught himself just as Noctua was getting ready to reprimand the bird. “You know how I hate going inside!”

“And you know I’ll need you to inspect the upper floors while I check the lower floors. I’d appreciate if you could carry out our work without moaning about it,” Alexander said, searching through his vest until finally he found what he was looking for. He made it a point to carry at least three different lockpicks on him at all times, and the lock on the Jagdhutte’s door was not overly complicated. Unfortunately, there was nothing Noctua could do about the possibility of an alarm going off. Yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter. They were running out of time, and breaking through one of the windows would alert the occupant more certainly than anything else. Besides, something told him that, as a werewolf, von Weide wouldn’t necessarily want the police rushing to his house in the dead of night, even if a burglary were to occur.

Quietly, he sighed, knelt to the lock and began to slowly, quietly work on opening the door.

-That’s also something they teach knights?- Tanya thought, sounding somewhat surprised. -How to open locked doors?-

“Of course. You can’t always count on there being someone you can manipulate into opening the door for you. Nor is there always a telekinetic to force the lock open. Now shush, I have to concentrate,” Noctua replied, slowly sliding the lockpick back and forth across the keyhole to find the optimal combination.

-How… can… learn… that…?- he noticed Torsten asking.

“Practice. Now please, calm your thoughts,” Noctua repeated. He could always simply withdraw from the twins’ minds so as to not be bothered at all, but he didn’t want to risk leaving them without guidance.

After a minute or two of prodding and probing, Noctua sighed with relief as the lock gave a satisfying little click, and slowly, very slowly, opened up the door. The darkness beyond made him shiver slightly, as even though he knew there was nothing looking at him from within, the memory of hundreds of lifeless eyes watching from the shadows would never entirely abandon him. He took out a small pocket battery from one of his pockets, and made to shine inside the house.

From what he could see, young von Weide was not an overzealous fan of personal hygiene. The interior of the manor was, quite frankly, a mess. Starting at the door and stretching as far as the eye could see, there were hundreds of papers, pieces of plastic, broken bits of wooden and ceramic cookware, along with copious amounts of dust and filth mounting in every corner. The entrance hall was large and spacious, though the boots and coats meant to be placed in the ancient-looking, mahogany wardrobes were thrown about willy-nilly across the entire room. Further beyond, the vague outlines of the main guest room were vaguely visible.

“Huginn,” Noctua called, prompting the raven to descend from the manor roof and swoop down beside him, deftly dodging all the walls and furniture in its path before resting on the opposite end of the hallway, upon something that resembled an ancient, stone fireplace.

“Coast is clear in here. The scent of a werewolf is strong in here, however. And not just that. The entire place reeks,” the raven sent Noctua, ruffling its feathers with discomfort as it did so.

“Right. You two don’t enter until I tell you. And, if anything happens, run straight for Hartwig’s house, run the fastest you can, and tell him all that we’ve learned. If nothing else, he’ll be able to put an end to this one I would hope,” Noctua added, stepping across von Weide’s porch.

“-Wait. I know it’s a poor time, but I just have to ask, why do you trust herr Hohenbach so much? He’s as much a werewolf as all of us are, maybe even more, yet you seem to view him like a long-lost colleague or something. How did you two come to trust each other?-” Tanya asked, even as she was growing steadily more agitated, sensing the danger mounting. Now the door was open, there would be no going back. Noctua banished the intrusive thoughts which threatened to interrupt his concentration, turned towards Tanya and gave her one final, meaningful look.

“Let’s say I know I can trust his opinion and leave it at that. I can explain once this is behind us. For now, you have to make do with the fact I trust him enough to request this of him. Now remain on your guard and be ready to move,” he concluded, his thought-colour resolute enough it blocked any protests the werewolf might have wanted to make. With that, Noctua faded into darkness of the Jagdhutte.

He walked slowly, one hand ever placed on the pommel of his sword, the other holding the small flashlight which cast just enough light for Noctua to discern one detail at a time about his new surroundings. Walking into the main hall, the mess became somehow even worse. Mountains of unwashed dishes and empty fast-food bags laid upon the large, ornately carved dining table in the middle of the central guest room. From it, long hallways stretched to either of Noctua’s sides, whilst a large, curling staircase with steel railing, all too reminiscent of a cage to Alexander’s mind, led towards the second floor of the mansion. The sofas and chairs laid around the central table were all covered in dust, grease and even more remains of cheap food and empty alcohol bottles, with shards of broken glass and compressed beers cans sometimes rattling beneath Noctua’s foot if he wasn’t observant enough. It was a minefield of noise and he had no hope of moving completely silently, but at least he could avoid the piles which might cause enough of a ruckus to draw attention from elsewhere.

“I think you forgot to mention something,” Huginn chimed in, his un-voice overflowing with sarcastic humility.

“Please do remind me, your grace,” Noctua replied, though he of course knew what the raven was getting at instantly.

“Why thank you, Huginn, for your bravery in scouting, yet again, what may very well have been an enemy trap! Thank you for repeatedly putting your beak and feathers on the line, whilst I, the great Noctua, will be content to sit on my arse and wait outside. Don’t worry about the massive barking werewolf who could literally jump at you at any moment from any direction, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Huginn’s voice flooded into Noctua’s mind, sarcasm incarnate.

“Yes, yes, thanks bunches,” Noctua barely spared the bird’s torrent a thought, pulling out a sugar cube and throwing it to Huginn, who deftly caught it mid-air in his beak and swallowed it whole. “Now fly up to the second floor and check it out as well.”

“You don’t have a clue what tact is, do you?” Huginn snarled, but spread his wings nevertheless to leap once again from his perch.

“So you keep telling me. Now go, please,” Noctua said, looking above him to make sure he didn’t miss any part of his surroundings. A mid-sized chandelier hung above him, thousands of small glass fragments artfully suspended a few metres above the ground. If it were to be lit, it would doubtless be beautiful, but Noctua could not afford to tip the werewolf off on his location anymore.

One thing did bother him, however. Though there was aplenty of trash and filth laid out across the room in its entirety, there was not a hint of actual werewolf presence anywhere to be seen. The smell was putrid enough, certainly, and amongst hundreds of other unsavoury aromas Noctua could discern the smell of wet fur, but that alone meant nothing. There were no scratches, claw marks, none of the furniture seemed chewed on or bitten through, all things a regular werewolf would certainly stoop to were he not to retain his human mind.

He was just about to decide on whether he’d opt to check the right or left side of the long corridor, when a loud, intrusive thud from his right instantly froze him in his place, making him lower his posture and prepare to fight or run. However, the sound was dampened and distant, so Noctua had no hope of accurately telling from which way it might have come. Then, however, it came again �" blunt, muffled hit coming from one of the many rooms to Noctua’s right. All doubt was dispelled when both of these were followed by a long, frustrated howl from that same position. Noctua swallowed dryly and drew one of his handguns at that, removing the safety. So, at last, confirmation.

“Huginn,” he thought, summoning the raven from above, “we’ve hit the mark. Come back inside the main hall,” he sent, beginning to slowly advance along the dark, stinking corridor. The carpets beneath were once doubtless elegant and soft, but now, they were covered with slick, oily stains of unknown origin.

“So, let me guess �" you go first, eh?” the raven asked, seating itself on a chair in the main hall as to see into the corridor down which Noctua was advancing.

“You don’t have to guess, I’m sure. You remain where you are. You have too little space to fly in here” Noctua replied, stopping by each door in turn to specify from which exactly the sound was coming from. He was still walking slowly �" the werewolf might smell him, but there was no point in making his position blatant. “Tanya, Torsten, I think you heard that as well. It seems our suspicions are confirmed. Hold your position and keep a look out �" things might get noisy soon.”

-But…- Torsten’s mind became highly agitated at once, but Noctua shut him down instantly.

“You don’t move unless I give the go-ahead, is that clear? Patience,” he thought, as another heavy thud came from the door right next to him, still heavily muffled but now clearly discernible. It was the sound of a heavy body landing on all fours. Noctua tried to feel the monster out, trying to see what awaited him. There was definitely a mind there, further away from the door, a mind over which hung a red shroud of wanton carnage and hunger, incapable of concentration but ready to lash out at the first given opportunity. Slowing his breathing and loosening his stance, Noctua reached for the doorknob, wrapping his hand fully around it and checking to see whether it was locked. Not so. Then, with all his force, he pressed the doorknob and pushed the door forward, so as to not give the creature behind them the chance to understand what was happening.

The room beyond was, surprisingly, empty. It was a kitchen, the kind designed for a medium-sized staff, but it, much like the rest of the house, had evidently seen better days. The floor was completely covered in filth and trash, the cupboards and shelves were lined with dust and unwashed dishes created a small mountain in each of the four sinks. There were three small alleys created by the two lines of stoves and ovens in the centre of the room, and the walls were lined with rows upon rows of bottles, jars and dinnerware. But there was no living thing there. Noctua remained wary, the weapon and flashlight in his hands slowly passing from one side to the next, until they rested upon the smaller, closed door directly opposite to him. Just as Noctua contemplated what might lay beyond, from below, another angered howl sounded, this one ripe with expectation.

Noctua had to supress a shiver. Few things terrified men more than wolves, and werewolves had been practically designed to instil fear in all the descendants of their prey. Still, he walked toward the door and, just as before, slowly pressed the doorknob beyond. Locked.

For a moment, Alexander contemplated his options. There was definitely a werewolf beyond that door, and it stood to reason no few centimetres of wood could hold it if it decided to charge. But it didn’t. Whatever held it down there, it seemed the werewolf wouldn’t leave its night-time hideaway just yet. For just an instant, Noctua contemplated leaving well-enough alone - they’d stand guard in front of the house, wait for sunrise and nab von Weide whenever he was turning and vulnerable.

But there was the possibility von Weide wouldn’t stay down there forever. There was the possibility this was his escape route. And when Noctua heard the unmistakable sound of clanking iron and cracking stone, there was nothing to decide anymore. Steeling himself, he once again took out his lockpick and began sliding it back and forth, gently, not paying attention to the fact that the scratching and snarling from beyond was growing louder with every movement he made.

With a quiet, hissing click, the door to the Jagdhutte cellar opened. Noctua slowly, delicately pressed the doorknob, then threw it open and shone a light into the darkness which rushed to meet him.

The cellar was surprisingly large and spacious, the plentiful shelves and boxes cluttered inside it all pushed to the walls, so that the centre remained open and spacious. And in that centre, directly opposite Noctua and only a few metres below, hungry, angry, vicious human eyes shone from the dark.

Von Weide �" Noctua highly doubted it could have been anyone else �" had grey, motley fur criss-crossed with darker spots, and he was substantially larger than both the twins. Noctua estimated that, on an even footing, his snout might reach to Noctua’s chest, possibly slightly lower. Yet where the Eisensteins’ bodily proportions remained more-or-less even after transformation, von Weide looked as though he’d seen better days. His form was bony and scrawny, his fur was shallow and falling out, and the unusual length of his front limbs seemed far more pronounced.

Even though the creature was definitely fearsome and had an uncharacteristic look for a werewolf, Noctua cursed internally as soon as he could discern some of its features. It was anything but a merged werewolf, that was for certain. It still had a largely quadrupedal build, and its humanoid characteristics, save for the unnatural eyes, were next to non-existent. This was most certainly not the beast which had left its footprint on the leaf-covered stone, and Noctua’s heart skipped a beat as he realised the full extent of the implications. Yet he couldn’t let that distract him for now. He did, after all, still have a transformed werewolf to deal with.

The lack of mutated features didn’t, naturally, mean that the werewolf was weak. On the contrary. The moment it saw Noctua, all his until now plentiful snarls, growls and barks ceased, as though someone had stolen his voice. Noctua knew what that meant. As the massive grey beast crouched low and prepared to leap, already beginning to drool, Alexander was fully prepared to fire off his first shot, but something stalled his hand. At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, and, after lightning-fast consideration, opted to allow von Weide to try and jump at him.

The werewolf sprang forth, leaping effortlessly into the air, jaws wide and claws extended, only to be nigh-instantly pulled back emitting a half-choked snarl as he tumbled back down. Now, Noctua was certain. A metal chain, almost three centimetres thick, was wrapped around the werewolf’s left knee, anchored directly within the stone wall beyond. So, that’s what was keeping you, Noctua thought.

But how? And who? Did von Weide do this himself? But then…

The werewolf snarled at his bindings and bit into his leg, as though trying to rip it off. However, even though he seemed weakened and underfed, the wound still began to seal almost the same moment it was made, and the beast refocused on its prey. It gave another tug, and with the sound of cracking stone, the anchor seemed to give way, only a little, but enough to notice. The massive wolf-thing growled and pulled again, harder, heedless of the cold metal scratching away at its skin. And as the chain heaved again, Noctua knew it would give way very, very soon.

Briefly, he considered his options, then, he raised his handgun and fired off, putting a bullet through each of von Weide’s knees, though he avoided his chest and head. Werewolf or not, if one of his bullets ruptured a vital organ, even a werewolf’s metabolism would have a hard time putting it back in order, and he had no way of gauging von Weide’s strength. Immobilising him would be his priority for now.

The beast barked with fury and pain at that, but even before its wounds could begin to heal, it was already pulling itself forward even as its limbs betrayed it. Noctua knew it wouldn’t last. He slammed the door behind him, holstered his weapon and flashlight, then quickly began to lay his preparations. He ran from one faucet to the next, opening torrents of water to begin flowing from each in turn, then hastily grabbed the largest pans and pots he saw and placed two or three apiece into designated locations. When he ran out of pots, he grabbed several bottles of wine and olives, not sparing a thought for their rarity, and placed them into yet more designated spots. Finally, to prevent it from giving him away too soon, he detached his sword from his belt and placed it on one of the two lines of stoves in the centre of the kitchen, hoping he’d be able to reach it when the time came.

“Eh… what are you doing there, silly?” Huginn asked, having been watching the scene unfold through Noctua’s eyes for some time now. Noctua briefly shared his plan of attack with the raven.

“Pass it on to the twins, I can sense they’re nervous. Make sure they don’t come in before it’s absolutely necessary.”

“With your attitude, I can just tell them to go home, it’d save time.”

“Just do it,” Noctua snapped, softening the link between them. He had to concentrate for this. A sudden rattle from below told him that the chain had finally given way. He was out of time. Once more, he looked over the trap he’d set, then relaxed his body, breathed out all the excess oxygen from his lungs, and waited.

Like a thunderstorm, von Weide barrelled forward on the staircase below, crossing it within a single heartbeat. Noctua’s hadn’t bothered to lock the door, since the massive wolf-thing broke through them with a single lunge. The werewolf howled in triumph, still dragging the massive, long metal chain behind him, and when he perceived Noctua standing directly in front of him a few meters away, he wasted no time. He leapt forward with uncanny speed for a creature so large, jaws wide open, going for Noctua’s throat.

Except the moment its fangs were supposed to make contact with Noctua’s skin, nothing happened, and the massive beast flew straight through the sorcerer’s body and beyond, smashing its head straight through the accumulated pile of heavy steel pots laid out on the opposite shelf. As the pots tumbled to the ground, their ringing become bothersome even to Noctua, and judging by the beast’s pained wheezing and howling, the werewolf’s enhanced hearing was taking it even worse.

Von Weide shook his shaggy head, taking a couple of seconds to recuperate, then turned around to where Noctua was meant to be. But the sorcerer was no longer there, instead, he was now standing in the adjacent corner of the kitchen, his sword drawn in one hand. The werewolf growled, a challenge all could see, crouched down and then leapt, crossing the distance in no time and sinking its claws into Noctua’s chest.

Or it would have, if things had gone as planned. Instead, the massive creature once again hit naught but air, its residue strength carrying it over and leading it to slam its jaw straight into the pile of glass bottles laid out in front of it. Within seconds, the wolf-thing had its maw and face filled with dozens of small glass shards, along with a substantial amount of olives, cucumbers and wine, and its muzzle was badly cut. The werewolf howled in agony and turned around, still no wiser as to where its prey had gone.

Noctua quietly breathed out from his hiding place, in the small, cramped space below one of the shelves, and, looking through the werewolf’s mind, created another illusion, this time right in front of the largest pan he could get his hands on. It was bizarrely comedic, watching the werewolf run around like a headless chicken and slam its skull against the plethora of household objects, yet he knew it wouldn’t be enough. There were only so many illusions he could cast before he was exhausted, and no matter how many times his utensils punished him, a werewolf would not go down from concussion damage alone. The sword would have to come to use after all.

But before that, he had to make the best of what he had. The werewolf was, after all, not likely to see through this scheme anytime soon. The creature was a tortured, pained wreck of hunger, aggression and sheer power of will, its mind a swirling maelstrom Noctua could barely hope to trick and had no hope of reading. That would have to wait, for now.

As the beast’s snout reduced the accumulated plates and cups mounting inside the one of the sinks into little more than scrap, Noctua swiftly pushed himself from below his hiding spot, shot through both its ankles and rolled back, all before the werewolf could turn to see him. The creature howled in pain once more, but it had no chance of correctly identifying where its tormentor was hiding. The sound of flowing water and the noise it itself made masked Noctua’s sounds, and his smell was all over the room, coming from anything and everything he’d touched. Had the beast taken a pause to think and seek, it would doubtless be able to uncover his hideout in seconds, but Alexander would not give it the chance. He was a matador, and the illusions were his doormat. He had to tire the werewolf out.

He only hoped that would happen before he himself ran out of juice. Casting so many illusions so rapidly was taxing, even for him. Nevertheless, he still had at least ten more up his sleeve, before he risked becoming too weak to move and fight effectively. Combat was all calculations to the warlock, a cost-benefit ratio with victory and death as the ultimate commodities.

Noctua frowned and created another illusion, this time across the room from the werewolf. The creature howled, but it was getting more cautious by this point. Von Weide still made to charge at the illusion, but he was noticeably slower this time around. There was no helping it. Noctua grit his teeth and made the illusion move, raising its right hand along with the handgun. Recognising the source of its newest anguish, all signs of calm rationality vanished from the monster and von Weide charged once again, his head slamming through several bottles of bourbon and directly into the wall with enough force to crack wall tiles.

It was hard to believe anything could remain standing after a hit like that, but the massive grey creature simply took a step back and began shaking its whole body, as if to get flees out of its fur. Noctua shuffled out once again, and just as before, two new holes suddenly found themselves in the right thigh of the werewolf. Before the beast could respond, Noctua was hidden once again, and a new illusion presented itself right in front of the oven.

This was a war of attrition, he knew, but Noctua had no choice but to play it. He too was getting tired, but what bothered him more was just how noisy their duel already was. He was fortunate the man lived some distance away from the nearest inhabited buildings, but even so, he wouldn’t be surprised if some echo of the beast’s howls and his own gunshots carried further than he might find ideal.

As he heard another loud thud and an ear-tearing crack close behind, he sighed and rolled from his hiding spot once again, now aiming for the werewolf’s elbows. But he was getting slower, and the werewolf, despite its berserk rage, was getting more cautious. Still, Noctua didn’t expect it to catch on so quickly. As soon as the sorcerer fired, the wolf-thing turned, paying no heed to the pain, and looked straight at Noctua, who had no time left to erase his presence from the creature’s mind.

“Sakra!” he cursed and rolled back under the cupboard, moments before the massive, grey jaws of the werewolf snapped shut where his head had been a few seconds prior. Immediately, the beast began to push after its prey, its scarred, bloodied snout prying into the cramped space as the werewolf did his best to both reach his attacker and open its jaws enough to bite. Its muzzle fuming barely ten centimetres from his face, Noctua now had the ideal opportunity to end the werewolf, here and now. A single stab through the eye, directly into the brain �" that would be it, all it took.

He quickly dismissed such a course of action. He was determined to prove the man’s guilt or innocence; nothing would change that. Well, nothing apart from the massive canine fangs which pressed closer and closer to his own face with every push the werewolf made towards him. Noctua drew his knife, but instead of the eye, he stabbed the creature square in the muzzle, reopening a scar which was already sealing itself. The werewolf roared, but instead of withdrawing, he doubled down, and now, even though the cupboard was built directly into the floor, Noctua could hear it giving way.

“Huginn!” Noctua thought, finally resorting to his end-game gambit. He didn’t want to use that option, but now that he had to try and cautiously push himself away from the snarling maw of the werewolf, he saw he didn’t really have a better option.

“Yes!” the reply came at once, with palpable urgency. Great, Noctua thought, now all that’s left to do is wait for aid to arrive. That is, unless the cupboard gives way before that.

Nevertheless, he had to keep the werewolf’s attention on himself until that occurred. Von Weide’s jaws were pressing closer and closer to him, and the werewolf growled ferociously all the while, not having enough space yet to open its jaws for a proper roar. It stuck its paws into the gap between the floor as well, and slowly, steadily, began to push, more and more, tearing Noctua’s hiding spot in two.

The sorcerer had to do something in the meanwhile. He stabbed again, the werewolf too focused and enraged to evade him, and the moment his knife once again sliced through its runny muzzle, he squeezed his hand across his chest, grabbed a handful of pulva lunis and stuffed it right into the gaping scar that was the beast’s nose, rubbing it in as best he could. At that, finally, the werewolf howled and recoiled slightly, drawing back and pulling its head out from beneath the crevice. A second later, before Noctua could so much as take breather, von Weide was back, ramming beneath the cupboard with new force, and as he did so, the piece of furniture gave another pained creak, on the verge of breaking point for certain.

Noctua looked into those furious, barely human eyes, and contemplated whether this was what death might look like. Could he do it? Could he actually subdue a transformed werewolf without killing it? And if he couldn’t, was he really allowed to throw his life away in here? Dying here would help no one, not even von Weide, but putting the beast down would still leave the world with one less werewolf…

No, that was not an option. Not anymore, he thought, though with the monster’s rapidly healing snout once again inches from his own face, that was easier said than done.

And then, abruptly, von Weide yelped in surprise and pain, immediately drawing his attention away from Noctua and towards the small, jet-black creature which had just attacked him from the back. Huginn, despite his size, was one of those creatures Noctua would never want to face in battle, due to how annoyingly clever the bird could be. It knew exactly where to shove its beak to cause the largest amount of pain in shortest time, and so it did now too, landing on the werewolf’s neck, sinking its claws into its skin and tearing at the soft tissue behind the werewolf’s ears. Aggravated, von Weide withdrew and began violently shaking from one side to another, hell bent on finding a way how to shake the raven off.

Before he could do so, a ball of brown fur rammed into him from the front, and though Tanya Eisenstein was slightly smaller than the grey beast she’d just attacked, she was more than strong enough to knock it off balance if it wasn’t paying attention. Of course, the larger werewolf immediately began to rise back to his feet, and would have done so successfully as well, had Torsten Eisenstein not leapt onto his back from the other side, snarling with excitement and scratching and biting anything that came within reach. The larger werewolf roared defiantly at this assault and turned around, but the moment he did so, Huginn leapt from his back and into the air, whilst Tanya sought the grab the enemy by the nape, her jaws snapping shut centimetres from von Weide’s fur and her claws sinking into the skin on his shoulder.

Von Weide growled and refocused his attention fully on the werewolf twins, assessing them as the greater danger for now. Of course, that wasn’t so simple when Huginn once again made for an airstrike against the werewolf’s face and maw, halting in place for just long enough to scratch and tear and leave a mark, before swooping away once again, the werewolf’s fangs only chewing on empty air. The beast was growing irritated, and that irritation only grew when Noctua rolled from under his hiding spot back into the narrow alley, immediately going for his sword.

Recognising the man who’d so hurt him, the larger werewolf gave an unmistakable battle cry and, with unbelievable speed, grasped Torsten by the skin of his neck like a disobedient puppy and tossed him across the kitchen at Noctua, the younger werewolf tumbling across the plentiful stoves and cookers so that Alexander barely had a time to dodge the flailing youngster. Torsten landed on all fours, shaken but largely unharmed, though trembling with fury at this disrespect. He wanted to immediately charge back into the fray, fangs barred and saliva dripping, but Noctua’s firm hand on his back halted him for just long enough.

“No. Wait,” Noctua sent him, holding his firearm in one hand and drawing his own blade from the scabbard with the other. It had been knocked around somewhat during the plentiful assaults on the kitchen furniture von Weide had enacted, but it remained undamaged on the ground until Noctua picked it up. Quickly, Noctua aimed the gun once more and, as von Weide was spinning in circles trying to grab Tanya the same way he did her twin, fired off four more bullets into the beast’s hips and knees, causing it to yelp in pain and momentarily lose focus. “Now!” he bade Torsten, holstering his gun back in place, the same instant Tanya grabbed von Weide by the back of the throat just as he’d wanted to do to her.

With incredible speed, Torsten slammed himself into the larger werewolf, ramming its bulk into the nearest corner. Von Weide barked out and bit down, catching one of Torsten’s limbs, but before he could properly squeeze, Tanya was upon him, using her front paws more than either of the two other werewolves, she slammed one against the beast’s chest and the other into his spine, making von Weide gulp back air and release Torsten from his grip. The werewolf snarled and rammed his head below Tanya’s stomach, rearing up and flipping the smaller werewolf belly-up.

As the wolf-thing rose on its hind legs and prepared to crush Tanya’s chest and skull beneath its bulk, Huginn once again made to attack at von Weide’s eyes and ears, but this time, the werewolf was more ready for such an occasion, and responded immediately by snapping after the raven, eliciting a panicked caw from Huginn and even tearing out a couple of his tail feathers as the raven retreated.

“If I die doing one of these, I’ll kill you myself, you hear me?!” Huginn cawed, seating himself well out of reach of von Weide and cawing furiously at the monster. Nevertheless, his stunt did have the desired effect, and Tanya swiftly rolled back and retreated along with her brother, growling and snarling at their enemy all the while. Von Weide answered in kind, and prepared for another leap against his enemies. Only then did the larger werewolf realise that one of those enemies was nowhere to be seen.

Seconds later, Noctua materialised from the shadows, his sword swinging in the zornhau as he brought it sideways and down into von Weide’s ribs and loins, cutting a shallow yet long mark across much of the werewolf’s right flank in an instant, the aurichalcum-tempered steel causing immense pain to the creature as he did so. Von Weide howled with agony and immediately snapped at Noctua, yet all his fangs ensnared was the blade of the sword, prepared in the hengetorte position. The werewolf growled and swiped after Noctua with its paws, but by then, Noctua was already moving, retreating back and pulling the sword along and out, slicing through the beast’s gums and tongue, only increasing the pain.

Then, as one, the twins once again made to ram the larger creature, slamming him against one of the cupboards and reducing it to pieces, before doing as much damage as was possible to the werewolf’s left flank and retreating back. And again, Noctua appeared within striking distance, going for an unterhau which cut through a good half of the tendons in von Weide’s right leg. Before the werewolf could react, dazed as it still was, Noctua fell back, his blade rested in the pflug position, threatening to impale the werewolf should it choose to jump.

Von Weide recognised the threat, delirious with anger though he was, and instead began swiping after Noctua with his massive claws, using one limb at a time, but Noctua kept his blade raised and evaded every single swipe the beast made to disarm him. Von Weide barked in frustration and tried to catch the blade between his teeth once more, only for Noctua to weave past his attack and perform a nachreisen of sorts, slamming his blade in between the werewolf’s shoulder blades. He pulled back at once, for this had simultaneously exposed his bottom to the enemy, but fortunately, von Weide was too shocked by the sudden pain to notice, the newest slice on his back impairing every single movement he tried to make with his forelimbs.

At that, Tanya and Torsten resumed their attack, the boy going for the beast’s hindlegs whilst Tanya went once again for the throat, trying to subdue the other werewolf to the ground. However, to his credit, though he’d only a second to act before the three collided, von Weide decided finally to use his size against his smaller kindred. He spun around and, just as Torsten was getting ready to bite down into the tendons of his left leg, he kicked out, hitting the boy straight in the muzzle and sending him tumbling several feet away, wheezing and licking at his injured mouth. Tanya howled as she saw this, but failed to react quickly enough, allowing von Weide to use his whole body mass to literally squash her between himself and the now broken oven, small fragments of glass cutting through Tanya’s skin and making her wince in pain. She tried to fight back, but the enemy werewolf had already regained some measure of control over his forelimbs and pinned her down even firmer, preparing to rip out her throat.

Unfortunately for von Weide, this left his back exposed, and instead of tearing out Tanya’s gullet, his jaws opened wide in a pain whimper as several kitchen knives embedded themselves within his flesh in rapid succession. They were fairly dull and wouldn’t do much actual damage, but that was the point, and Noctua added one of the pans for good measure as well, which gave a sonorous clank as it deflected from the werewolf’s nape. As von Weide turned, murder in his eyes, Torsten barrelled back in, smashing his head against the werewolf’s chest and knocking him off his twin, allowing for both of them to retreat. The wolf-thing howled, vexed to an unreasonable degree, but before it could pursue, Noctua barred its way, the tip of his sword once more lowered into the pflug.

The werewolf that was Kaspar von Weide was now tired, confused, outnumbered, bleeding heavily from multiple grievous injuries, very likely starved and with more than a mild concussion. And yet. It remained standing. It growled at its foes as it licked at its wounds, and a small puddle of blood began to form where it stood, and still, despite all that, it gave no sign of exhausting itself just yet. And not only did Noctua begin to feel steadily more tired himself, he noticed that the twins, though they tried not to show it, were both quite frustrated themselves. This was their first real combat, and they gave everything they had into their first few attacks. And now that they saw what an inexhaustible tank a fully-grown werewolf was, they began to have doubts. They began to waver.

Noctua quickly assessed their situation. He still had two bullets he could fire off, and he could still use the gas if push came to shove, though that would certainly also harm Tanya and Torsten. Huginn was cawing furiously from his vantage point on an old clock and was trying to paralyse von Weide’s mind, but against a creature so lost to berserker’s fury, Noctua knew it wouldn’t do any good at all. As for the twins, they could keep on going, but the longer this went on, the more likely they were to make a mistake. That was something Noctua could not afford to allow.

Suddenly, his gaze fell towards the long chain, still attached on one end to von Weide’s leg, and an idea came to his mind. It seemed unlikely, statistically speaking, but it was worth a shot nevertheless.

“Tanya, Torsten, I’m going to need to trust you right now. Do you think I can do that?” he quickly sent into both their minds, not taking his eyes off the recovering werewolf.

-…Yes,- both twins answered in unison, evidently surprised by this sudden request, and by the tone in which it was thought.

“I’m going to draw his attention now, get him into the main hallway. Once I start running, there’s no way he doesn’t catch up to me, and when that happens, I’m done. So I need you two to slow him down, whatever it takes, got it? Go for the legs, pull his tail, yank the chain, do all you can to give me a head start! Can you manage?!”

-Yes!- Torsten almost wiggled his tail in excitement, arching his back and growling with anticipation.

-… Yes,- Tanya replied, puzzled more than anything else as she tried to discern Noctua’s intention.

“Right then. Here we go!” Noctua said, swiftly drawing his knife �" to be injected with werewolf blood was as good a way of contracting lycanthropy as any other �" and taking off one of his gloves, folding his hand around the blade and pulled, quickly and lightly, just enough to draw blood. The moment his first red drops hit the floor, von Weide’s hair stood on guard and, though his injuries had still not fully faded, he began immediately to limp forward, heedless of the raised blade, positively hypnotised by the tiny red drops.

“I’m counting on you!” Noctua shouted out loud, as he swiftly reversed his grip and hurled the knife towards the werewolf, then dashed back and away towards the door. A pained howl told him the blade had found its mark, and the thunderous thud against one of the cabinets likewise told him that the pursuit had begun. He ran as fast as he could, trying and failing to ignore the pained whimpering which seemed to be taking place just behind him, though whether it was von Weide or the Eisensteins who were making it, he could not hope to tell. He ran, he ran as fast he could, empty bags and cans crumpling beneath his heavy boots, and hoped to God he’d remembered the layout of the entrance hall correctly.

He was almost at the end of the hallway leading from the kitchen-turned-battleground when he finally spared a look behind him. He instantly jumped aside as he saw von Weide’s bloodied, bruised form preparing for another leap, one which would most certainly bring him to land directly on top of the sorcerer. However, with a curt jerk which swept the ground from under him, von Weide instead tumbled to the carpet, and Noctua saw both Tanya and Torsten, using their paws and jaws respectively, to pull back the opposite end of the chain, ending in a broad steel bracket. Von Weide roared in defiance and snapped at the twins, who jumped aside to evade him, then instantly turned right back around to run after his prey. By that point, however, Noctua was already on the move, running for the caged stairwell.

Noctua leapt across and over the messy furniture in the centre of the room just as he noticed a darker stain of black fly above his head and seat itself on the railing above. “I take it you want my help in pulling off this stunt?”

“You read my mind.”

“You don’t say?”

“Just try and do it as soon as possible, got it?”

“Why yes, your grace, I’ll certainly do my best not to get eaten whilst carrying out your orders, so kind of you to care,” Huginn cawed, but he too was already preparing for his own part in the action.

“Much appreciated,” Noctua grinned through strained breaths, as he heard the huffing of von Weide emerge from within the hallway. “Tanya, Torsten, thank you, that’s enough! We’ve got it from here?”

-Are you sure? We could…- Tanya hesitated, sounding genuinely worried, surprising Noctua.

-Maybe…- Torsten began, and all Noctua could sense from him was the craving for further battle.

“No, stand back now. You did your job excellently. I owe you my life. Now stand down and observe. We’ve almost got this,” Noctua sent, making sure to convey his appreciation in full. He ran around to the other side of the cage and leapt onto the stairs, taking three at a time. He was almost halfway up the staircase as well, when von Weide’s maw suddenly squeezed itself straight in between one of the bars and blocked Noctua’s advance, murderous hunger written plain across his face.

This was a problem. The werewolf had not deigned to follow Noctua directly, instead leaping at the staircase from the couch, and was now hanging in between the steel bars, his head exactly large enough to barely fit in between them and begin snapping at Noctua. This was bad. He had to get up, the plan depended on it. He could try and punch the werewolf, but it remained so focused on him, he stood a chance of getting his hand caught and…

Suddenly, von Weide’s savage barks were replaced by a strained wheeze as his head was jerked back, no, not just the head, his whole body was pulled away from its provisional vantage point. Noctua spared a brief glance below at that. Of course. Tanya and Torsten, once again grabbing the other end of the chain, were pulling hard, trying to force the larger werewolf to let go by sabotaging its footing. Noctua almost smiled at that, almost. He’d admonish them for insubordination later. Now, he had to take the chance they’d bought him.

Von Weide turned around to howl at the pair, only briefly, but that’s all it took for him to lose his advantage. When next he turned, the pommel of Noctua’s sword was already descending upon his forehead, the warlock having gone for half-swording temporarily. With a painful crack, the werewolf’s eyes rolled backwards and it let go, falling to the ground like a ton of bricks. It didn’t last, of course, and the beast was back on its feet in almost the same instant, but it did allow Noctua to ascend the stairs.

This time, the larger werewolf took no chances. He entered the stairway regularly, but due to his size and speed, he had a much easier time ascending than Noctua, bruised and tired though he may be. Alexander, meanwhile, had already managed to stand on the railing, observing the werewolf’s ascent as patiently as was feasible given the circumstance. Huginn perched beside him, both partners waiting for that one, perfect instance, when the world came into sync and they would know it was time to act.

Twenty-two stairs. Seventeen stairs. Thirteen stairs. Nine stairs.

“Now Huginn!” Noctua screamed out loud.

“On it!” the raven cawed, swooping towards the stairway. Noctua briefly looked below him. He’d never been one to fear heights overmuch, but the prospect of jumping from a height such as this was not something anyone could take lightly.

“Miss!” Huginn’s voice came, calm and mechanical.

“Again!” Noctua called, looking toward the exit from the staircase. Von Weide was now on the same level as him, rushing head-first after the sorcerer, drooling and slurping every step of the way as he entered the second floor.

“Caught it!” Huginn’s un-voice finally came, noticeably relieved.

Without response, Noctua bounced forward from his vantage point, jumping from the second floor. Von Weide howled and leapt right after him, heedless of the danger.

Alexander’s landing was anything but smooth. He’d been aiming for one of the garbage-filled couches below him, but didn’t quite hit the mark and only bounced off the edge of one of the them, losing his balance and landing on his side. His breath got knocked out and he began panting, but the rattling of chains and the sudden, decidedly pained wail coming from what could only have been the larger werewolf assured Noctua it had all been worth it.

Tanya and Torsten rushed towards him, but Noctua raised his hands, gave a short, loud cough and slowly stood up, evening his breathing. His bones ached something fierce and his left hand was not entirely responsive, but fortunately, nothing had been broken. Then, with a somewhat relieved smile, he looked back at his handiwork. However, it wasn’t quite as good as he’d hoped it would turn out.

Von Weide was standing on his table with three of his limbs, snarling, sniffing and biting at his left hindleg, which remained partially suspended in the air, the chain bound to it stretched to the maximum but holding strong. Its other end remained wrapped several times over amidst the sprawling bars of the staircase, high enough that the werewolf did not risk tearing its leg off during the fall, but also higher than Noctua had wanted. He wished for the werewolf to remain hung up and unable to gain a firm footing, since if that were the case, he risked the beast being able to force the chain from this lock as well. Then, he noticed something else, and his features softened, the tension slowly fading from him.

-We… got… him?- Torsten asked, his back still arched, the boy growling softly at the struggling, raging beast.

“Yes, we’ve got him. Only one thing left to do now,” Noctua sighed, too tired to use telepathy, making sure not to pronounce either sibling’s name as he unholstered his handgun.

-Wait, you said that…- Tanya jumped, her ears pricking up as she grew uncertain of Noctua’s intent.

“Please, trust me. At least in this,” Noctua said, and was almost tempted to scratch the twins behind their ears, as though they were hunting hounds he’d been running with for many years now. Tanya shook with indecision, but after a few moments, she relented and allowed Noctua to advance.

Von Weide was still trying to pull his leg out of the deadlock into which Noctua and Huginn had locked him, but the moment he saw Noctua, the massive, bloodied beast rushed forward, forgetting all other circumstance and madly snapping its jaws at its prey, its teeth connecting barely ten inches from Noctua’s face. Yes, it truly was the mask of death, this one. When looking at it, Noctua was perfectly capable of understanding why some people found it so hard to reconcile with the idea that even monsters like this needn’t be hostile towards humans, at least not in every single circumstance, and why the Order had taught him to best not take a chance in this. He raised his handgun, but not at von Weide directly. Instead, he aimed at the chandelier above, and, briefly looking over to confirm his mark, fired off a single shot.

The chandelier wavered, then fell, as its support was cracked by the bullet, plummeting straight below onto the werewolf’s shaggy head. Von Weide might have been able to evade it had he noticed, but for him, only Noctua’s blood now existed, placing his head and the falling object on a direct collision course. After one last snap, the mass of metal and glass hit the monster square on the head, immediately downing it and silencing the last of its hungry snarls. Almost instantly, the rest of the body went limp as well, only the left hindleg hanging somewhat comedically in the air. The entire scene reminded Noctua of some sort of bizarre parody of game about to be skinned, hung improperly by a greenhorn would-be hunter. Then again, he had, as ever, made mistakes aplenty himself.

“Good grief,” Noctua sighed, dropping to one knee and inspecting von Weide, gently brushing off the broken glass fragments from his head and fur. The beast reeked, all moist fur and dried blood, mostly its own, and the scar on its head left by the finishing touch was deep and ugly, yet it was already beginning to mend. Noctua had no doubts that should the werewolf be left to his own devices, he would wake up in a far shorter span of time, half-an-hour at most. They truly were tenacious predators. But now, he could be here to ensure that didn’t happen quite so soon.

He turned to the twins, both of whom were licking at their wounds and inspecting each other for additional injuries. He was relieved to see neither of them was hurt much, Tanya having suffered the most severe injuries along her ribcage and Torsten having a nasty bitemark on his left shoulder blade, but even those were healing as Noctua watched them. The Eisensteins looked to him with hungry, inquisitive eyes at that, their gaze flicking from him to their unconscious kin on the ground.

-Is… he…?- Torsten asked, though death could obviously be read from his tone alone. Huginn flew from the upper staircase then, having finished inspecting the buffer he’d made of the chain. A regular raven would have never had the strength required to pull off such a stunt, but Huginn, as Noctua was constantly and often bizarrely reminded, was anything but.

“No, Torsten, it takes a lot more to take down a werewolf. He’s just knocked out for now. To be honest, I’m quite happy we managed to pull it off this well.”

-This well? We barely managed to keep… him… in place and off our throats! If not for the chain, you wouldn’t have been able to trap him at all! What would you have done then?- Tanya asked, though her gaze remained fixed on the werewolf on the ground.

“Lured it back to our trap, most likely. If not, I would have figured out some other way of tiring it out. No point in debating over that now, we’ve still got a job to do.”

-What… now… we… tie up… search? Torsten asked, moving closer to the huffing, drooling von Weide. Up close and without trying to rip each other to pieces, the sight of two large wolves bathing beneath the pale light of the full moon was almost serene.

“No, there’s no point in tying him up. Unfortunately, that also means that for the rest of the night, this will be my resting place. I have to keep him asleep now, so that our work doesn’t go to waste. In the morning, when he transforms and regains his memories, we’ll talk. Which means the two of you will likely have to come over as well. Torsten, Huginn, I’d ask you to go get the things you and Tanya left at your original transformation site. Meanwhile, I’ll have Tanya here walk around the house and search it a bit with my help.”

“Oh, come on, why am I the one getting sent on errands again?! I just saved your life, you bucket of biscuits, give me a bit of rest!” Huginn pegged at his ear, not sharply enough to really hurt, but enough to be felt that’s for sure.

“Would you rather be the one to fly around the house and help me search it?” Noctua asked, innocence personified. Huginn rustled the feathers surrounding his throat, then gave a bout of furious caws straight into Noctua’s left ear, before flying out straight through the open door and into the night sky. “Daaaamn youuuuuu!” the echo lingered in Alexander’s mind for a few more seconds.

-Right… be back… quickly…- Torsten turned around to leave as well, only briefly stopping to scratch his furry back across one of the walls with little effect. Seeing that, Noctua sighed slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, walked over to the werewolf and gave him a good, long scratch across his lower back. The look Torsten gave him was a hilarious mix of shock, delight and embarrassment, and Noctua needed no magic to read all three in his eyes instantly.

-Stop… embarrass… sister…- Torsten’s thoughts were even more scrambled than usual, but he let Noctua finish before darting away, both satisfied and mortified with shame. Noctua turned to Tanya, who was eyeing him with vicious suspicion, as though she expected at any point the sorcerer might leap on her back too.

“Want one as well?” Noctua asked sardonically, walking back towards the half-lying von Weide.

-Touch me and that one won’t be the werewolf you’ll have to worry about,- Tanya’s thoughts came instantly, as cold as ice and very little in the way of sarcasm in them. Noctua could not help but grin, he raised both his hands and slightly bowed in mock surrender. Nevertheless, even as he walked around her, Tanya cautiously turned her tail in the opposite direction to where Alexander halted.

Noctua knelt before the slumbering werewolf, looking it over and inspecting its wounds. Some of the cuts and tears along its flanks were still healing, but apart from that its body seemed as though it hadn’t ever seen combat of any sort.

-Do you think that blow to the head will leave a consequence?- Tanya asked, inching closer towards the fallen werewolf.

“I highly doubt it. It was barely enough to knock him out,” Noctua said, walking over to pick up the sword he’d left on the ground when jumping off the second floor. Both its edges were bloodied, so he took out a red handkerchief and began cleaning the blade. “Could I ask you to go and recover the knife I threw back in the kitchen? The combat one. I can’t really stray too far from him right now, not until the change takes place. And the faucets will need some turning off as well. We’ve made enough of a mess of the house as is, no need to make it worse.”

-So, you’re going to keep him asleep?- Tanya inquired.

“Yes, something like that. Essentially, I’ll prevent him from waking up, or at least fully. I can’t do it as well as… someone else I know, but she made sure I was no slouch at it either. But it requires me to stay nearby to make sure,” he summarised, sheathing the sword and taking out his handgun to inspect and reload it. “So, before you go to sleep, I would ask you to look over the house, see whether there’s any more evidence linking von Weide to the murders. Look for signs of old corpses, bloodstains from previous meals, bloodied clothing or anything of the sort. I doubt you’ll find much, but it’s good to check. And it will still tell us something about our witness before he wakes up.”

Tanya met his request with silence, continuing to look down at the werewolf, lost in thought it seemed, her ears twitching slightly as she lowered her snout towards the other werewolf’s fur and began to sniff at him intently, determined to resolve once and for all whether this was the creature whose scent she’d smelled at the latest crime scene.

-Thank you- she thought suddenly, surprising Noctua who had begun removing much of the accumulated trash and other clutter on the ground before the table, preparing a spot for his meditation. -Thank you for helping me out when I got pinned. I won’t make excuses, I got sloppy once again. I… this is really difficult for me you know.-

“You did your part very well, even more if you consider this was your first real battle. Both of you saved my life too, you know. Let me tell you,” he said, finally folding his legs in place as he returned to the Seiza position, “If you trust your team… well, you shouldn’t take the fact they’ll have your back for granted, but you’ll stop being surprised by it soon enough.”

-Are you speaking from experience once again?- Tanya asked, finally walking away from von Weide and looking over at Noctua.

“Yes. Though it’s been a while since that time for me,” Noctua replied, beginning to control his breathing. He kept a weak link with von Weide’s confused, restless mind at all times, to check for any signs of danger.

-You think he’s guilty?- she asked, a mix of hope and uncertainty lingering in her voice. -Or that he’s connected somehow to our case?-

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions with this,” Noctua replied. “My gut tells me there are no coincidences, that he has to be connected somehow. But he’s so skinny and weak… this was a far easier fight than I dared to hope. And that’s a problem. He is clearly not heavily mutated, the opposite in fact. Too many things don’t add up.”

-Can’t you just read his mind right now? Get it over with?- she thought, sounding slightly frustrated, anxiety eating away at her subconscious, like lice crawling through her coat.

“Unfortunately, no. I am not an oneiromancer, I can’t rightly make sense out of one’s dreams. That goes double for minds of hybrids,” Noctua said, his thoughts once again flying to ages past. “Oneiromancy is a… tricky business. A lot of it’s been commercialised nowadays, people getting their dreams explained by phonies and would-be oracles with next to no talent or experience in the matter. True oneiromancy is one of the hardest psychic disciplines to master. It also takes a very gentle, yet firm nature. And I don’t really know how to be gentle with anyone. Not in that way, at least,” he finished, then noticed that, though only her wiggling tail betrayed her, Tanya was laughing internally, averting her gaze from Noctua so as to not betray her disposition and failing miserably. “What’s so funny?” he asked, genuinely puzzled by what it was he’d made amusing.

-I just… I just realized something really strange- she thought, finally turning around, genuine humour shining from her eyes. -When we first met you, and on the meeting, you put up this façade of a completely stoic, no-nonsense warrior, who only asks the important questions and doesn’t have the time for idle chit-chat. But, the more I’ve been with you, the more I come to see… you actually really enjoy talking to people, don’t you? When you start talking, you so often go on and on far longer than you’d have to give me and brother the information we’d need in any given situation-“ she finished, still wagging her tail and stretching her back leisurely, the amusement she felt slowly chipping away at the small mountain of stress.

Noctua didn’t really reply at first, he simply gave a soft smile and turned back to von Weide, unsure how to respond. “I… I don’t really know how to talk with people. Talk to them, certainly, but rarely with them. And I don’t really get many opportunities either. Not that I think it’d help. I suppose we all have our little oddities. Is it really so easy to see through? I’ll have to work on that then.”

-I’d prefer if you didn’t- Tanya thought, and there was something spontaneous in those thoughts, as though she almost didn’t mean to think them. -It’s better that way. It makes you seem more human. To me, at least, but I’m willing to bet other people would agree with me.-

Now it was Noctua’s turn to chuckle and scratch at his chin. “I’ll keep it in mind then,” he said, trying to close his eyes and achieve some level of concentration. Then, abruptly, he sensed Torsten rushing back to the house, and the distress and concern he felt from him immediately put Noctua on guard. He stood up, turned to meet the approaching werewolf, and immediately read through Torsten’s scrambled, almost panicked surface thoughts.

-Bait… gone… beartrap… gone… blood… scent… killer… there… gone…- were the only key words racing through Torsten’s mind.

 

Pain. Tanya was accustomed to it, she anticipated it and had spent her entire life hardening herself against it. It was a part of her as much as the body it ravaged, and yet, on some deep level, she always wanted to reject it, rip it out of her body like a tumour and leave it to whither and die in the dirt behind her, even as she knew death was the only way to achieve that. That feeling increased tenfold whenever she underwent one of her transformations.

Noctua had told each of the siblings to go and occupy one of the bathrooms within the Jagdhutte. Tanya was fortunate �" she entered the one which, while covered in dust and evidently uncared for, was at least relatively clean and unused in some time. She suspected that Torsten, who entered the bathroom on the lower level, would not be so lucky. Carrying the backpack with her clothes in her jaws, she placed it aside quietly to ensure it wouldn’t get stained during the transformation, then simply lied down, closed her eyes, and tried to get some rest before the inevitable came.

And come it did, as violently as ever. It started as a slow, annoying twitch in Tanya’s fingers on all four limbs, then it grew, spreading across the entire appendage and upwards, ever more frequent and forceful jerks running through her arms and legs like electric jolts. Then, her teeth began to ache, her head began to burn, her eyes started tearing up and her fingertips began to burn. She felt a dull, slowly increasing pain in her backside as her tail began to shrink and shorten back into her spine, and the tingling sensation was quickly spreading across her entire skeletal and muscular system, becoming less irritating and more painful with every moment. Tanya gagged and vomited bloody saliva as her fangs began falling out, one by one, her gums repeatedly pierced by far smaller, blunter teeth, at the same moment as her claws began clattering to the ground one after another, naked red meat being slowly, arduously covered by a new set of fingernails.

Then, the real agony began, as her entire skeletal apparatus began to shrink and move around, ribs, femurs and spinal columns repositioning and reforming themselves none too gently on Tanya’s inside. Her snout began to shrink as well, something that ever horrified Tanya to observe, and her lungs began to burn as they were suddenly being so hard pressed from all sides. He heart began racing, as much from her anxiety as from the strain her body felt, and Tanya was briefly thankful for her teeth falling out, because it meant she could at least bite her shrinking tongue without piercing it too much. She was writhing now, contorting and shuddering across the marble tiles on the floor, being tossed violently from side to side by her disobedient body. Entire organs were moved and removed in that process, her bones bent and regrew as was necessary, and worst of all, her fur began to fall out. Tanya hated that especially. It was painless, unlike all else, and lulled you into a false sense of comfort, like a tree shedding excess leaves, only for Tanya, now naked, sweating and partially bleeding, to find herself completely covered in stinking, sticky clumps of shed fur and skin. It was disgusting, and it took a lot of practice to wash off well.

Finally, the convulsions stopped, and Tanya could slowly, steadily raise her hands to touch her face and check to see all was in order. She shuddered when she accidentally touched one of the cheekbones which was still setting itself into place, but other than that, she was back to her regular self. The whole process took about three minutes, but it left the girl absolutely exhausted. One of the good things that came with the return to regular form, amongst many others, was that it was the perfect excuse to have a nice, properly warm shower, and Tanya knew of few better ways to gain at least a modicum of rest. It felt somewhat awkward, to get into the bath of a man whom Tanya had effectively beaten up a few hours prior, as though she were some violent thug taking part in home invasion, but truthfully, she was too tired to really care when she climbed into the shower and began pouring hot water over her body.

It felt good, to rid oneself of the filth, though sometimes, during particularly bad moons, Tanya almost felt as though the main layer of filth she could never hope to wash away, even if she decided to spend the rest of her life underwater. Once, during a particularly bad morning, she began furiously, absent-mindedly scrubbing away at her arms and shoulders with the brush, again and again, with more speed and intent behind every pull. She’d drawn her own blood as she scratched open her skin, before finally realising what she was doing and stopping herself. She’d never spoken of the incident, not with anyone, and certainly not with her brother. And yet, she gave her own body a poisoned, almost disgusted look, as she perceived her scratches closing and fading away within the minute.

Now was not the time for such thoughts, however. There was a revelation awaiting her downstairs. Probably. Hopefully. With any luck. God, but she deserved to have a bit of luck come her way after all that. She couldn’t rightly take her mind off of Kaspar von Weide, likely currently going through the same agony as her and not even being able to understand the situation he might find himself in.

Tanya knew the moment she smelled the man that he was not the one who’d killed Micha and Priska. She also knew that he was exceptionally feral when she’d gone up against him. She wasn’t really able to fully explain the sensation, she’d never before seen a fully feral werewolf, but the mindless anger, brutality and hunger he displayed were… well, if she were to be completely honest, they were mirror reflections of the very emotions she so often felt on the inside, the ones which she’d been taught to supress or vent cautiously in private. And to think that, while they were trying to take out this likely innocent man, the killer had come and gone right under their noses… Tanya’s fist flew forward in a blur, punching into the wall with enough force to tear the skin of her knuckles. She winced at the pain slightly, but was mostly still desensitised from the change.

Noctua seemed as cold as ever when he received the news, but through his smell and body language, Tanya could clearly sense he’d become angrier than she’d ever seen him before upon learning the news. He quietly asked Torsten to tell him all he could recall, and then searched his mind for any additional information. He likewise ordered Huginn to try and fly around the forest, see if the killer mightn’t have left behind himself some other tracks they might follow. Indeed, the raven found a clue not too far from the original ambush site, albeit it was less than useful. It was the remains of their bait, chewed up and torn pieces of beef scattered across the forest, heading towards the stream. Dried blood marked the killer’s escape route clearly enough, and though the bleeding seemed quite heavy, it was far from enough to take down even a human, and this one was sure to be anything but.   

Tanya wanted to go after the killer, but Noctua forbade her categorically. They’d argued about it, a lot, and of course, Torsten protested as well. Noctua insisted he could not afford to leave von Weide’s side now, as they had no place in which to lock the werewolf up safely for the rest of the night, and he couldn’t allow the twins to head after the culprit on their own. Tanya and Torsten hadn’t, unfortunately, brought along any spare blood they might use to bring von Weide to his senses either, a idea which made Tanya want to smash her skull against a wall. Neither of them expected to find the werewolf wouldn’t be in control of its senses, truth be told, and besides, it would have been impossible for them to make the werewolf go for a blood sack when living prey was within reach. Noctua fumed quietly at this realisation, and Tanya knew that, just below the surface, he was scolding himself for not taking into account the eventuality that there might be more than one rogue werewolf on the prowl.

Regardless, he told them that, not only was von Weide unconscious and therefore unable to imbibe, but he could also not draw enough blood from the only human �" himself, that is �" present without impairing his other abilities. Faced with that option, he insisted the twins remain inside the mansion after having Huginn retrieve their clothes for them �" the raven proved itself surprisingly strong, able to carry one backpack at a time even �" and forbidding them from leaving. Tanya was furious at this decision, but quietly, she had to admit it made sense. The killer was likely already gone, and if not than they’d certainly lost his trail at least, meaning he would definitely have the element of surprise. Still, even as she waited for the sun to rise, curled up in on one of the damaged couches, she couldn’t help but keep eyeing the exit door, wondering whether maybe, possibly, she might have caught up with her enemy…

She sighed quietly with pleasure as the hot water ran down her skin, washing away the musky smell of fur and the salty, iron tinge of blood in her mouth. If only she could stay like this forever, the water might wash away all that was bothering her, maybe…

But she couldn’t. She still had a task to carry out, and she wouldn’t rest until it was done. Thus, after a few minutes, she stopped the flow of water, used one of the towels to dry herself and quickly got dressed. She quickly cleaned up the mess her transformation left as well �" brushing the accumulated fur, fangs and claws into a single large pile and pushing it to the corner. There was a lot of it, true, but one of the benefits of werewolf biology than, in a matter of days, it would all whither away into dust and bone powder. Werewolf weapons were terribly potent, but they had an extremely short lifespan. Even as she touched it, Tanya could feel some of her finer fur already dissipating, running between her fingers like sand.

She could use a cup of coffee right about now. Tanya wondered whether von Weide would allow them to make some coffee once they got to talking. She wondered whether he’d want to talk at all. Not that she could rightly blame him if he declined and tried to force them out of the house. Even though something told her Noctua would not accept that request, at least not until he got whatever he wanted from the man.

Tanya didn’t really know what to make of the sorcerer anymore. On the one hand, she still loathed him on a deep, almost instinctual level. He was a man trained to hunt and kill her own, and many other creatures like her, and judging by his performance he was not inexperienced in that matter. Murder seemed to come as natural to him as any other work. Even when she fantasized about finally catching up to the killer who had robbed her of her friends and tarnished the good name of the Stuttgartrudel, Tanya couldn’t rightly bring herself to understand the callous, dispassionate attitude Noctua had towards what he called “elimination”. It seemed inhuman �" and Tanya very much considered herself mostly human, opinions of other be damned �" to act in such a manner.

Tanya opened the door as the thought came over her mind, yawning wide and wincing in pain immediately as her jaws stretched themselves more than she was comfortable with. She frowned and took out a mint chewing gum to help put her mind to rest. It wasn’t so much about dulling the physical pain, as it was to help Tanya shift her focus to other thoughts.

And yet, he could also be so… considerate? No, that was not the correct word. Courteous, yes, that would seem to fit far better. He seemed to have a genuine care for people, even those who would have been his enemies, and he evidently didn’t hesitate when putting his life on the line. Yet even as she found it noble in that archaic, nigh non-existent way, Tanya also thought that there was a certain disconnect underlying all of it, as though Noctua considered himself nominally different to those in whose name he did what he did. Not better, at least it didn’t seem like that to Tanya, just… different. That was one more detachment Tanya found so irritating about the man. It made it even harder for her to get her own opinions straight, a vexing nuisance if ever there was one for the girl.

Tanya shrugged and walked along the empty second floor corridor. Though it too seemed to have fallen out of use in recent time, unlike the lower floor, this place was not littered with trash and filth, only with thick layers of dust. The richly designed red carpet rustling beneath her feet was stale and old, but still quite soft, and the various paintings and hunting trophies hanging from the walls around her �" deer antlers, rabbit paws, boar tusks, pictures of men on horseback chasing after a fox or rearing a pack of hunting hounds �" were all in fairly good condition.

She heard a pair of voices as she approached the winding staircase, one spoke with an accent of an eastern foreigner �" though which country Noctua was actually from Tanya still failed to guess -, the other had an exhausted, confused tone to it, yet even so remained distinctly posh and over-articulate, speaking in that way only those with a special education enjoyed speaking with everyone.

As she descended, she saw Noctua, standing beside one of the couches opposite to a man bundled in several blankets who, nevertheless, seemed to be shaking ever so slightly, even as he was sitting down. Kaspar von Weide quickly registered Tanya’s presence, giving a few brief snips as his gaze was drawn towards the railing against which Tanya leaned, judging their “host” with a relaxed, non-threatening disposition, or at least the closest she could come to one, given how on edge she constantly was.

The first thing which struck her about Kaspar’s human form was just how unhealthy it looked. His face was very pale and his whites were almost red with how bloodshot and sore his eyes were, his hair, which Tanya only now noticed didn’t match his fur colour at all, were long, messy and utterly unkempt, he had a very pronounced Adam’s apple and was overall very bony, his cheeks having the likeness of two small craters. The fact his hair and fur colour didn’t match suggested he’d been turned late in life, once his body had finished maturing that is, and from what Tanya knew, that process was even worse for people such as him. Tanya noticed that, even deathly tired, he seemed to be constantly doing something with his hands �" cracking his joints, folding them together, pulling at his nails, anything just to keep them busy. He did it in a subtle, reserved way, but Tanya was a keen observer, and that habit irritated her from the get-go.

Kaspar seemed more surprised than scared, indeed he took Tanya in as though he was seeing a spectre of some sort, and Tanya noticed that, even though he tried to be subtle about it, his eyes would always end up resting back upon Noctua’s sword. He didn’t seem afraid or even particularly uncomfortable, except for the shaking, but Tanya had a strange, disjointed feeling when seeing him, as though something were very wrong with the man, not in a dangerous way, but simply on a personal level. Especially because, although she knew he was supposed to be only around his mid-twenties, he seemed at least twice his age, if not more. There was a lot of pain and fear and uncertainty etched into the features of his face, and Tanya dreaded how well she knew that expression. It was the same one she wore every morning after her return to normalcy.

Noctua had asked the twins to bring whatever clothes von Weide might have had with him down in the cellar, and told them to try and find the key. Sure enough, after briefly rummaging through the pockets of a dirty, worn shirt she and Torsten sniffed out in the cellar where von Weide had been sealed �" or, more likely, sealed himself �" they managed to find a small, thick metal key, a perfect fit for the lock on the werewolf’s leg. Noctua unlocked von Weide even before transformation, and covered him up with one of blankets he found, so as not to humiliate the man along with startling him. Now, he seemed to have added to that a few more layers, for reasons beyond Tanya.

“Herr von Weide, if we might continue in our discussion,” Noctua spoke at the sitting man, trying very clearly to draw his attention away from Tanya while giving her a sharp glance which spoke for itself. Tanya frowned and began to descend the stairwell, wondering why exactly did she have to keep quiet for the time being.

“W-what? Oh, yes, apologies, I got distracted…” von Weide spoke, looking back to Noctua, sounding raspy and coarse, like a man whose throat had been utterly parched after a long, dry day. “Forgive me, but… I… did I… her…?”

“As I said, herr von Weide, nobody got hurt last night, not seriously at least,” Noctua explained patiently. “Now, how about you take a bath to wash away the remaining fur and make yourself more comfortable? In the meantime, my acquaintance here can help prepare something for us. Say, do you have any coffee? A mug of hot coffee in the morning, now that is real magic.”

“Yes… yes, I think I do, but… I apologise, I think I’ve left quite a mess in the kitchen,” the man mumbled, more to himself than to Noctua, and Tanya couldn’t help but giggle slightly and the humorous undertone of Kaspar’s latest comment, until a stern gaze from Noctua bade her to stop, making her frown instead.

“Excellent,” the sorcerer continued, turning back to von Weide, speaking slowly and carefully and maintaining a certain amount of distance between the two at all times. “You go and clean yourself up, and my companions will help prepare some refreshment for you. We’re in for a long talk, and I and my colleagues are hard pressed for time as it is, herr von Weide.”

“Please… just Kaspar… just Kaspar will do,” the man replied meekly, trying to waddle forward on his feet, though he seemed to bounce like a bowl of jelly. “And yes… we are… I’ll go and… get myself into shape… I’m sorry you had to see the place like this…” he trailed off, walking into the right corridor. As he was leaving, Noctua sent a quick mental image to Tanya, with a few words projected to stand out sufficiently.

“Go to the kitchen with brother. Make some coffee. Don’t talk to von Weide. Try not to interact with him in any way Don’t state your name or personal information. And don’t mention Huginn yet. All very important.”

Tanya still disliked the telepathic touch of the sorcerer, but she had to admit she’d begun getting used to them it quickly. She wondered whether Noctua planned to simply extract the necessary information out of von Weide, but quickly realised she didn’t actually want to consider that option. Instead, she simply nodded hesitantly and walked away, almost bumping into Torsten who had come out of the opposite hallway moments ago.

“You holding up?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes and yawning wide, letting Tanya see his gums were still bloodied. Torsten always healed slightly slower than she did, and his transformations were slower in general. When they were kids, especially after mother died, Tanya would often stay with Torsten during these periods, in the same room even, to help comfort him and prevent him from phasing out after his changes, as he was want to do. It’s been years since the last time she’d had to do that, but every time she saw her twin after those changes, she was reminded of those times and grew concerned for him out of habit.

“Yeah, I managed alright. Yourself?” she asked, continuing towards the kitchen and bidding Torsten to follow her.

“Well, about as bad as usual, but I was too lost in thought to fully appreciate the pain,” Torsten grinned, though there was a bitter singe in his voice. “I’m still thinking we should have gone after the tracks on our own, you know. If we had waited there for just a bit longer…”

“I know. And I think he knows as well,” Tanya speculated, opening the door to the kitchen. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I haven’t seen him this upset… at all before, really. I almost expected him to begin smashing his head against the wall with frustration. He knows he’s made an error, but we still gained something out of it,” she tried to uplift the mood just a bit.

“Yes, but what exactly did we achieve?” Torsten asked, tiptoeing across the abundance of broken dishes, dented pots and glass shards. “I mean, I guess he might know something about this situation. But have you seen how messed up he is? He can barely string together a cohesive sentence. Not to mention, he probably doesn’t know all that much about this situation, if spent all his evenings… like that,” he said, nodding towards the broken door leading into the cellar. “Like, how did he even manage to do that? And how come he didn’t break out sooner? Did he seriously last without any blood for… well, at least a couple months?”

“How about you wait and see what the man has to say?” Tanya replied, absent-mindedly, searching through the various intact cupboards for something resembling coffee. Torsten, meanwhile, found a mostly intact teapot and began drawing water into it, then set it to boil on the stove. It was stained with dry blood, but then again, that went for most of the kitchen.

“It’s just… it was this close Tanya! This close! And instead of catching it, we went and picked a fight with a werewolf who would’ve remained in place for the rest of the night! It’s just… urgh, it vexes me to the core.”

“Everyone’s a general once the battle’s over,” Huginn’s un-voice sounded through Tanya’s skull, and judging by how Torsten grimaced, he heard the raven as well. Tanya walked over to the narrow kitchen window and opened it, letting the raven fly inside and perch itself upon the old clock hanging from the wall. “But if it’s any consolation, it would seem our trap has prevented any more deaths from occurring last night,” the raven continued, observing both twins carefully as it sent so. “So cheer up, kids, you didn’t break a sweat for no reason if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Do you really have such a low opinion of us, or are you just teasing?” Tanya asked, growing more and more accustomed to the raven’s antics.

“Mostly just teasing,” an amused spark ran through Huginn’s eye. “But I’m also serious. I’ve been flying for a couple hours now, and there’s no sign of an enemy attack anywhere within the vicinity. And seeing as the killer was definitely somewhere nearby when the attack happened, I highly doubt it would’ve gotten much further away to do more killing.”

“But you couldn’t track it down,” Torsten added grimly, grabbing a handful of plain white cups and placing them on a wooden plate. Meanwhile, Tanya finally found and opened a bag of ground coffee.

“No. Ends in the stream, as always, and there’s no way for me to track from there on…. Wait a minute, you’re making coffee? Did Alexander put you up to this?”

“Yes, why is that…?” Tanya began, but the raven surprised her by actually scoffing, as best a raven could hope to scoff anyways.

“For all his obsession with anonymity, he’s as predictable as the sunrise when it comes to some things,” Huginn thought, before turning back to the twins. “Where’s Noctua, by the by?”

“He went with Kaspar von Weide, to see to it he gets cleaned up and dressed,” Tanya said, leaving the other part of the statement unsaid.

“And to make sure he doesn’t try to hotfoot it out of here. It must’ve been strange for poor Kaspar, waking up to find that man of all people staring down at him. And I say that as someone speaking from experience,” Huginn thought, and Tanya could swear she saw the raven chuckling. “Anyway kids, won’t Hartwig get worried if you’re not back at the Heiligtum today morning?”

“Well, if that’s the case, he should’ve been worried when we weren’t at his house yesterday evening,” Tanya replied, shame suddenly coming over her, unexpected and uninvited.

“Wait, so you two…” Huginn began, then quickly cut off the thought, as though remembering something obvious. Tanya didn’t really care though, more pre-occupied with the reaction she’d receive whenever she did at last return home.

“We’ve lived with herr Hohenbach since we were both nine, until recently he was our legal guardian. And we still live under the same roof. So, I bet he grew concerned the moment he realised we snuck away without permission,” Tanya said, more to herself than to the raven. Torsten suddenly seemed especially pre-occupied with pouring hot water into the cups, whilst Tanya kept on quietly looking for sugar of some kind.

Huginn didn’t let his thoughts show at that, which almost amused Tanya. She was accustomed to awkward silences whenever she mentioned her and Torsten were orphans, but to see it coming from a literal animal was strangely amusing. Tanya wondered just how severely herr Hohenbach would punish them whenever they returned, but truth be told, she resolved she wouldn’t protest when it came. If their goal here proved successful, any punishment would suffice.

“Well, anyway, there’s no point in wasting time. Torsten, all set on your part?” Tanya asked, finally pulling a somewhat mauled box of sugar cubes from one of the cracked cupboards.

“Yeah, we best get going. Huginn, you…” Torsten began, but the raven cut him off.

“Yes, yes, I am aware, I’ll only make my presence known later, if need be. Take care, both of you,” Huginn cawed, as if to punctuate his statement, and then added, “and, just so you know �" you did a real good job last night, better than either of us expected in fact. Noctua won’t tell you, because that’s the kind frosty lemon that he is, but he really thinks more highly of you now. So cheer up a bit kids. I’ve seen men who handled their first scrap a lot worse. Almost makes me want to see you enter into a real battle.”

Tanya was unsure how to take that, if she were to be honest. She thought she did absolutely miserably. When fighting von Weide, she acted almost purely on instinct, and was acutely aware of the crippling terror she felt as the larger werewolf threatened to squash her beneath his bulk like a rotten strawberry. She would have whimpered then, if she had breath to spare, and all she could feel during the battle was a queer mix of fear and rage which guided her jaws. Tanya felt anything but proud of her conduct, and yet here she was, being praised for barely keeping it together. She shuddered to think what a “real battle” might end up being like. And she sincerely wished to never find out either.

“Well, thanks… I suppose. Later,” Torsten nodded back to the bird, then walked out of the room, looking as confused as Tanya felt. She, in turn, merely nodded to the bird and hurried outside, as best she could without spilling the coffee she’d been carrying that is.

“Sis’, I have to ask �" were you…”

“Also terrified beyond reason last night? Yes, Torsten, I was. I never want to go through it again.”

“What? No, no that’s not what I had in mind,” Torsten looked to Tanya, growing even more bewildered, as though seeing someone else than he’d expected in Tanya’s place. She didn’t like that look for some reason, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why exactly. “I was wondering whether you felt… excited. Like, there was this kind of… how can I put it… joy in it, you know? Risking your neck, running and slashing and biting. Nothing like that?” Torsten pressed, though uncertainty shined clearly from behind his eyes.

Tanya wouldn’t lie to her little brother. She could say something about an adrenaline rush, or the hunter instincts all werewolves had to a degree, but she felt nothing at all of what he described as they rushed into the manor. “I can’t really say for certain,” she replied, avoiding his look as she did so. “Come on now, the plate’s a bit heavy,” she said, ignoring the fact she had more than enough strength to hold it in place for hours.

“Yeah, let’s…” Torsten trailed off, sinking back into his own contemplations. Tanya sped up to the entrance hall, trying to concentrate on the up and coming questioning. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how concerned Torsten seemed with that, biting at his lower lip when he thought she could no longer see him.

Noctua was waiting for them on top of the staircase, apparently also submerged within his own unknowable thought process, so it took him a few moments to notice the twins when they arrived below. “Ah, yes, excellent. Go into the second room on the inner side of the left wing, von Weide tells me its what you could call a guest room. Make sure not to startle him when he gets there. And no questions until I allow it, yes? Good, now go,” he said, retreating back into his own mind immediately afterwards. Tanya wanted to ask about a lot of things, but she saw clearly enough it would be of no use with the sorcerer as he was. She frowned with dissatisfaction at that, shaking her head as she made her way into the room Noctua had designated.

The salon, for that was the best way to describe it in earnest, was larger than any single room the siblings had ever possessed in either of the two households they grew up in. It had a chandelier similar to the one which ended von Weide’s rampage, though slightly smaller, hanging from a tall, flat ceiling. The wood and stone of the walls was surprisingly clean and dry, although almost as dusty as every other part of the house, and most of them were covered in either paintings or old family photographs, depicting many generations of the von Weide family. There were no less than four separate bookshelves, each stacked with rows upon rows of books and reaching almost all the way up to the ceiling, split into two sections by a large, ornately carved stone fireplace built into the central part of the left wall. Several antique, cushioned chairs were placed across the room, along with a very nice rocker carved of dark walnut wood. All were pointed so as to face the small, heavy wooden table standing close to the door, which obviously was meant to serve as a stand for snacks and drinks. The floor was covered with a red-and-beige carpet which Tanya estimated could cost more than their entire apartment.

Tanya elegantly placed the tray with coffee and mugs onto the table, then walked over to the bookshelf and began to peruse its contents. A man’s library could tell one a lot about his character, and not just by looking at the books themselves, but also by how worn down either of the tomes would be. She briefly hesitated, but eventually pulled out a beautiful, white leather-wrapped edition of Moby Dick from one of the shelves. It was written in English and was delightfully illustrated, to the point Tanya almost felt ashamed for touching it without consideration. She only put the book down when a sudden noise from behind startled her.

Torsten had, in the meanwhile, taken to probing the various chairs within the room for the cushiest seat, and was now swinging back and forth on the old rocker, his eyes closed and a mischievous smile on his lips as he swung the chair back and forth ever more forcefully.

“Get off that before you break it,” Tanya scolded him, returning the book back into its place so as to not seem too hypocritical. Likewise, she took out a tissue paper and quickly spat out the gum she was still chewing up until this point, feeling as though she’d disrespected the place somehow by continuing to mull it over in her mouth for so long.

“Come on, sis’, how many times do we get the opportunity to see something like this? Don’t you want to relax a little?” Torsten asked, but he at least opened his eyes to look at her, meeting Tanya’s only visible eye at once.

“I’m perfectly relaxed,” Tanya protested, leaning against the wall as if to demonstrate.

“Ugh-huh. Tell that to someone who hasn’t grown up beside you,” Torsten grinned, but he did begin to slow down in the rocker somewhat as he saw his sister grimace.

“What, you’d have me be relaxed now that we may finally learn the meaning behind all of this? We’re so close now…” she trailed off, hearing footsteps approach from outside. “They’re coming, Torsten, so get your arse up and don’t draw attention. Come on, quickly!”

“And here I was thinking you hate being bossed around by him,” Torsten murmured, but he obeyed his sister in short order. He stood up and slowed the rocker down, then walked besides Tanya and likewise leaned against the wall. Common courtesy dictated they ought to be offered a seat by their host, if only as a formality. But Noctua insisted they make von Weide feel as secure and comfortable as was possible, and Tanya had no doubts making him feel more in control would do no harm in this regard.

“… but if not from Karlsbad, I really can’t tell where you’re from, you speak so strangely, herr Noctua. Or maybe that’s just my brain going for a holiday once again. My apologies if that is the case,” Kaspar von Weide spoke, mildly and slowly, as he entered the room, then halted when he saw it was already being occupied. He was wearing a white shirt and simple dark pants, and looked too thin for either fit him well. “Oh, hello there, um…” he began, the words rolling off his tongue sluggishly at best as he tried to greet the twins with the most fitting address.

“The names and identities of my companions needn’t concern you for now, herr von Weide,” Noctua said, walking past the man and standing to the side. He really did put the withered, starved form of their host into perspective standing beside him, and Tanya noticed he tried to keep contact with von Weide’s eyes at all times. She had no doubts that, despite his polite tone, Noctua was constantly monitoring the younger man for any sign of aggression. “Please, make yourself comfortable and try to remember all you can. It’s very important for us that you do so as quickly as possible.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course, pardon. And please, stop it with the herr von Weide’s, I haven’t had anyone address me like that since I was seventeen. Kaspar will do,” their host said, though his speech remained half-hearted at best. It was so strange to Tanya in many ways, seeing him like this. Not a day ago, this same person was a snarling, bloodthirsty monster of the kind she could one day become, utterly senseless and starving for red meat. Now, in the same body, there was a mild-mannered, friendly looking gentleman, who, even though he looked deathly tired and thrice his age, did his best to act as accommodating as he could.

“Please, take a seat. And thank you for the coffee, young lady,” he nodded towards Tanya, and his appreciation seemed very genuine. Tanya gave him her polite smile at that, though internally she was more concerned than anything else.

All of them took their seats, the twins sitting next to each other and opposite Kaspar, whilst Noctua seated himself to the side, so that he was within reach of both parties. The older werewolf said nothing at first, taking the mug of coffee on the table, nodding graciously towards the twins and taking a good, long sip. The twins also took a mug each and sipped in a far more reserved manner, but Noctua remained unmoving, and though he tried to make himself inconspicuous, he kept eyeing Kaspar all the while.

Their host concluded drinking his coffee, but as he lowered it, he continued to stare into its contents, as though hoping to infer some sort of hidden meaning from within. He said nothing as he did so, nor did he seem to notice the anticipation building within the room. Tanya had fully expected him to be uncooperative, but she didn’t expect to find him so… passive. Even more important, however, was that his hands were no longer moving, if one did not count the slight trembling of the coffee mug in his hands that was.

The uncomfortable silence dragged on, and Tanya did her best not to begin staring at the man as it prolonged. She knew it would do them no good, but she felt as if sitting on needles and her anxiety was bubbling to the surface more and more with every passing second. Noctua likely noticed that as well, and so, he tried to address Kaspar, who still kept looking into his mug at that.

“So, he… Kaspar, would you mind explaini…”

“Tell me… have you come to kill me?” Kaspar asked, suddenly looking up to show the tears welling up in his eyes, as his voice cracked the same moment he said his last word. The coffee mug fell out of his hands at that, the wet powder immediately staining the priceless carpet beneath.

“What? No, no, we…” Noctua began, but Kaspar would not let him finish. Suddenly he was crying, tears flowing down his cheeks and he began sobbing uncontrollably, words barely streaming past the small waterfall of tears his face had become.

“Please, tell me you’ve… you’ve come to kill me. Please, please, I just can’t take it anymore. If I killed anyone, if I hurt anyone, please just kill me, God, I’m sorry, I’m too much of a coward, please, just kill me. I can’t do it alone, just please, kill me, because I just don’t have the guts to do it myself,” he sobbed. “I knew no one would believe me, and I don’t know where to go, so please, you know, so just do it, just kill me, I can’t go on like this. If I killed someone… please just do it!”

All three of them were taken aback by that response, Tanya most of all. Kaspar continued to weep and sob all the while he spoke, and even after he’d made his case, a gibbering mess of a man, his fingers pressed against his eyes so intensely now it looked as though he were trying to gouge his own eyes out.

“I can’t sleep, can’t rest, can’t focus! Nothing I eat has any taste or flavour, I can’t get drunk no matter how much I drink, my bones creak and burn whenever I move, and blood, blood, blood, blood! I keep thinking about it, thirsting for it, wanting it, dreaming about it, good God why is there always blood?! I cut myself, but my wound heals before I can suck my blood own, and I spit out all I drink whenever I do manage to suck out a little! Why’s there always blood on my mind?!” Kaspar howled, looking from the twins to Noctua and back, but never pausing enough to let them answer.

“I knew I should have done something when people began to die. I don’t read much of what goes on, not anymore, but no one could have failed to notice all those deaths that have been going on in this city. But I was… I wake up every day, I wake up as I was… everyday… on the same damn spot! Was it me?! Was it really me?! Please tell me you’ve come to kill me if I killed someone again!” he positively screamed now, though there was no anger left within him, only impotent frustration and grief.

Noctua watched the man carefully, apparently deciding not to interject as long as Kaspar might have something else to get off his chest. It was all Tanya could do to keep just as quiet, gripping her armrests so hard she knew they’d crack if she pressed just a little bit harder. She glanced over to Torsten, and saw that though he looked somewhat confused and uncertain as well, he had to hold himself back just as much, if not more so than her.

“I mean, I tried, you know?! I really, really did! But… I just can’t go on anymore like this. I tried, harder than I ever tried in my life before, in anything, I tried so hard… but I don’t know what to do! I’m weak, I’m stupid, and I don’t even know what the f**k is really wrong with me! There’s no cure, no treatment, is there?! Is there?! And just… the pain, all that goddamn pain, it’s eating me up from the inside! Even now, when I look at you, all I see is the red running through your artery �" sweet Jesus, I can’t even look at people without seeing them as food anymore! It’s sick, I’m sick, I’m sick and I hate myself so f*****g much!”

Tanya knew she would speak up at that point. She didn’t know what exactly she might say, she hadn’t really thought it through, but every fibre of her being was telling her she has to say something to comfort Kaspar, else he’ll lose his mind right here in front of her. She couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t allow that. Not a trace remained of the bloodthirsty berserker who’d nearly crushed her the night before �" all that sat before her was a weeping, screaming wreck of a man, a man who had been dealing with problems she’d had to endure since birth, all on his own for God only knew how long.

“No,” Noctua’s voice came inside her head, stronger than usual, and partially compelled her to sit back and hold her tongue. She stared at Noctua with vicious intent for that, the spell as invasive as it could get, but Noctua gave her a single short glance before turning back to von Weide. Tanya would have growled had she not wished to not distress Kaspar further, but even so, she sensed the sorcerer was not entirely wrong.

Kaspar continued to sob, his already red eyes straining to stem the tide of tears, although it was fading now, slowly but surely. “God, I’m such a f*****g failure, crying like baby at this age. But I just… you know, I needed to say it to someone. And you’re the first people who wouldn’t simply lock me up in the loon, which is something I can’t risk happening. I can’t risk getting myself thrown someplace where there’s people. Not when… when it comes over me. And day after day, I get more worried about daytime as well, funny how that works. Yesterday I had two policemen in here, first people I saw in over a month. They saw me begin drooling when I first saw them, and I felt that disgust, their disgust, when they saw me like that, but I couldn’t help it. They were �" God help me �" they were fresh meat, that’s all that came to my mind. They were something I could sink my teeth into. I could barely talk to them, I kept focusing on their necks and stomachs and thigs…”

He looked to Noctua with those sad, tired eyes, like two small pools of water amidst a cold autumn forest. “I just really want to get this off my chest before I go. I know it doesn’t really matter anymore, but I just needed to tell someone. Like a confession, you know? I tried to do it, though. I really did. I had the knife pressed against my heart, my throat, my goddamn eyeball on so many occasions… I never could go through with it,” he said, looking to the twins. “I guess I’m just too much of a coward.”

He was still sobbing, but now, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, laying back and releasing his tense pose. From the way he just seemed to… release, Tanya shivered as she realised the man was fully expecting to be executed now. No, not even executed �" he expected to simply be put down like a dog. After all, that’s all he really considered himself to be �" a maddened, rabid dog, biting at humans. She felt emotions roil within her, but she noticed Noctua, who had up until this point sat with his back straight as an arrow, leaned forward and slowly extended his hand to grab Kaspar by the shoulder.

The werewolf opened his bloodshot eyes, surprised to feel anything else it would seem, and met Noctua’s icy gaze with no less confusion. When Noctua spoke, he was as slow and deliberate with his words as Tanya had ever seen him be, as though dancing on water.

“Kaspar. Here’s how things stand. Me and my companions entered your house yesterday at night and saw you, as a werewolf, break free from your chain and attack us. With everything else we know about the case, that situation does not align with our other evidence whatsoever. Had we wished to simply kill you, we could have done so several times already. We’re here because we think you could help us. Help us uncover the true culprit behind these murders, and put a stop to them. Do you understand? You can help us end the murders from happening again, if you cooperate with us. And I promise,” he said, pulling back now, seeing he’d sufficiently grabbed von Weide’s attention, “no matter what happens, no matter whether you can help us, I will see to it you’ll be provided with all the aid you’ll require to recover from whatever you may have gone through. Do you understand?” he repeated, putting emphasis on the sentence as though afraid Kaspar might have missed it.

“So… you won’t kill me then?” Kaspar slowly spelled out, as though not believing what he’d just heard. “You’re saying there is… there is a chance of recovery? But I don’t…”

“There’s not,” Tanya finally spoke up, ignoring Noctua’s disapproving look. She was not an idiot, she wouldn’t say anything significant just yet. “You’ll never be a human, Kaspar, not anymore. But you can still live like one… mostly. And you won’t have to be alone for…”

“What my friend is saying,” Noctua interrupted her vehemently now, once again beckoning for her to pull back, which she reluctantly did, “is there’s a possibility to rehabilitate you into normal life. But that will remain problematic so long as werewolf murders keep on occurring within this town. Besides, you seem to care for people as well, Kaspar. Will you help us?”

Kaspar wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, though they remained moist and glistening. “God, I feel like such a baby now… But yes, I’ll help. I just don’t think I’ll be of much use. I’ve never been of much use to anyone, now that I think about it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. So, why don’t you start by telling us what exactly it was that happened to you? What turned you into a werewolf?” Noctua asked, switching to a more conversational tone now, though he kept its soft cushion just beneath to help smooth the conversation along. Tanya was quite impressed with how this man, who at first seemed able of only chilly stoicism or long-winded explanation, weaved the thread of gentle conversation with such eloquence. She suspected Noctua was putting his power to use somehow, but how exactly that was she could only guess.

Kaspar von Weide visibly shuddered as the word “werewolf” was uttered, then steeled himself, took a deep breath, closed his eyes in recollection and began to talk, slowly and quietly at first.

 “I left home when I was nearing my twenties, after mom died of cancer. I never was all that close with my parents �" I was sort of an ungrateful a*s when it came to them, you could say �" and I saw no reason to stay in Stuttgart. You know how it goes �" I was young, wanted to see the world, and so on and so forth. A rich kid with big dreams and small ambitions in life. I travelled all over the place, for more than a year, and didn’t expect to come back home… ever, really. That all ended when I came to Monaco.

I was quite the gambler, it was one of the few things I can actually say I’m good at. I actually made back a lot of what I spent in casinos, lotteries and other gambling games during my travels. And I knew how these things work, so they were never too successful in scamming me, nor did I ever give them anything they might use to blackmail or threaten me. I thought I was being clever,” he smiled, bitterly, “though it seems in retrospect all I could be called was lucky. Anyway, I came to Monaco fully intent on making a killing in its casinos, and I did. For a while, in fact.

I will never forget the day that guy entered into the casino for the first time. I knew he’d be trouble from the start, but I didn’t really think much of it back then. He had that all too typical, brutish appearance of a lowlife, someone with no real understanding of gambling who suddenly happened upon a load of money he wished to increase as easily as possible. But he spent much of the day playing and, incidentally, the man who ended up with most of his money was me. Besides, he spoke terrible French, as though he’d learned to speak it only yesterday, and I, being the gleeful idiot I was, made fun of him all the while for it. I’m not even sure how much of what I said he understood, but he’d be an utter moron if he didn’t understand my tone and mannerisms.

Eventually, he stopped playing and simply sat there, drinking and watching me from the side-lines, to the point that even back then, it got uncomfortable. There was something about him, about his eyes mostly, but I couldn’t really pin what it was. I remember I actually did make it a point to remember and avoid him in the future, he made enough of an impression, but I was confident security would escort him out if he tried anything funny. He wasn’t the first sore loser I’d had to contend with, after all.”

“This man,” Noctua raised his hand to pause Kaspar in his story. “What did he look like, Kaspar? Did you catch his name?”

“No, I didn’t, but I remember him vividly. He was huge, like properly f**k-off massive, certainly at least two metres in height, though he wasn’t all that broad, you know, not like the giants from Iceland who are all knotted muscle with tree trunks for torsos. He was actually fairly thin at the waist, with very broad shoulders, so he gave off that kind of slim impression women and athletes usually have. Also, he had a darker complexion, and overall he looked middle-eastern, a Turk if I had to guess, though he was clean-shaven and his hair… it had that kind of greyish, almost silvery colour, like the kind young hipsters like to spill all over their heads, but with him, it didn’t seem to be dyed. His eyebrows had the same colour too. And his eyes… they seemed brown one instant, light green another, but there was this almost golden tint to them when I looked at him closer… but I’m getting ahead, pardon me…”

“I was the one asking,” Noctua said, and though he tried not to show it, Tanya saw he frowned in quiet frustration as Kaspar finished his description. She’d be willing to bet anything that Noctua recognised the man from Kaspar’s story, but she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. “Please, continue.”

“I was returning to my hotel on foot that evening when I stumbled across him. Or at least, I thought I stumbled across him �" the guy had left the casino a few hours earlier than me. I tried to avoid him, but he caught me off guard, appeared almost out of the blue. We were in a public area though, the street was still crowded with civilians, and so, though I got nervous, I didn’t think he’d try anything dangerous in the open. Again, I was an idiot, remember. He leaned in close to me, though I told him to back off, threatened to call the police even. Before I could react anymore, he grabbed my arm, he had a grip like a vice, and he said, in English �" “Smooth palms. Soft skin. Small nails. The hands of a weakling.” I still remember how he said those words, it was as though he was looking at a snail. Then he looked me directly in the eye and said “Men like you, with so much fortune in games, ought to have less of it in life. Agree?” Then, before I could reply, he twisted my arm upwards and bit.”

At that, Kaspar unbuttoned his sleeve and showed them all a perfectly symmetrical, circular bite scar on his left forearm, one with an uncomfortably wide radius. Tanya shuddered as she saw it, and Torsten quietly growled on impulse. They’d never seen anything like this, but they were taught that werewolf bites would never fully heal on a regular man �" the scars of their assault will remain forever.

“I screamed for help, of course, but as soon as he attacked me, he was gone, vanished into the same side alley from which he’d come. I went straight for the hospital to make sure the bite wasn’t infected, since that was what I thought he meant by what he said. A human mouth contains more bacteria than a dog’s snout, and I knew infection was nothing to sneeze at. Even so, I found it strange how quickly he could bite through, how sharp his teeth were. My second surprise came at the hospital, where they told me the bite is completely clean, and that my tissue has, in fact, already begun to heal. I couldn’t make sense of it, and frankly, I didn’t want to. I returned to my hotel, told the receptionist to call me if a suspicious, tall man with grey hair came inside, then locked the door of my room and did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time �" I got blinding drunk.

I woke up in the middle of the night from my stupor with a raging fever, immediately vomiting all that I’d consumed. My body was in flames, my bones were creaking something terrible and the buzzing in my ears was unbearable. I wanted to scream for help, but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to so much as whimper. I could feel my muscles tearing and my organs churning as I sweated buckets of water. That’s it, I thought, the stupid doctor made a mistake and now I got some terrible infection after all. And then, I don’t know how long it lasted, but then it just ended, and I was feeling as good as new come morning. The only evidence I’d even been sick was the puddle of vomit beside my bed, and strangest of all, I didn’t even have a hangover.

I tried to forget about that day, you know. I couldn’t make sense of it, so I didn’t want to try anymore. The police came to inform me they were unable to find the man who’d assaulted me. Not that I expected anything different, indeed I was happier for it. I’d no wish to see or hear of him ever again. About a week went on as usual, and I’d considered treating the entire thing as little less than a drinking anecdote.

I did notice some changes, of course, but they were minor things compared to what came later, and I honestly didn’t want to accept they were real. It was easier that way. But I did realise very soon I no longer got drunk, no matter how much I boozed, and I saw better at night than I remembered seeing previously at all. But again, you have to understand �" I didn’t want to see it. I would never admit it. Not for the following days.”

As he finished that sentence, Kaspar lowered his face and stared down at his hands, no longer in the small salon with his present company it seemed to Tanya. The girl had to force herself not to begin shivering as the man’s confession was being dragged out. It was all too similar to what she regularly experienced whenever transforming, but to hear it be said out loud, by a man who wasn’t prepared for it �" that was simply hard to listen to without saying anything.

“About a week after my… infection, came my first transformation. I was in my hotel room and was getting ready to leave as well, packing my things, when I started to feel really, really bad. It’s not like getting a stomach ache or hangover, you know, it’s a lot more like being repeatedly smashed across the head by an unseen hand of God. I began to have trouble breathing, my head started to spin, and I couldn’t focus at all. I decided a breath of fresh air might be just what I need, so I somehow managed to stumble out of the hotel, even though I was half-blind by the time I exited the premises. After that, it’s all just a massive, disgusting blur.

I have no idea when exactly I began to change, or whether anyone saw me. I only know that, when I next came to, I felt an extreme sense of satiation and gratification. And when I saw… I saw… sorry, it’s just… there was blood… blood, everywhere, there was blood!”

He breathed in heavily to calm himself, the continued, briefly gripping the armrests of his chair like it might spontaneously buck him right off.

“I don’t… I don’t know who I killed. The body was unrecognizable, and even if it wasn’t… I have no idea who it was. God help me, I’m such a f*****g coward, but I never wanted to find out. I kept telling myself “Maybe it was a criminal or someone like that, maybe you did a good thing” and so on. What a load of horseshit, eh? All I know is I came to, had blood in my mouth and my body felt completely different, and I was dipped face-first into someone’s still warm, torn up stomach. God, I actually swallowed a bit on purpose, just to get it out of my mouth. I was just… I ran, I ran as fast as possible, stumbling over all four of my legs, since I had no idea how to use them like this… I ran and ran and tried to scream, but all I could hear was howls and snarls, and I pray there wasn’t anyone who might have heard those.

I soon caught my reflection in the windows I passed �" I have no clue where I was, how I got there or whether anyone had seen me along the way �" until, eventually, I found an old dumpster in one of the back alleys and literally just jumped inside, looking for some place, any place to hide. It also helped that the smell of trash and excrement helped block out the taste of blood I had in my mouth. When I calmed a bit, I tried to wake up. This couldn’t be real, it shouldn’t be real, I mean, how could it be real? How?!

But I couldn’t wake up. Not then, and not later. And slowly, painfully, as I felt out my body and tried to do various things with it, I concluded what was happening was real. And then, it fully dawned on me I’d just killed and eaten someone. And that I knew of no way of preventing that from repeating itself.

There was only one thing I could think to do. Run away, back home. I know, right? Such a basic, cowardly move all losers employ whenever the going gets tough. But I really couldn’t think of anything else to do. I had no way of finding the one who did this to me, and even if I did, he had no reason to help me. And what’s more, I was alone. Completely, utterly alone. There’s only one other person in the world like me. There isn’t a single person I could tell who wouldn’t think I’m going nuts, or worse, believe me by trying to see for themselves. That was something I could not allow to happen. I had no idea how people might react, what they’d do with me, how I would respond. It began slowly, you know, seeing people as food, but it also began soon enough. I remember when I returned to the hotel, I used to find the receptionist pretty attractive. Now, all I could think of when looking at her, was whether her neck might be softer than her thigh… I was terrified of myself. I still am. There’s no other way to say it.”

There was something incredibly vexing about sitting there quietly with her hands folded, being forced to listen to all this without speaking her mind, but Tanya nevertheless perceived that, as horrible and appalling the things von Weide was saying were, he seemed more and more at ease with them and with himself, if only slightly at first. Even when describing these particularly terrible events, he’d begun to once again scratch behind his nails and fold his fingers, something he’d mostly surrendered in favour of gripping the chair once he’d started talking.

“When I transformed back in that dumpster come sunrise, I had acknowledged the irrefutable truth of my new condition. I was a werewolf. I am a werewolf. And I need to be kept in check, no matter what. And the only place I could think of going to was here. I bought new clothes along the way, rushed back to my hotel after finding my way, then high-tailed it out of Monte Carlo and into Nice, and got on board the first plane flying to Stuttgart. It’s not a long flight and I paid a lot to get onto the first flight available, but I had no clue when the next change might come upon me. I was sweating so hard, I’m sure the other passengers thought me sick. If only they knew! I almost had a stroke each time I felt something crawl across my skin, or whenever I felt a little nauseous. I didn’t want to sleep, for fear of waking up amidst the slaughter I’d wreak, but I didn’t want to be aware of just how close I am to other… people. I almost jumped off the plane as soon as we landed, grabbed the first taxi I saw and headed home.

It was getting dark, I was sweating like a sinner in confessional and the driver, of course, noticed. I’m not sure if you know, but a couple of years back, when I was still a kid, we had a sudden, violent spike in crime at one point, and though at large the city remained as it is, guys like the drivers and small shop owners �" they remember. So, when he saw me sitting like that in the back, all nervous and almost delusional with fear, he drove me halfway towards my destination and politely asked me to step out. I didn’t have the time to argue. I slapped some money into his hand, hoping it was enough, and shot out of the car, almost forgetting my luggage. By the time I was back at home, the sky had turned from orange to purple.

Not sure if you noticed, but down in the cellar, we have a small freezer, dad and the previous generations used to store game meat inside. It was empty now, and the electricity was off, but I wanted it for the heavy metal door it used to keep the cold from fizzling out. It’s tiny, but all I could think of at the moment I got home was to lock myself inside. I was already passing out by the time I stumbled into the cellar, and the moment I shut the freezer door behind me, I lost all sense of self. It used to be like that then, I’d simply black out. Now that I’m more accustomed, I can actually feel myself change. I wish that weren’t the case,” he sighed, reaching out for another mug of coffee, then pausing in mid-air realising Noctua hadn’t yet had his. He tried to withdraw, but the warlock simply waved his hand, and so, hesitantly, Kaspar took another long, deep sip.

“You probably didn’t notice the door to the freezer. That’s cause when I came to, I was stretched out on the stairs of the cellar, damn near the top of it as well. I looked below me, and found the door smashed to pieces on the ground, several centimetres of steel pulverized and smashed from what seemed like dozens of blows, torn completely off their hinges and lying on the floor. I still remember how dreadful that felt �" realizing just how much power I couldn’t control. Fortunately, it seemed as though it’d taken me so much time, I failed to make it out by sunrise. Unfortunately, I couldn’t repair the door, or afford to buy a new one discreetly.

Instead, I went to the local hardware store, and bought the chain you saw down there, along with clasps of three different sizes. Good thing too. The first one I tried on left my skin pulverized even the morning after, that’s how tight it was on me transformed. I drilled the hook into the wall myself and prayed to God every evening to allow to it to last until morning. Every day, after transformation, I drilled it back deeper into the wall, no matter how much it was pulled. That way, I could cheaply and discreetly repair my makeshift prison.

But beyond that, I had no idea what to do. I browsed the internet for cases such as mine, but aside from a few crackpot theories, of which many did not align with my state whatsoever, I found nothing. Huh. Browsing the internet. Funny, I never considered there could be an answer the internet wouldn’t provide. I tried going to the library, to browse or buy books concerning lycanthropy, the witch trials from the seventeenth century, scheisse, anything! I had no idea what to do, how to cure myself, and who to turn to.

At first, I thought I might be able to manage it. I quickly realized I’d only turn for seven days straight in a month, when the moon was full, by spending a night naked and cold on the ground, waiting for an eighth transformation which never came. I almost dared to hope it was all over, but the next time I went to the city, I still saw others… like that. And I still had my senses enhanced. So, one month later, I locked myself up again, just to make sure. As I’m sure you know, that was a good idea,” he swallowed hard, than continued. “Then, it started to grow worse. I stopped having an appetite for anything but manflesh. I still ate, I was still hungry for regular food, but all I could think about was the taste of blood and raw meat. I wasn’t able to get drunk or high. Eventually, I just stopped walking amongst people altogether. I ordered all my food delivered, I never bothered to clean… well, anything. I just… I just can’t bring myself to care about it anymore, you know?” he said, sounding deathly tired as he looked directly at Tanya. She understood how he felt, on a basic level, though she couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for someone to be suddenly dropped into all of that.

“I had suicidal thoughts too. Still do, often. Tried it a couple of times. Didn’t work, not because of how fast I heal, no. I just couldn’t go through with it. Not with conviction. When the first murder spree happened two months back, I actually did stab myself in the chest. I woke up in the same damn spot every morning, my chain attached and everything, but I wasn’t sure what I should believe anymore. I still don’t, for that matter. It had been more than two months of complete self-isolation for me, and at last, I’d gathered the conviction to go through… to get it done. So, I threw myself on the knife. I could feel it stab through, meat, tissue, organs. I remained lying there, in a puddle of my own blood, for hours. I didn’t die. I couldn’t die. Thinking back, I should have gone for the brain if I wanted to be certain. But my conviction was gone by then. I survived something no man ever should. I was definitely no longer human. And I was sentenced to stay alive.”

Suddenly, Kaspar stood up, making the twins flinch back and lower their posture, though Noctua gave no sign of aggression. That calmed Tanya, and so when Kaspar simply threw his hands wide as though speaking to a crowd, she tried to pretend as though nothing had happened.

“Aye, behold and meet Kaspar von Weide, the last member of the von Weide bloodline, a scoundrel, drunkard, gambler and a pompous, stupid idiot, who is now also a man-shaped murdering monster! What a fine way to cap off my family’s legacy,” he sighed, dropping back into his seat, the man himself trying to look almost as though he might melt into the furniture. 

It was at that when Tanya could at last no longer restrain herself. She gripped her mug with enough force to hear it crack within her fingers, startling even Torsten, and opened her mouth to speak, to say something, to comfort the man, to assure he’d done all he could’ve and more, so much more, and that self-hate like the one he put on display was poison of the most rancid sort, and that he would no longer have to be alone, all this and more she wanted to say then and there… and yet, as she tried to open her mouth, she found she could not. She tried again, and again, her brain giving the command but her mouth consistently failing to respond. Furious, she gazed at Noctua to her side, who didn’t bother denying the accusation he saw in her eyes. Instead, he stood up, walked toward the door and opened them, extending his hand as he addressed the surprised Kaspar.

“Herr vo… Kaspar. I know you sincerely believe what you have told me now is true. Yet if it is actually true, first thing you need to know is that you’ve gotten yourself entangled with a very dangerous person, known to work for even more dangerous people. As twisted as it may sound, given what you’ve gone through… you are lucky to be alive and sane.”

“Lucky?! Sane?! Were you even listening to all I’d just told you? I killed a man, killed and devoured him! And I’m in so much pain… just, always! How can I be lucky?! How?!” Kaspar’s anger flamed, confusion and outrage vying for dominance as he screamed, though desperation supplanted them both in short order.

Huginn appeared in the next instant, startling even Tanya, not even mentioning von Weide. The raven had its usual, all too human gaze fixed on the older werewolf from the moment it entered the room. “Let me be clear about this, Kaspar. You didn’t murder anybody. And that’s not just a platitude coming from me. I had once judged a werewolf like yourself guilty due to negligence. Even after his eleventh transformation, he continued to take no precautions and harmed a lot of people. Killed a lot of people. But the murder, as you truthfully describe it, was not your fault. The person you devoured in Monaco was murdered by the werewolf who’d turned you, as was his intent and his expectation. You bear no part in this killing, though I know it means nothing to you coming from a stranger,” Noctua said, sitting back into his place and holding out the arm upon which Huginn rested, the raven still looking intently at the man as though no one but the two of them were even in the room.

“Aamir Ravat �" turned for two months, killed six people, cracked after three weeks. Damir Delic �" turned for a month, killed four people, cracked within five days. Ana Ulfeldt �" turned for two and a half months, killed eleven people, cracked after nine days. Xavier Lombardo �" turned for a month, killed eight people, cracked after approximately a week,” Noctua recounted, slowly, deliberately, pronouncing each name with enough weight so that everyone might understand what he was getting at. Tanya froze as he recounted those names, as she understood immediately. Then, she shuddered, quietly, and tried to supress her thoughts. He’d finally answered her question.

“These are the names of all the turned werewolves I’ve dealt with during my career. Not one of them, Kaspar, not one of them could go for six months without killing, not one of them managed to remain sane and collected like you have. The mental strain such a transformation puts on a person is enormous and exhausting. Which means there’s two options open as for the reason why this is so. Either you are one of the most mentally resilient people I have ever encountered, or someone has been playing with your memories.”

“With my… wait, what are you…?” Kaspar tried to protest, but his eyes were suddenly and inevitably drawn to Huginn’s at that, and he seemed to shrink within his seat as that occurred. The raven partially spread it wings then, and though the bird was already of considerable size, now it somehow seemed even bulkier and larger than before. Tanya couldn’t very well ascertain what exactly it was that suddenly and so drastically changed her perception of the bird, but it was truly the first time she’d fully considered the prospect Noctua might not be the more powerful magic user of the two.

“Your memories, Kaspar. Someone might have been tampering with them. And you say even you’re not certain about your actions and whereabouts over the last six months. This could be because of stress, indeed, it seems the more likely explanation. Or it could that someone has been, despite all else, using you as a pawn.”

But that’s silly, Tanya thought, struggling to speak. We already knew von Weide didn’t do it! We already know his scent is not the same as the one on the crime scenes! Why treat him as a suspect?!

“Because someone,” Noctua answered out loud, “someone clearly wants us to think otherwise. Someone went through a lot of effort to frame von Weide of murders he didn’t commit. That same someone would coincidentally be framing a werewolf created by Selim Savaşkurt to lure out someone else to show themselves in Stuttgart. That same someone, therefore, might very well be one of Selim’s employers, one who would be aware of his flights of fancy. And most of Selim’s employers are skilled enough to place a wisdom inside a man’s mind, even in the mind of a werewolf. And if someone did all that, it would be reasonable to assume he made sure von Weide was being fed, or at least satiated, enough to survive for six months without going crazy to the point of running around half-naked through the city in broad daylight.  But if someone did that, he would have to be physically present, which means von Weide would have had to see his face, or some other discerning features,” Noctua said, finally looking to the twins.

“Likewise, if someone did all that, then you two spilling your secrets in front of von Weide right now could have been a catastrophe. We had no idea whether a bug could be attached to his mind. If you were to betray your identities and true nature, our enemy could have a link directly to your Pack. That is why I prevented you from saying a word,” he said, and with an almost audible scratch, Tanya felt the pressure the warlock was using to hold the two of them back fading away.

“So why didn’t you do so before you bade him to speak?” Torsten asked, part curious, part angry, but mostly just confused.

“I needed to narrow down the memories through which Huginn would have to search. He’s a clever bird, but even he would find it difficult to focus on everything over the course of the previous two years. I wanted to hear what Kaspar thought he knew to see where an intrusion into his memory was most likely. Huginn narrowed it down further and then continued to check all his weak spots one after another, looking for the bug. Had Kaspar lied, or grown uncertain of what he was saying, or omitted something �" that would have been what we would have focused on. But he didn’t,” Noctua said, giving a thin smile as he said so, and pulling a bar of chocolate out of the depths of his jacket, unpacking it and passing it to Huginn, who barely seemed to notice taking it.

“Congratulations, Kaspar,” Noctua told the man, who seemed to only now snap back from Huginn’s hypnotic gaze, confounded by what had just happened. “You are in the clear. Your mind is free from intrusion, and your memories hadn’t been tampered with. Now, that brings us to the harder part �" we have to ascertain who exactly is trying to frame you.”

“Frame…? Wait, wait a second, I can’t keep up with… all this. How can you know all this? How do you know someone is trying to frame me? And why?” Kaspar asked, though Tanya quickly noticed he’d grown a lot more relaxed upon hearing those words, leaning back in his own chair and finally tearing his eyes away from Huginn. Despite all that, the raven did not avert its eyes from Kaspar, and the occasional twitch by him betrayed that the raven was still not done perusing his mind.

“Firstly, I am a telepath, Kaspar, it is my bread and butter to be able to tell lie from falsehood, and to know all the trappings which lay in between,” Noctua spoke, lapsing more into his neutral, cold tone now that he had to return to his usual contemplations. “Secondly, someone has murdered eleven people in this city in a manner which suggests a werewolf attack, in proximity with your home. From that we can summarize that someone clearly knows your identity, but is either unable or unwilling to act upon it and eliminate you directly. I highly doubt a creature capable of committing so many murders would be unable to kill you, especially if it ambushed you during transformation, which leaves us with the possibility that they want you to be discovered. The question, then, remains by whom, and for what purpose.”

“Wait… so you’re saying… all these people… died… just so I could be found out? But then why not just tell someone about who I am? Why not abduct me and show me transformed? Why? Why all this?” Kaspar exclaimed, incredulous but thinking things over nevertheless. Tanya likewise struggled with an answer, but she was coming up empty-handed. She looked to her twin for ideas, but Torsten merely shrugged and scratched at his nape, apparently as clueless as her.

“Well, that is the question we’re still looking to answer. That is also what Huginn is trying to find within your memories,” Noctua continued, looking down at the raven who, although still holding the piece of chocolate in one of its legs, and though it nibbled at it absent-mindedly, Tanya was certain its complete focus remained on von Weide at all times. “As we speak, Huginn is trying to unlock all your inaccessible memories �" the memories your brain supresses whenever you are transformed. It’s taking all he’s got to unlock them as gently as possible. I couldn’t do it, not so quickly at least. Meanwhile, Kaspar, try to remember who it was who might have uncovered your secret. Who could have seen you transforming?”

“I really have no idea. I always tried to make sure I was alone after the first time, and even in Monaco, I don’t think anyone saw me because… because I killed my victim some distance from the place where I transformed. Certainly, nobody who knew me by name could not have seen me transform. And since I cam back to Stuttgart, all my transformations have been taking place down, in the basement. I just… I really don’t know it could be… nothing comes to mind…”

“I see. Well, let’s try and approach this from a different angle. Kaspar, do you have any enemies you know of?” Noctua asked, growing very serious all of a sudden. Tanya was trying to think of ways in which Kaspar could have accidentally betrayed his identity �" like acting out in public or asking the wrong kind of questions too many times �" but this caught her by surprise. Kaspar and Torsten, evidently, were not expecting that either.

“Enemies? I really have no clue what you’re talking about, herr Noctua. Why should I �",” Kaspar began, but Noctua silenced him and continued.

“Someone knows your secret, Kaspar. Someone who has decided to use it maliciously, to hurt you and likely dispose of you and others. That same someone decided not to simply dispose of you or abduct you and then loose you into the world to commit random killings, for one reason or another. He or she instead had to resort to different means to carry out the killings, to draw attention to you without getting directly involved in your elimination. So, to narrow it down, you need to think of someone who hates you enough to want you dead, but cannot afford to have your death tied directly to himself.”

“I… I really don’t think such a person exists, herr Noctua. I’ve barely spoken to people since I got back, barring a few exceptions…”

“Then name the exceptions. All of them,” Noctua firmly stated, scratching Huginn on the back of the neck as the raven gave a slight shiver. Tanya only just realised how uncomfortable she found it to have Huginn silent for so long, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about just what the raven might be gathering from von Weide’s supressed memories.

“Well, there was the taxi driver, but if I had to guess, I would think he probably just though I was high, and he had no idea who I was. The hardware store owner knew me by name, but I’ve never seen him before or since my return. He did wonder why I was buying chains of all things, but I told him it was a piece of art I was creating, and he found it so funny he seemed to believe it. You know, I noticed during my travels pretty much anything passes for art these days, and the stranger the design, the more people seem to be ready to accept it exists. Then I met the librarian a couple of times, but I always made sure to be discreet with her and never asked too many questions. If I ever acted weird, I’d guess she might chalk it down to drugs or alcohol as well. And whenever I asked for help with a book about the occult, I’d always say it was linked to my newfound fondness for black metal…”

“Of course you would,” Noctua chuckled quietly. “Truth be told, hats off to you, Kaspar, those excuses are not terrible, at least in the context of your situation. But try and think about people who wanted something from you, not the other way around.”

“I got requests for an interview with a couple of journalists, from Der Kolibri. A worthless schlock, never read it, concerned only with the latest gossip and popular events. I have a reputation around town, as I’m sure you’re aware, from the days since before I left, and they unfortunately failed to forget, the sensation-chasing w****s they are. They were persistent too, I caught them snooping around my front yard a couple of times, trying to snap a photo or two. But I never let them inside, and all my changes went on down in the cellar, so unless one of them broke into the house, they couldn’t have known. That really goes for everyone, actually. I went out rarely and talked to others almost as little, so the person who could have seen me changed would have had to break into the house,” Kaspar continued, and Tanya noticed that, as he calmly considered the situation, he seemed to become healthier, colour returning to his cheeks and forehead and his shoulders no longer as hunched as they were at the beginning. Everything considered, he could actually be considered quite handsome, she supposed, but Tanya struggled to see it beneath the sea of misery he’d been drowning in.

“Anything else? There must have been something more to it,” Noctua pressed, his irritation rising just as Kaspar’s was fading. The sorcerer began to turn his ring more firmly now, and Tanya had already deciphered it meant he was not content with what he was hearing.

“I’ve had a lot of calls with the C.E.O. of one of Stuttgart’s companies, Levin Knuster, the head of Freuda. He’s been trying to buy land from our family for a few years now, even before I left. He made his big push just after mother died, but we �" and I �" turned him down every time. I might be scum, but even I wouldn’t have simply sold off the land we’ve left to be destroyed and turned into construction sites. It’s a part of the city, part of our legacy, and until I can help it, I will keep it as such. Mother even had plans to turn the place into an official park for the city folk. Shame she never got around to doing it… shame I never got to that either… Anyway, he called a couple of times and asked me whether I might have changed my mind. I turned him down and didn’t bother explaining myself. That was about five months past, and I haven’t heard from him since,” Kaspar finished, to which Noctua could only nod.

“Finally, I’ve been talking with Mark Zussinger, a distant relation and one of my mother’s aides in her later years. Mark wondered about my sudden decision to leave my travels and return to Stuttgart, mostly because he knew me and partially because I’ve become such a shut-in since returning. He seemed concerned, but mostly curious, and inquired how I was planning on handling the family legacy and all, taking care of the property, plans for the future and so on. I know Mark wanted to inherit more than he did after mom died, and I know he would like to fill his old position under me, but I refuse to believe he’d stoop so low as to murder people just to get to me. He’s ambitious, but he’s also a genuinely good person, I knew him well growing up…”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first man deceived by a long-time friend, you can trust me on that one,” Noctua murmured, almost absent-mindedly, then leaned forward and looked from von Weide to Huginn. “Anyone else, Kaspar? Is there no one different who might have an interest in learning more about you?”

“No, I really can’t think of anyone wanting something from since I returned. And I made sure none of these had any reason to suspect me, I mean, I only spoke to the latter two on the phone. I just…” he trailed of, shrugging in surrender.

“I see. Well, at least we have a few new suspects. We’ll se what Huginn comes up with, see if we can narrow it down a bit. In the meanwhile, Kaspar,” Noctua eased his tone slightly, though the other werewolf still remained uneasy, “we have to discuss what happens to you.”

Tanya hated the way Noctua said it, as though he really was going to try and judge Kaspar then and there, like a prisoner in a court. Kaspar seemed to take it similarly, and dropped his eyes to the ground, quietly speaking up.

“If you need to kill me, to ensure I won’t hurt anyone else, I’d…”

“Of for God’s sake, there won’t be any killing!” Tanya couldn’t hold herself back anymore, and now that Noctua was no longer holding her back, she let loose everything she’d wanted to say. “You’re not a monster, Kaspar, and you’re not responsible for the death of that person in Monaco. You’re not the one to blame, and I’m sure everyone would see the same. Moreover, you behaved yourself admirably and I daresay you have more determination than a good half of the Stuttgartrudel combined!” she exclaimed, waving her hands around as she spoke, as though she was worried the sorcerer might try to shut her up afore she finished speaking.

“Half of what?” Kaspar finished, but Tanya was on a roll and paid him no mind at that point.

“Furthermore, if what you say is true �" and I know it is, elsewise this one would have a knife on your throat by this point �" you have just the kind of quick thinking a werewolf needs to survive! So, shut it with the self-deprecation, alright?! Self-loathing never did anyone any good, especially not one of us!” she exclaimed, and though she tried to smile, her anxiety caused her to present Kaspar with something more akin to a toothy grin. “And as this one,” she once again waved her hand towards Noctua, “likes to say, I too speak from experience in this.”

“One of us. Us. One of us,” Kaspar mulled the words over in his mouth, as though refusing to believe they were meant to be real. “You’re telling me… I wasn’t mistaken? You actually are like me?” he spoke, his question a plea at the same time.

“Yes, Kaspar. There’s a few of us still kicking around, not for a lack of effort on their part,” she once again waved towards Noctua, who watched the scene with dispassionate curiosity. “There’s a couple of us in Stuttgart. The Stuttgartrudel is what we call ourselves.”

“Although you’ll be the first turned member to join since its founding,” Torsten added, still sitting in place, but smiling with a much more comforting smile than Tanya could manage. “Most of us have werewolf blood for several generations, some as far as they can remember. Those turned don’t usually make it very far in the modern world. The fact you managed to make it this far, without losing your mind or killing someone… well, I’ve never heard of anything like it. Everything considered, you ought to adjust quickly with a bit of guidance.”

Kaspar said nothing for a few minutes after that, staring blankly out in front of himself, as though unable to fully process what he’d just been told. When he finally spoke up, he addressed no one in particular, and though his face remained stern and wary, his voice did have a slight crack to it.

“I never dared to believe something like that could be possible. I never believed I could… that there’d be… that I’d…” he paused, lost for words, then looked to Tanya and the girl could swear she’d never seen a more desperately hopeful person before. “You’re saying you live normal lives? That you don’t have to hide? That you can actually work and live with people?”

“Yes. It’ll take some time, and a lot of effort, but compared to this,” Tanya gestured to the door, “to the cellars, chains and starvation, it’ll be like nothing for you. The Pack takes care of its own, and as a werewolf, you are one of us now, by default.”

“I’m fairly certain the Alpha has the last word in this…” Noctua began, but Tanya wouldn’t let him finish.

“Herr Hohenbach trusts even you, and you have decided to trust Kaspar over here. I don’t see a single reason why he wouldn’t be accepted, if that’s how the bar’s set.”

“Well, how about the fact that someone knows his true identity?” Noctua asked, and a good half of the cheery optimism vanished from the room in an instant. Tanya was unsure how to respond to that, and Noctua used this to steer the conversation the way he wanted �" once again. “Don’t het ahead of yourself. We have no idea how this case might end up. It could going into remote hiding will be the only way of saving von Weide’s life,” he added, silencing any protests from Tanya.

He then looked over to Kaspar, and then to Huginn, who still kept his eyes locked on the man without break. “But I suppose it can’t be helped. You don’t really have the time to set a new chain in place anyway, do you? So, you’ll have to reach out to the Stuttgartrudel. Tell them about everything that has happened. Tell them I vouched for you. Don’t go by car, and take clothes which’ll prevent people from recognizing you. Go south, to old Stuttgart, to the Heiligtum café, and ask to see the manager, Hartwig Hohenbach. He is the Alpha, he’ll...”

“JACKPOT” the words permeated through his thoughts, through all of their thoughts it seemed. Tanya’s brain was suddenly flooded with a memory which was not hers, and the salon of Jagdhutte vanished.

 

I am on all fours and massive, a heavy iron chain leashed to one of my legs. I struggle and fail to set myself free, aimlessly dashing from one side to the other, biting chunks of flesh out of my own body, especially from the wounded leg. I can smell manflesh on the air, stronger than usual, and growing stronger. Someone is coming, someone is closing in. He reeks of fear and anticipation, and I get aroused sensing that smell and struggle even harder against my leash. I hear the man go from room to room, searching through them, opening desks and closets, looking for something. I growl, and the noises stop. Slowly, the man begins approaching my prison, as I continue to growl and drool at the thought of biting through his neck and ripping out his spine. The door opens, and I see the man who has invaded my lair. He is covered head to toe in black, his face is obscured by a black mask, but I can clearly see the scar across his left eye. He looks at me for a few moments, then takes out a cellphone and bright light flashes several times, as I prepare to leap and drink his blood to sate my hunger. As I crouch down, the man screams, two golden teeth reflecting the sliver of moonlight, and runs away yelling for his life, whilst I remain shackled to my place, biting through the bone of my left leg in impotent rage. Hunger, hunger, hunger, hunger, hunger!

 

Tanya shuddered as she came back to, not expecting to be so overwhelmed. She began furiously scratching at her head, as though trying to pick the memory out of her mind, but it had already been added amongst the rest. She hated that feeling of utter, blind anger, that sensation of absolute, uncontrolled and uncontrollable fury. So that’s what it felt like, to remain unfed…

“Well, we have our culprit,” Noctua concluded, then turned to Huginn. “Any other memories of note?”

“Chronologically, this one is the first. I’ve been working backwards, and this one is from five months ago.” It was strangely relieving to “hear” the raven communicate once again, though it did seem to Tanya as though Huginn’s thoughts were somewhat less concentrated, more sluggish than they’d been in previous communications.

“Do you recognise anything about the man, Kaspar? Have you ever seen him before?” Noctua asked. Kaspar seemed dumbfounded and startled �" Tanya surmised having his most supressed memories suddenly unveiled must not have been a pleasant experience �" but he slowly shook his head.

“I remember I did find it strange that some of the doors were left open, but I was so tired I gave it little thought. And the front door was closed and locked…”

“But I do,” Tanya said the same moment as she realised the fact, straightening like a plank and turning towards Kaspar. “Do you have access to the internet here?”

“What? Uh, yes, I do, here,” he said, starting his cell phone and handing it over to Tanya. “Please, what are you trying to say?”

“That I saw the man before,” Tanya murmured, absent-mindedly typing in the names of various articles concerning the topic. She knew one of them had the photo she wanted, but could not remember exactly which one.

“What did you recognize, Tanya?” Noctua quietly asked, though his focus had fully shifted towards her by that point, and he remained almost as rigid as her in his seat. Torsten looked to his sister with much the same expression, whilst Huginn seemed simply tired and Kaspar dazed and confused.

“Two golden teeth, incisors both, along with a shallow scar across his left eye. That’s a memorable face,” she said, suddenly grinning like an idiot as she finally found what she was looking for. She turned the phone over to Noctua, then to the others. The name of the article was simple �" “Levin Knuster accused of tax evasion, claims innocence”. Tanya had seen many articles like these flying around the social media about three months ago, when it was the newest hot topic everyone in Stuttgart had to form an opinion on, but it wasn’t the contents of the article which caught her eye back then, but rather, it was the heading photo.

On it was Levin Knuster, the aforementioned CEO of Freuda, trying to push his way through a crowd of besieging journalists and reporters, frowning like a storm cloud. And to his right, trying to help him push through and keep his distance, was a man with a scar across his left eye and two large, golden teeth sticking out of his mouth, frozen forever in a wordless shout. What a cool guy, Tanya remembered thinking back then, like something straight out of a pirate novel. She would have loved to go back in time and slap herself across the face right now.

Noctua looked from the photo to Tanya, quietly contemplating as he ever did. Finally, he turned towards her and simply said “Good job, Tanya. We’ve got a lead.”

 

Noctua was accustomed to standing in the shadows, but to stand in them for such a long time truly was a pain. It was afternoon already; he was running out of time. Squatting in the darkness inside a wardrobe was definitely not how he wanted to be spending his time.

Yet it couldn’t be helped. He’d been unable to locate Knuster swiftly enough whilst he was out and about in the city. He couldn’t very well ask about his whereabouts without raising suspicions should things progress as he feared they might, and so the most optimal solution would be to wait for the man back at his home. After all, it was Sunday afternoon, Knuster would be going to work just as everyone else on the following day. How long could he possibly stay out?

Levin Knuster. C.E.O. of the Freuda supermarket chain, a small but rapidly expanding chain of stores set to join the Schwarz Gruppe within five years from now, unrealistic as that seemed. From what he’d been able to gather, Knuster was known for his ruthlessly pragmatic nature when it came to business, facing down four separate lawsuits from employees who believe they’d been treated unjustly by the man, not to mention the accusations of tax evasion which had recently surfaced. Noctua knew Knuster’s type of men very well by this point in his life, unfortunately, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he turned out to be an Iscariot.

The only question remained why and how. Certainly, even if Knuster had been the one to learn of Kaspar’s true identity, and even if he was the one who stood to profit most from his elimination, that did not explain everything. And though the man might be unscrupulous and callous, Noctua doubted he had a werewolf or a similar beast at his beck-and-call.

Not that the man couldn’t necessarily afford such a service. Knuster’s house was, if anything, a perfect reversal of von Weide’s archaic, traditional mansion. All the colours inside of it were whites, greys and occasionally pale purples. Located in the spacious Sudheim district, the cube which served as Knuster’s house had everything one would expect from a modern man with money to burn �" a built-in swimming pool, a sauna, a game room with a pool table, even a room with an inbuilt cinema. The office, in which Noctua had spent most of his time, was very empty, devoid of furniture or bookshelves, with the doors of the massive built-in wardrobe serving as mirrors, ever reflecting the man sitting behind the desk. Overall, it reminded Noctua of nothing as much as an interrogation room. Meaning it could soon perfectly suit his current needs.

Noctua had parked his vehicle a couple streets away in a run-down side alley, commanding Tanya and Torsten to remain inside, not draw attention and get some rest. He initially took Huginn with him and sent him, as ever, to scout ahead and take note of possible cameras and other security measures. Yet Huginn was tired from unravelling so many of Kaspar’s repressed memories, and Noctua felt a sting of shame as he asked the raven to once again serve as his eyes. Be it Huginn’s sole purpose of existence or not, Noctua disliked relying on others on principle, and that went double if that reliance impacted their security or health. Yet he sensed he was getting very close towards unravelling the mystery that had become the case of Stuttgart butcheries, and he couldn’t afford to stumble in front of the finish mark.

Huginn soon returned and gave him a succinct report, as per usual. Security cameras dotted the main entrance and several other smaller entrances towards the house, the fence was almost four metres in height and spiked on the top, making it virtually impossible for him to get in from the front. However, there was a way inside �" in its northern corner, the roof was slanted low enough to allow one to jump from rooftop to rooftop, albeit only just. Infiltrating the neighbouring property, a common prefab building, also seemed to be far less hazardous, and the house did, in fact, have an entrance on the roof, leading directly to the second floor. After this, Noctua sent Huginn to observe the house from above, with the bird seating himself upon one of the electricity wires surrounding the place, complaining unceasingly about the cold weather, but carrying the task out nevertheless.

Within twenty minutes, Noctua had completed the route Huginn had recommended to him, and was happy to see that, although there had been at least eight cameras stationed around the various parts of the property, there were apparently none directly within the house. When jumping from one roof to the other �" by far the most risky part of the operation �" he nearly got one of his feet caught in between the spikes of the fence below, but fortunately, he was able to grab onto the drip and pull himself onto the rooftop. He quickly unlocked the door leading to the rooftop, then took out and attached a silencer to one of his handguns, then stormed inside, mentally counting down the thirty seconds he’d have before the alarm went off.

He found the alarm panel in the nick of time and put five bullets into it without hesitation. Compared to certain other security systems he’d dealt with, this was standard procedure. After that, he spent his time inspecting the house, cleaning up behind himself and searching for evidence. He found little of interest in the house, and so, once the office was all that remained, he made sure to close the rooftop door behind him and use his smallest pincers to pull out his bullets from the remains of the alarm panel. He kept the silencer on for now �" there was no telling whether he might yet have further need of it.

Once he entered the office room Knuster was likely using as his study, he immediately went for the computer on the main desk, but unfortunately it was locked and Noctua had no time to properly hack it. He went to search meticulously through the various shelves and drawers within the table and found a fair bit of valuable documents, many of which, he suspected, contained sensitive information. He was careful to keep his gloves on at all times. Yet after half and hour of searching, he failed to find anything linking Knuster to the Stuttgart butcheries, or the supernatural in general. Not that he was counting on it �" after all, one doesn’t usually keep evidence of crimes this severe in his desk, especially when facing a slew of minor charges �" but it did frustrate him to be forced to wait. In the end, he decided to simply go through the other, more mundane documentation, to see if he mightn’t have missed something, whilst he waited.

Huginn spotted Knuster parking in the front entrance approximately three hours after he’d entered. Noctua immediately rushed downstairs and seated himself inside a place which he’d already scouted out beforehand �" a large, spacious closet, which contained an assortment of business coats and jackets. It was placed opposite to the now defunct alarm panel, and approaching from him, Noctua would cut off the man’s most viable escape route through the main hallway door.

And so, there he was, waiting, listening, wondering whether he would finally be able to learn what he needed. Wondering whether he still had enough time to prevent another attack. There were barely three hours left until the next sunset. After that, he had no idea whether he could catch the killer before anyone else got hurt. This had to be done quickly.

Finally, he heard footsteps slowly approaching the alarm panel, slow and relaxed, Knuster evidently remaining completely unaware of any threat. Noctua quickly ran through his surface thoughts. The man was only really thinking of kicking back for the rest of the evening and ordering a pizza before preparing a few documents and going to bed. His next thought, however, proved far more interesting. He wondered why there hadn’t been an attack last evening. It was a stray thought and Knuster didn’t think it for too long, but it was enough to allow Noctua to finally release some of the tension he’d been feeling over the last couple of hours. Knuster definitely knew something important.

The alarm panel was on the wall opposite to where Knuster was coming from, so he couldn’t see the damage which had been done to it before he was directly in front of it. Noctua heard him halt and immediately, the businessman’s brain was flooded with confusion, then fear and then outright panic, as he began to sweat nervously and look around for the source of the intrusion. Slowly, Noctua began to open the wardrobe door, immediately catching Knuster’s attention, yet he himself erased his presence from the man. To Knuster, it would doubtlessly have appeared as though the door was being opened by an invisible force of some kind. It was one of Noctua’s favoured intimidation tactics.

Noctua walked over to the businessman, frozen with fear, slowly, allowing him some time to fry in his own juices before suddenly lifting the spell and appearing no more than a meter away from the sweating Knuster, who was already breathing hard and slowly backing away toward the wall. When Alexander materialised from thin air well inside Knuster’s personal space, the man shrieked and fell straight onto his backside, even before he noticed the handgun Noctua was seemingly leisurely holding in his left hand. And though Alexander had left his sword behind, the rest of his appearance must have seemed as outlandish and intimidating as ever for those unprepared.

Levin attempted to scream at that, but Noctua would have no loud noises from him. He cut the connection the man had to his vocal cords, and so when Knuster opened his mouth, not a word came from it. Noctua couldn’t really do this for very long, but there was no way Knuster could know that, and it was better if he led him to believe he could, at any time, silence him without so much as touch.

Knuster’s eyes bulged and he began clawing at his throat, almost as though trying to force a scream to come out. He was a stocky, slightly corpulent man, with a balding head and a small moustache above his upper lip, his eyes small and deep-seated and wearing a pricey grey suit. Noctua pressed one of his fingers against his lips, then finally spoke up, breaking the connection with Knuster’s mind.

“Guten nachmittag, herr Knuster.  I have a few questions. You will now answer them. I hope you will not struggle or deceive me, as it could prove exceptionally painful to you. Do you understand? If so, speak up.”

Knuster initially nodded, almost furiously shaking his head, before realising he could once again speak. “Yes, yes, I will, anything, of course, you know I am your loyal ally in this! Did they send you?! If so, I have done everything I promised on my part! I have no idea why no one’s been attacked last night, I swear, Schuster hasn’t informed me of any complications!”

Well that was certainly quicker than I dared to hope, Noctua mused quietly, not letting his expression betray his thoughts. Instead, he beckoned for the other man to rise, the gun still pointed in his direction even though Noctua kept the finger off the trigger. In truth, his CZ was the last thing Knuster ought to be worried about at this moment, but Noctua found himself doubting the man had been an Iscariot for long enough to necessarily know that. Long-time Iscariots would usually be more prepared for the possibility of a mage’s attack.

“Sit down please, herr Knuster,” Noctua said, pointing to one of the chairs in the dining room beyond. Knuster skittered towards it, not daring to run but moving with the sort of scattershot haste a man who knew he was at a massive disadvantage was known to possess.

“I swear, I have fulfilled my side of the bargain without a fault. I obeyed every single instruction you gave me. If there is a hiccup, your own… things have to be the ones to blame, or maybe it was Schuster, but there’s no reason why you ought to be threatening me!” he continued to babble, his fear fading slightly but still overruling the man’s sense of reason.

“The mistakes of the employee are the mistakes of the employer. Schuster is your man, after all, is he not?” he asked nonchalantly, content to stand a few feet away from Knuster as the businessman sat down, opening his suit and taking out a handkerchief to dry his sweaty brow.

“If he fucked up somehow, I apologise, I had every confidence he could carry out something as simple as driving a van discreetly. But I guess that’s what I get for trusting an officer busted for corruption. You can’t rely on anyone these days,” he sighed, and then almost jumped as another thought came to him. “Don’t tell me he was intercepted whilst driving? If the police caught him… but no, there would have been an uproar, it certainly would’ve made the news in such a case. Then what happened?”

“You’re saying he didn’t tell you?” Noctua asked, his tone cold and removed, but not as threatening as he could make it. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“He called me like always today in the morning, said everything went well, or at least your… enforcers didn’t tell let him know something might have been amiss. I had no reason to believe otherwise, I only noticed later today that there are no news of more corpses in the streets. But I supposed maybe those monsters just offed a homeless guy in a back alley somewhere and it’d take more time for the police to find what’s left. Who knows how those f*****g things think,” Knuster continued, his tongue tripping over itself as he tried to explain the situation to Noctua as fast as possible. 

“You think so? You deign disrespect our chosen enforcers? You dare besmirch the competent reputation our organisation has built up?” Noctua spoke, his voice dropping to a razor-sharp whisper. Knuster’s flaring ego immediately deflated several times over, and he lowered his head apologetically.

“No, I apologise, it’s just that signorina Ciancelli, when I spoke to her, didn’t really seem to think much about them either, so I figured they were not exactly the most esteemed members of your society…”

“I’ll have to catch up with signorina Ciancelli about all this later, it would seem. Returning to our topic, you claim Schuster called you every morning after an attack was carried out, to confirm a success. Do you think he lied to you?”

“No, he would never. He knows if he f***s this up, both our heads will end up on a platter. Your people assured me you’d clean up any resulting mess if I did my part, and I have been doing just that! I’ve got four court cases breathing down my throat, I don’t need to be f*****g charged with murder,” he almost tried to laugh, but Noctua’s icy expression froze the chuckle before it ever could escape his lips. “Either way, he always radios me to say the mission was successful. We keep contact to a minimum, of course, he has officially been fired, after all. Far as I know, he never talks to your people, he simply drives them around as they require and if there’s ever any problems, the hag informs him. But that hasn’t happened in a while now. I swear, he’d tell me if any problems arose, so long as the hag told him! If there’s been a hiccup, it’s not my fault!”

“Oh, but there is a problem,” Noctua interjected, calm and collected, putting emphasis on every word. “Kaspar von Weide knows.”

“What?” Knuster inquired, his fear briefly replaced by surprise as he crossed his legs.

“Your enemies have learned Schuster’s identity. He was, after all, the one who initially discovered von Weide’s little secret, wasn’t he?” Noctua recounted, trying to sound as in-the-know as possible.

“But you told me von Weide had no hope of even remembering that, right?! You said, so long as Schuster didn’t get close to him, von Weide couldn’t recognize him by his smell, and that’s the only evidence Hans left behind! Did von Weide come after us? If so, you were the ones who insisted on goofing directly around his property, I merely said I wanted him disposed of by the authorities! Besides, you assured me he wouldn’t be able to take your enforcers down so easily on his own, and what allies could he have gathered?! You assured me he had no one to turn to the way he was!” he cried, and despite his fear, there was a condescending, demanding inflexion to his voice all the while, as irritation and desperation battled for dominance within him.

“Signorina Ciancelli really did give you a lot of assurances. More than she should have if she wanted this operation to succeed. Then again, I suppose she couldn’t have anticipated every possible variable within this equation,” he thought out loud, making Knuster scowl.

“If I may be so bold, could you give me your name, sir? You are certainly of a… similar persuasion to my previous contacts, and your accent… well, you are an international organisation I suppose… but I still would have preferred if they’d sent a German to interrogate, you know? It’d be easier to get certain things across,” he said, nervously trying to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Alexander Noctua. Occultist, private detective and private security,” Noctua replied, waiting to see whether his name might elicit any particular response, but Knuster merely nodded along.

“I see. Did signorina Ciancelli…”

“No, signorina Ciancelli didn’t send me. As it happens, I’m working with Kaspar von Weide to investigate and put a stop to the Stuttgart butcheries,” Noctua replied, as though he were stating the obvious. Knuster froze in that moment, his jaw dropping to the ground, and if Noctua thought the man was sweating when first he laid eyes on him, that seemed like nothing compared to his current state. His legs and hands began to shake violently, his breathing grew heavier as colour faded from his cheeks, and his face went through a series of rapid transitions �" from surprise, to shock, to disbelief, and, finally to pure, undiluted panic.

“I… what I said… all that… just… it’s… it was…” he stumbled, gulping back entire sentences, his eyes jumping from Noctua’s face, to his weapon and finally to the exit so agonisingly close, yet so very far away. His stuttering eventually developed into strained panting and wheezing, and now more than ever before, the man seemed as though he was about go through a stroke.

Just as Noctua was preparing to tell him to calm himself, Knuster suddenly looked up and pointed a finger at him. “You have no proof, you hear me! That’s right, no f*****g proof! I fired Schuster months ago just in case! What are you going to do? It’s my word against yours, if you could even hope to testify, you f**k! You broke inside my house, that’s right! You’re dead in a court of law, you hear me?! As dead as a f****n’ doornail my friend!”

“You seem to have inexplicably high hopes of all this reaching a court of law,” Noctua remarked, walking closer to Knuster whilst making sure to brandish his weapon. The businessman seemed to shrink with every step Noctua took, but he still decided to try and puff himself up one last time.

“You wouldn’t dare to…”

“Herr Knuster, maybe I haven’t made myself clear enough. You have, just now, repeatedly and of your own volition, implicated yourself as an accomplice in the deaths of eleven people in Stuttgart. And you recognized my powers as being of supernatural origin, concluding I was therefore affiliated with your accomplices. Meaning that, as of five minutes ago, I am the only judge, jury, prosecutor and executioner who need concern you. Is that clear? In the following five minutes, the only person in this world whom you need to convince of your innocence is me. And, let me tell you, that is not going to be an easy achievement with all that I already know about you,” Noctua’s frame loomed ominously above Knuster, as he left his final words hanging in the air like a noose. Knuster recognized it soon enough, his eyes darting from side to side as he sought an escape route.

Noctua was almost certain that, if the man had more courage, he would try and grab his gun, and decided a demonstration was in order. Now that he’d gotten all the voluntary information out of him, it was time to press the man harder and save time. A sip of vinegar would suffice for now.

Alexander smashed his fist against the table a few inches from where Knuster’s hand lay, with enough force to crack the glass beneath. Knuster’s eyes became not unlike a pair of full moons, and when he once again looked to Noctua, all thoughts of resistance had evaporated from him.

“Let me just say, if you try to resist, the brain can stay alive for six minutes after it has stopped receiving oxygen. I won’t learn everything I’d need from you, but I will learn the important details. So, can I count on your co-operation?” he asked, courtesy incarnate. Just as before, Knuster shook his head in enthusiastic agreement. Noctua tried not to show how much the man disgusted him by this point, keeping a neutral façade at all times.

“Very well then. I want you to order your thoughts and think about all the most important moments leading up to your eventual cooperation with signorina Ciancelli and her organisation. How you found out von Weide’s true identity, how you came into contact with her, how they are operating within the city and what their forces consist of. Can you do that for me?”

Knuster, once again, nodded in furious agreement.

“Excellent, let’s begin. Oh, and do remember, you cannot lie to me. I’ll know. I’ll also know if your friends implanted you with wisdoms or false memories. And when I catch you trying to serve me one of these…”

“No, I swear, only the truth!” Knuster grovelled.

“If so, then shut up and think. You have two minutes,” Noctua said, then stepped back. Knuster shut his eyes instantly, gripping the seat of his chair and wriggling like a child which had been caught stealing chocolate. Noctua slid one of his gloves off then, making sure to remember the exact spot on Knuster’s forehead he intended to touch. “Done?” he asked, after a brief pause.

“Yes, yes, I think that’s all the most important…”

“Alright then, shut up now. I’ll be sure to have more questions afterwards, so you can think about how you’re going to answer those,” Noctua grounded the man, then abruptly walked over to him and pressed his thumb at the root of the man’s nose, swiftly extracting all the memory fragments Knuster had prepared for him. He closed him eyes and once again relived a life that was not his.

 

I sit in my office and listen to Hans Schuster give his report of what he found in the Jagdhutte. The man is still dressed in his nondescript black attire, but even beneath his mask, he is shaking and sweating like a pig in rye, stuttering slightly. He claims von Weide is a werewolf, shows me a picture. I find it hard to believe, I even laugh at first, but his reaction and the photo I cannot easily dismiss. Yet I have no idea what to do with the information �" as far as I know, being a werewolf isn’t actually illegal in Germany, not that the authorities would believe me based on a single photo and the testimony of a disgraced police officer. I ask Schuster what to do with this information. He suggests he’d heard rumours floating around the dark web, rumours of organisations who pay handsomely for any reliable mentions of supernatural occurrences. After some discussion on the matter, I allow him to send the information over to his contacts, see what will come of it. If nothing else, maybe we’ll at least get paid by people interested in this kind of nonsense.

 

More memories streamed into Noctua’s mind along with the large segments, dates, numbers, thoughts and contemplations, but he ignored them for now, intending to review them later.

 

I sit in a restaurant in Liechtenstein, where my contact had asked me to come at the appointed time. Though I’d arrived some hours ago, the woman I was meant to meet with insisted I wait for a couple of hours before arriving herself. She is quite beautiful when she arrives, well proportioned and looking very young for her reported status, but I daren’t put on any moves. Business comes before fun, after all. She introduces herself simply as signorina Ciancelli, and claims she represents an organisation whose goals coincide with my own. The staff make a show of politely denying our existence, leaving us with enough privacy to talk completely openly of discreet, even illegal matters. I quickly understand this place has been selected for a reason. She seems to relish in that, claims I’ll make a fine business partner. She asks me whether I want von Weide eliminated. I am surprised by her straightforwardness, but I reply I would have nothing against her if she ensured he vanished permanently, so that his estates could be redistributed amongst more willing sellers. She nods happily along to that, but I quickly inquire whether that could not be engineered through a more official scenario. I don’t want von Weide’s death linked in any way directly to me, certainly not if they were to simply up and murder him in his own home. She seems happy to acquiesce in that as well, claiming that coincides well with her own plans. I ask what those plans are, and she lays them out in detail before me. Once she finishes, even I am left stunned by the callous nature of killing so many simply to engineer a scenario which gets a third party involved. I begin to wonder whether the meeting was not a mistake, whether it wouldn’t have been a wiser option to contact said third party directly. Signorina Ciancelli seems to read my thoughts, however, and gives me a grin before I can think things through. She has several remarkably sharp teeth, that sticks out the most all of a sudden. Then she happily informs me that, by meeting with her in this place, I could count myself lucky if I was merely executed by the Order should I now go to them. Ciancelli informs me that, by accepting their invitation, we have already become business partners, and business partners don’t keep secrets. I realize I no longer have a choice, and ask whatever she might require of me. She claims that, within a month, she will have orchestrated everything the two of us, as she puts it, will require to scratch each other’s back. All I have to do, she says, is ensure that I own an isolated building in a sparsely populated area, and she’ll take care of the rest. She even offers me the option of following her upstairs, claiming the wine had mad her lonely. I am fully aware she hasn’t drunk a drop of any liquid since she arrived, and refuse as politely as I can given the pressure. Ciancelli laughs again and claims she is lucky to have found a man like me.

 

Noctua almost barked out a laugh of disbelief at that. The utter insanity of this man getting involved with the Euforia, of all things, and still considering himself somehow clever, was utterly hilarious to him in the worst possible way.

 

It is one month later, and I stand in the chilly darkness before the large, abandoned automobile storage warehouse on the edge of Stuttgart. There are many such abandoned buildings in and around Stuttgart, this one located on the outskirts of the Uhlbach district. I have bought it some years ago as a long-term investment and never considered it might one day serve a purpose such as this. I have since come to terms with my part in this enterprise. After all, it’s not like the plan proposed by Ciancelli is illogical, yet I still find it uncomfortable for a multitude of other reasons. Not least because now, if I ever do get caught, I might be facing accusations of assisted murder on God only knows how many occasions. Yet I am confident I have sufficiently distanced myself from the event to remain away from ground zero. I narrow my eyes as the headlights of the approaching van shine at me, quickly blinking out once the vehicle stops. From behind the wheel steps Schuster, pale and shaking, and positively runs over towards me. When I see the creature coming behind him, I cannot supress a shiver either. A small, hunched figure covered with thick, filthy robes, gripping a crystal ball in one large hand, speaking broken German with a voice not dissimilar to wet paper tearing itself into pieces. She bows and claims she is here to defeat our mutual enemies. From behind her, massive, hunching forms lumber out, and I can almost feel my intestines loosening as each one of them appears. There’s twelve in total, a dozen hairy, spindly monsters. Each one with a single, malicious eye, all locked on me and Schuster. I know that, if I could, I would scream in that moment.

 

Noctua opened his eyes and looked at Knuster with newfound revulsion. “Is that all?”

“Yes, I swear, that’s pretty much everything. I really did learn von Weide’s secret by accident �" Hans really was down there to just collect some dirt on the boy, nothing more. I really had no idea who I was dealing with at first, I still don’t know a whole lot now. Hans knew about them, or he had friends who knew about them, I don’t really know myself. I don’t know what those things the hag commands are called, but they look just the way I remember them and there’s certainly no more than twelve of them…”

“How do you supply them? I suppose, if you don’t want too many humans to start disappearing, you have to make do with other forms of sustenance, correct?” Noctua asked coldly, though he was only partially listening to the businessman.

“Yes, but you know how it goes, no one really keeps records on the black market, and I never actually had to pay for any of that, all we had to do was have Schuster transport it to their hideout…”

“I see,” Noctua scoffed. “So, Schuster just drives them to their designated drop-off point, looses one of them and waits until it returns. Simple, clean, concise. You only see the mess from the news?”

“Hey, I never wanted this! I never wanted to get involved!” Knuster cried in protest, but Noctua shut him up with a glare. There was no point to bickering with the man anymore.

“Just to make certain one more thing. You did all of this �" all of this planning, all of this scheming, allowing the murders of almost a dozen of your fellow citizens �" just because Kaspar von Weide refused to sell you his land?”

“Well I’ve waited for f****n’ years, alright?!” Knuster cried, desperation in his voice, as he tried desperately to defend an indefensible deed. “The von Weides are nothing but leeches living off their wealthy past! Philanthropists my a*s! They sit on a pile of money and property and are just waiting to slowly lose both of them! I’ve been going back and forth with them about buying some of their lands for almost a decade now, and I was always more than generous with my offers! The northern parts of the city are rapidly expanding, now even more than before, and whichever market carves itself out a foothold in a suitable area there is set to make real money in the years to come! If I waited for a year or two more, I would’ve certainly lost out to someone else trying to take that spot from me! What right does he have to that place anyway? He creates no jobs, he doesn’t help anyone by holding onto it! All he does is cling blindly to some made-up tradition, standing in the way of progress! Why should I have allowed his stupidity to hold me back! Why anyone’s?!” he screamed, though he did keep his voice down somewhat when Noctua raised his handgun once more.

“I see. And now I know I have nothing else to say,” Noctua said, sighing as he pulled his glove back on and reached into his jacket.

“So… what happens now?” Knuster asked timidly, his outburst giving way in the face of Noctua’s continued icy indifference. In response, Alexander simply threw him a small, white pill criss-crossed with golden veins. It was small, barely a centimetre in length, and Knuster had to hold it in his palm, squinting down at it with confusion. “What’s this?”

“Amphisbaena poison pill,” Noctua replied. Knuster instantly dropped it onto the ground then, hurriedly rubbing his hands against his clothing. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t throw it around so much, they’re hard to make and harder to procure,” Noctua said, but made no move to pick it up for him.

“W-w-what…?” Knuster’s voice failed him then, as he realized Noctua’s intent, and he slumped forward mindlessly, grabbing his face and beginning to repeat in a slow, quivering voice “No, I cannot die, I cannot die, I cannot die, no, no, I cannot die, I cannot…”

“The poison will kill you within three seconds after consumption. No seizures, no adverse reactions, no chance of failure. These don’t spoil or degrade over time, and they shut your body fully. It’s the cleanest form of death I can provide,” Noctua said, ignoring the man’s blabbering. Knuster looked at him with eyes filled with tears, his face pale and his lips bitten through as he did his best not to begin crying in fear.

“You… you said… if I wished to prove my innocence…”

“And you did your best, just as I requested. Now, do you yourself think you are innocent?” Noctua asked, leaning back against the wall.

“Yes! I was forced, blackmailed, I didn’t know what I was getting into! I had no one to go to, there was nothing I could do! I never wanted for all those people to die, it was my life or theirs! I was clueless, hopeless, way in over my head! I had to protect myself!” Knuster began to sob, collapsing from the chair and down onto the ground, now on all fours and looking as though he was about to puke. Noctua watched him with a dispassionate, detached look, and felt no need to raise his voice all the while.

“Those were some of the weakest excuses I’ve ever heard from anyone, herr Knuster. Utterly pathetic. I’m actually almost tempted to not waste something as valuable as amphisbaena venom on your sorry person. If you cannot see how your actions more than merit the result you now have to reap, nothing I say has any chance of reaching you.”

“You have no right to do this! No right, no right at all you b*****d!” Knuster wailed then, so loud that for a second Noctua did get worried about someone overhearing them. Fortunately, the man returned to sobbing and murmuring his insults. “We don’t even have a death sentence here, you foreign idiot! We’re civilised here, we put our criminals in jail! Who gave you the right to be the one-man tribunal, huh?! Or are you just so much f*****g wiser and better than the rest of us that you think you can execute people left right and centre?! My grandparents resisted the likes of you, you scum, to create a country in which f***s like you don’t have the right to do this to ordinary people! You have no right, you hear me?! No right!”

“Well, you don’t have any rights whatsoever, so I’m unsure what relation that has to any rights of mine,” Noctua spoke up then, and took more pleasure in the expression he saw upon Knuster’s face than he rightly should have.

“What the… what are you saying?” he babbled out, drawing back from Noctua as though he’d just said something utterly insane. “I… I don’t have rights? Of course, I have rights! I’m a citizen of this country, goddammit, I know what my rights are! I’m a human, I have the right to live and…”

“You’re Iscariot, not a human,” Noctua interrupted him coldly, finally raising his voice. “An Iscariot, the way I see it, renounces his humanity and all things that entails the moment he willingly joins with humanity’s enemies. Which you did. An Iscariot has no rights, not to live, not to live with dignity, not to be treated equally or fairly, and he certainly doesn’t have the freedom to pursue his own ambitions, for they come at the cost of those who have cooperated to grant themselves these very rights. You are nothing more than a traitor, Knuster, a traitor not just to your country, to your nation, but to the species as a whole. The only right you have left, the only right you have chosen freely to follow, is the right of the stronger. And that right, in this moment, I have taken away from you, just as you have taken it away from eleven people within this city, all because of your own callous greed and egotism.

Every society needs to look out for its own, and I intend to do just that. That means I won’t let you simply walk free with a pretty promise to never do this again. You’re a safety hazard, an asset of the Euforia you were dumb enough to get entangled with for your own nefarious schemes. You were willing to go along with serial murder to frame an innocent man. There is no reason to keep you alive, no principle of mine to do so either. So, pick up the pill and bite down, or I’ll do it for you. At least in death, be a man, Knuster. That’s already more than you deserve as far as I’m concerned.”

If Noctua had wanted to be properly vengeful, he would have left the man to the Euforia’s clean-up crew to deal with as they pleased. A fate like that he could never hope to inflict on anyone through his own skills. But there was nothing to gain from doing that, and there was no reason to let the Euforia know anything specific about what had happened in the city once this was all over.

Levin Knuster began weeping like a small child then. He sat on his knees, leaned back and cried, gulping back his own tears in a pathetic, sobbing parody of an oversized toddler. Some core part of Noctua almost felt bad for driving the man to such a sorry state, but he was far too desensitized to truly care for him. He didn’t even hate the man all that much, truthfully, all he felt was revulsion and disgust, as well anxiety over his time running out.

Finally, Knuster picked up the pill of poison into one, shaking hand, bringing it close to his face, trying and failing to push it into his mouth. He tried once, twice, thrice, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It slipped from his palm back onto the ground, and he looked up towards Noctua with terrified eyes.

“I ca-ca-a-a-a-an’t,” he gargled, sniffling back snot from his nose.

“I see,” Noctua stated, raised his handgun and pulled the trigger.

 

Alexander got back into his car and slammed the door behind him, opening one of the lockers and beginning to rummage furiously through its contents, without saying a word. Tanya, who was on the front seat conversing apparently conversing with Huginn, frowned at that, her expression growing wary and guarded as she perceived Noctua’s distress. Torsten, sprawled as best he could across the backseats, got up in an instant, sensing the unrest hanging in the air as well as anyone could.

“What is the matter?” Tanya asked after a moment, though Noctua made no attempt to stop in his rummaging whilst going to answer her question.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, finally pulling out what he needed from the dozens of papers and notes clustered within the locker.

“Is that news?” Torsten jested, though there was tension behind his humorous veneer.

“We’ve got a lot bigger problem than I expected,” Noctua scoffed back, somewhat irritated by the questions, even though he realized the true target of his anger was the knowledge he had acquired.

“Alright, but how bad can it really be?” Tanya asked, though she sounded noticeably uneasy.

“Jinxed it, sis’,” Torsten muttered to himself, catching an angry stare from his sister who had no trouble hearing him.

Noctua briefly pondered the best way to explain their situation as concisely as was possible, then decided to simply state matters as they were and work from there. Who knew, maybe they might even have a productive conversation in the end.

“We are facing agents of the Euforia. More precisely, there is a pack of at least a dozen psoglavs stationed in the outskirts of Stuttgart, along with a striga and a large van they use to travel covertly” Noctua stated, beginning to plan the optimal route towards their new destination as he spoke.

“Jaeval fitte!” Huginn cursed. He knew full well what that entailed. The twins, though they likely failed to understand what exactly the words meant �" and Noctua was most happy for that �" understood the general message, and suddenly grew more concerned than before.

“Euforia, psoglavs, striga �" I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to be more specific, herr Noctua,” Tanya began to carefully inquire, though Noctua only paid her half-a-mind for the moment. He took out a marker and began to furiously draw onto the map he’d prepared for just such an occasion. Still, he tried to string together as concise an answer as was possible.

“Tell me, how much do you know about organized crime and the supernatural?” he asked, quickly sketching out thick lines along the various streets and pathways which denoted the fastest way to his chosen destination. The old manufacturing warehouse lay well on the other side of the city, and thankfully, there were no households or other living quarters in its immediate vicinity. It lay partially surrounded by the spare forest on the eastern edge of Stuttgart, though that was frequently intercut with similar old storage houses or factories of other kind. He hoped they wouldn’t disturbed once on site. That would be extremely inconvenient.

“Nothing useful, truth be told. Herr Hohenbach only ever taught us how to recognize and defend ourselves against supernatural enemies, mostly knights, vampires, imps of various kinds and possessed. He said all the other creatures were too rare or too socially inept to blend into society.”

“Not inaccurate, but also woefully naïve. Just because a creature cannot openly walk through the streets doesn’t mean it cannot infiltrate a town. Especially not when it comes to Euforia,” Noctua said, now scribbling a brief, urgent message on the reverse side of the map.

“I’m sorry, but are you going to tell us what it is, or…?” Torsten asked, sitting upright in his backseat as well now.

“Give me a second,” Noctua brushed the boy off, finishing his message and looking to Huginn. The raven needn’t read his mind to understand what Alexander intended.

“Another fetch quest, is that so, silly?” the raven jested, though there was an underlying seriousness to his words even so. Both of them knew just how dangerous the situation had become.

“Find Hartwig. Tell him to mobilise at least half the pack and come to the designated location ASAP. Relay him this information,” Noctua said, transferring some of his memories to Huginn then. “Tell him to come expecting a fight. I’ll go in first and see what I can do to prevent their escape. Tell him to allow the twins to join the attack…”

“Wait, what?!” Tanya barked in surprise.

“Aren’t we coming with you?” Torsten asked, a measure of disappointment in his voice.

“Understand, you two. This is potentially even more dangerous than going up against a single large werewolf…”

“But we dealt with that without problem, so what’s the matter?” Tanya asked.

“Firstly, we dealt with nothing of the sort. Von Weide was strong, sure, but nothing at all compared to the power of a werewolf who has regularly feasted on manflesh. Secondly, this is even more dangerous than such an eventuality. We no longer face a single enemy. We face a group, a pack in its own right, who are well organized and adept at killing. If you go in with Hartwig and the others by your side, it could still be a close call, depending on some variables. Going there with me alone is foolishness, and I won’t have that staining my conscience.”

“Then why are you going? Why, if this is so dangerous, do the two of us get to stay behind until it’s safer, whilst you go headfirst into an enemy lair?” Tanya persisted, her brow furrowing.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t do anything of the sort. You are correct, it is foolish to try and fight the enemy on his own terms. However, I have no choice,” Noctua said, balling a fist in suppressed anger. “I wasted too much time searching with Knuster. The sun will set in barely two hours. Once that happens, a portion of the psoglavs will be driven from their hideout and into the city. It might become impossible to track them down afterwards. That means that they’ll go out hunting as per usual. Which means another death on the streets. I promised I wouldn’t allow for such a thing to happen. Thus, I’ve no option but to move in and either kill them all, or make sure they don’t go anywhere until Hartwig arrives.”

“I see,” Tanya said, though her expression did not change. “Then we’re coming with as well.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Now, first and foremost, stop acting as though you’re the only one who cares, alright? I don’t want any more people to die either, neither of us does,” Torsten interjected, leaning forward to have his face at a level with Tanya’s.

“Well, that’s not exactly a sufficient reason,” Huginn began, but was cut off before he could finish, cawing with irritation.

“Second of all, if you’re certain this is as deep as the rabbit hole goes, then this group is directly responsible for the deaths of Micha and Priska. We still haven’t avenged them. You promised you’d help us do that. So, until that comes to pass, you’re stuck with us,” Tanya added, a dangerous edge to her tone now.

“And third of all, before you say you’ll let us kill him after we arrive or something like that. Judging by your reaction, it seems like this fight is going to be exceptionally challenging, even for you. Meaning you can forget about gift-wrapping one of the killers for us, and focus instead on making it out alive. And in that, we sure as shooting aren’t going to leave you alone.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. If anything, in a tough situation, you might prove a detriment,” Noctua responded, though he could not entirely deny the sense behind the twins’ words. After all, they did prove themselves remarkably useful last night.

“Like we did the night before?” Torsten grinned, baring his teeth as he did so. The twins were aware they did good, and there was nothing Noctua could say to disprove that.

“This is going to be a much different situation,” he said instead. “I cannot predict what might happen. What they �" or you, for that matter �" might do.”

“Well, so long as we follow your orders, it can’t get all that much worse, can it? Also, it would be helpful if you could finally contextualise what exactly we are facing, herr Noctua,” Tanya replied, trying to sound more at ease than she really was. Noctua measured the twins for a second, well aware their time was running out. He couldn’t lose much more of it on pointless debates if he wanted to complete his mission.

Finally, he sighed in quiet surrender, and turned to Huginn. “Good grief, why do they make them so stubborn these days, Huginn?”

“Mr. Kettle? Mr. Pot called. He says you’re black,” Huginn’s voice was ringing with suppressed bemusement, and even Noctua could not help but grin a little.

“I need you to fly to the Heiligtum with all speed, Huginn. Deliver this, and the memories I relayed to you. Tell Hartwig I have the twins with me. Tell him to be discreet about this, but to absolutely not waste time. I’m counting on you.”

“Whenever don’t you? Kids always rely on their seniors, after all,” Huginn sniggered, then took the piece of paper and prepared to fly out of the open car window. “Take care of the kids silly, and try not to lose too many pieces before I return.”

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint,” Alexander bade the raven, upon which Huginn leapt up and away, giving a satisfied caw as he could once again stretch his wings after hours of waiting. Immediately, Noctua started the engine and drove out onto the road, the shortest route to his target committed to his memory.

“So, first and foremost, you have to promise not to lose your composure once we’re inside. Truth is, you can’t afford to do that when facing creatures like these,” Noctua said, keeping his eyes on the road even as he sensed both werewolves uncomfortably clinging on his every word.

“And what creatures are they, exactly?” Tanya asked, swaying with impatience in her seat. “These… posgalvs?”

“Psoglavs. Illyrian sub-species of the larger cynocephali strain. A non-human breed of lupines,” Noctua replied.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Torsten neatly summarised the twins’ impressions. Noctua sighed and tried to explain as succinctly as possible.

“Psoglavs are creatures native to Adriatic coast, predominantly Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia. What the Romans, who first classified them, used to call Illyria. They are monsters with canine and humanoid features, one of the many variants found across the world. Such creatures we designate as cynocephali.”

“That’s nice and all, but I can still barely understand why you seem to be so scared of them. I’ve certainly never heard of them as a priority threat level. Are they more dangerous than werewolves?” Tanya asked, more curious than worried, though there was definitely tension in her voice.

“One-on-one? Certainly not. I dare say you could defeat one in even your regular, human forms. Psoglavs are larger than transformed werewolves, but they’re spindly, gaunt creatures who cannot compare to your strength and speed. They can wield simple weapons if they find any, but nothing complex life firearms or even bows. Their intelligence is also quite negligible, and though they operate in a pack system not dissimilar to that of werewolves, the lower ranks are far less capable of independent thought or more complex thinking in general.”

“Then why are they so scary to you?” Torsten asked bluntly.

“Think for a second. Don’t just ask, but try to draw your own conclusions from what I just told you. The psoglavs are meant to be native to the Balkans. Doesn’t that raise any questions in your mind?”

“You’re not afraid of the psoglavs themselves,” Tanya realised, startled at the implication. “You’re afraid of whoever brought them into the city. I take it killing once in a month is not typical for their species, is it? And it’s no coincidence that a race which might leave behind itself evidence similar to a werewolf was brought to Stuttgart, is it?”

“And there’s more. As I said, the psoglavs are not all that bright. If left unchecked for very long, they might begin acting impulsively, in contrast to what their master desires. It’s only natural these psoglavs were given an overseer, one who more than matches humans in terms of intellect. After all, every striga was once upon a time a human.”

“Alright, I’m getting lost again. I understand someone probably brought these… things to Stuttgart specifically to frame the Stuttgartrudel, but what the hell’s a striga? And why would it do that?”

“Striga’s are…” Noctua paused, trying to find a less methodical explanation, “women corrupted by magic. Baseline humans, even natural-born mages, cannot use more than one form of sorcery. There are several ways to circumvent this, however, though most come at the cost of your humanity. Becoming a striga is one of them. They are the Third Children of Lilith. Human sorceresses, voluntarily allowing themselves to become corrupted by blood-magic rituals, in exchange for a broader scale of powers, longevity, and other similar benefits. The first strigas we know of came from Sicily, and from there the practice spread throughout much of the Eastern Mediterranean.

They are quite powerful magicians. Though much like my own, their powers have faded with time. Alone, they’d be of little threat to someone like me. However, strigas are, for the most part, still fully capable of rational thought and have an above-average intellect. As unit commanders, they’re a natural pick. As for your second question, the striga is also just following orders. There are no independent strigas left these days. Just as there are no more wilderness-dwelling packs of psoglavs. Almost all of them are now commanded and preserved by the efforts of Euforia.”

“Which is…?” Tanya pressed, evidently irritated she had to resort to pulling new information from Noctua piecemeal.

Noctua thought for a moment, trying to find the most accurate way of explaining how the web of Euforia’s connections and associates wove itself in the vacuum in between the main criminal syndicates of Europe. Eventually, he gave up and put it as bluntly as was possible.

“Vampire mafia,” he said flatly.

“Well, that’s… cruel and unusual,” Torsten jested, though even he seemed unsure how to take this in stride. Tanya remained silent, trying to make sense of Noctua’s answer.

“You need to understand, during the Cold War, the Order, along with the mages under the command of the USSR and other world powers, decimated every single supernatural-affiliated group in the world. Without exception. They toppled the last few sorcerous kingdoms in the depths of Africa and central Asia, crushed cults and cabals of all sorts and took apart organisations which grouped together the various monsters and other hostile creatures.”

“Including the Packs,” Tanya said, frowning as she realised the implications.

“Quite so. But the Packs, comparatively, were an afterthought. Many werewolves were killed during or shortly after the war, certainly all those who directly joined the Ahnenerbe, and their numbers were never allowed to bounce back by any of the victorious parties. The Order had two main targets, always �" other human mages, and, of course, vampires. The struggle between vampires and men is almost as old as history itself. Europe has always had quite a nest of vampire bloodlines in all its corners. The founders of the Order decided they would no longer tolerate that. During the Cold War, almost fifteen percent of all actions carried out by the Order were aimed, directly or indirectly, at toppling the small empires and food chains the bloodlines had established for themselves. But vampires �" and you’d do well to remember this �" are like cancer. No matter how many times you cut the tumour out, you can never remain certain it will not eventually regrow.”

He sighed at that, as his focus shifted from the glory days of the organisation he’d once sworn his life to, instead remembering the mire into which it had gradually descended. “In the nineties, when the Order’s prestige had reached its zenith and its leadership had become lax, the Columbian drug trade gave rise to many new and ambitious criminal organisations. In particular, it breathed new life into ’ndrangheta, one of the Big Three of Italian criminal empires. And through them, it also revived those who had always held a guardian hand over the mafia clans of southern Italy.”

The traffic light before them was shining bright red, as Noctua lowered his face and sighed, enjoying the brief respite from the furious driving. Tanya and Torsten continued to cling to his every word with newfound intensity.

“You know how Italians have the reputation of cowardly wimps when it comes to combat? I can’t speak for the Italian military, but regarding the knights I knew from Italy, I consider it the highest form of insult. Those men and women were the most experienced, hardened people I’d ever had the honour of serving with. They had to be. Their homeland was �" and is �" a massive nest of all that is fowl and bloodthirsty, courtesy of the last and largest vampiric syndicate in existence �" the Euforia. It was formed from the alliance of several Italian bloodlines, though since then they’ve also incorporated several smaller clans from the Balkans and other areas across the Mediterranean. It serves as the “shadow ’ndrangheta” to ’ndrangheta, the “la cosa nostra molto privata” to the Sicilian mafia, and so on. They oversee and hold sway over the brunt of crime within Italy. Naturally, with this power, they can afford to protect and use many other different species of beasts, all of whom had been flocking to Italy for safety since the sixties. Good grief. The one-time heart of Europe in the clutches of abominations, and our leadership does next to nothing. It sickens me to the bone,” Noctua almost spat, the embers of old anger once again beginning to burn in his heart.

“So… why are they here? Why send psoglavs?” Torsten asked, although he seemed to realize the answer almost as soon as he spoke the words.

“Do you think we were the only ones who spent their forces hunting Packs, Torsten? Sure, the Order might have led the charge in that matter, considering our resources and leadership, but we were by no means the only ones. Nor did we have to do so alone. On many occasions, our commandos were tipped off on the identities and residences of werewolves, all sorts of other non-humans in fact. It didn’t help that most Packs didn’t bother keeping all that low of a profile. The fact that Hartwig has managed to keep all your members from going homicidal in almost twenty years,” Noctua paused, composing his stray thoughts as he spoke, “well, that is a most impressive achievement.

Either way, the vampires often purged entire Packs on their own, and when they couldn’t or wouldn’t spend their own resources to do so, they let the knights know where to look. They knew the Order would always get the job done. Though I’m guessing they hadn’t had the need to frame anyone insofar.”

“Frame?” Tanya asked. “Wait, you mean…”

“Exactly as I said. All of this, all of these murders and the clues left behind �" it was meant for the Order to begin suspecting a werewolf. The psoglavs are excellent scavengers �" they can leave barely a trace behind them, and their handiwork is, considering their form, almost indistinguishable from that of a werewolf. Combine that with a monthly full moon attack pattern, and the Order would almost certainly start looking for a werewolf within the city, whenever someone would pay them to investigate.”

“But how did they…?” Torsten began to ask, whilst Noctua accelerated, speeding in between the cars. It was Sunday afternoon and the roads were relatively open, but Noctua had to constantly remind himself not exceed the speed limit just so he didn’t get slowed down by the authorities.

“Know of the Stuttgartrudel? Good question. Especially since they never found out the names of a single member.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Tanya asked, her tone strained as she realised the full gravity of the situation they were facing.

“Because you’d all be dead if they did. The only reason the Stuttgartrudel was not already exterminated by the vampires is because they are likely uncertain as to whether your Pack even exists. If they knew a single member, they would have abducted him and gotten the identities of others out of him a long time ago. But they don’t. They only know that, with all likelihood, there is a Pack somewhere in Stuttgart, or possibly within the region. The Euforia will not waste resources and send a professional team outside of Italy on what could be a fool’s errand. But a few psoglavs and a hag… why, even if they lost them all, it wouldn’t be any real blow to their organisation. Which is why we can’t afford to have a single one of them escape and tell of what’s really happened here.”

“To make sure they never find out about who our members are?” Tanya asked, a hint of hope in her voice as she gave the question, though tempered by a healthy dose of anxiety.

“To ensure they are going to drop their operations in Stuttgart completely. Back there, I shot Knuster through the head. Why do you think I did that? Think.”

“You’re going to take the blame,” Torsten realised first, grimacing as emotions roiled within him.

“I wouldn’t say blame, but I’m letting the Euforia know who it was that slaughtered their agents. So long as the Stuttgartrudel disposes of the bodies, they’ll have no way of confirming I had any help. Which reminds me �" when you two get back to the Heiligtum, you will apologise to Hartwig and beg for his forgiveness, is that clear?”

“What, why?” both twins responded, taken aback by such a turn in conversation.

“Because his decisions not to try and hunt down the psoglav responsible for the attacks might have just saved your entire organisation from ruin. The Euforia somehow found out about the possible existence of the Stuttgartrudel, but had no idea who were the members or how to track one down. Seeing as they had no outpost within the city, they wouldn’t have the means of sustaining a long operation here, and their leadership likely considered it a waste of time. That is, of course, until Levin Knuster made known his discoveries.

Knuster had found out von Weide’s new secret through what was more or less an accident. And, of course, he had no way of understanding the gravity of what he’d just uncovered. But he was a businessman, and he understood that, if he was able to use it against von Weide, he might profit. He was only unsure how to properly use this information. So he reached out to people he thought might know how to utilise it. And through that network of unsavoury contacts and acquaintances, word eventually reached someone from the Euforia.

In Knuster’s memories, I saw him eventually meet with a vampire �" though the man himself had no idea what he was talking to �" who asked for details on von Weide’s condition. Kaspar’s state, however, is not one which any Pack would find acceptable, and the vampires likely concluded as much. I think that is one of the things which saved your Pack �" von Weide’s existence made them unsure whether it was possible all they were dealing with was a single, accidental werewolf, instead of a larger group. So, like canaries in a coalmine, they sent in a pack of their own, and used Knuster’s resources and property as their base.

It was an exceptional quid pro quo. If there was no Pack in Stuttgart �" well, then the Euforia would have a favour to call in with Knuster and his company, and they’d still get at least one werewolf killed.”

“But you said the Euforia can feed information directly to the Order. Why not simply tell them about von Weide’s real identity? Heck, why not kill him on their own?” Torsten asked, squirming in his seat with discomfort.

“Think, Torsten. If they had done so, only Knuster would have gotten what he wanted. Besides, if there were no deaths caused by the werewolf, the Order might take even longer to actually respond to the issue. Heck, I’ve known some commandos not to respond to new information for months on end. But, if they staged attacks by werewolves, it might not only grab the attention of the Order quicker, it would �" and also did �" grab your attention.”

Tanya’s face grew deathly pale when she came to the stark realisation of the true calibre of danger which now hung over their heads. “So… you’re saying that… had we…”

“Knuster had his head of security and co-conspirator, Hans Schuster, secure a van sizable enough to transport several psoglavs at a time. He always drove into the city, parked on the northern edge of Little Schwarzwald, then let one of them �" I presume the Alpha of their pack �" run loose on von Weide’s property, before venturing out to hunt and kill a couple of humans. I say it was likely the Alpha, since those are on average more intelligent and capable of some level of forethought. Since what would be required of the psoglav was to remain unseen, then return to the property, wash his scent off in the stream and not leave any traces which might draw suspicion away from a werewolf. That’s a lot of trouble to go through, but what might one day await them by the stream, I suppose, made up for it in their mind.

As Hartwig correctly said, if he hid more than one of you by the stream to expect and confront the enemy, the psoglav would smell you and simply refuse to approach. But if there were to be only one of you �" you remember what I said about the van carrying multiple psoglavs?”

“It would be a trap,” Torsten hissed, anger fuming from him like hot steam. “The werewolf waiting by the stream would be ambushed and outnumbered himself. Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Precisely. And the cherry on top is, that’s all it would take for the entire affair to end. The moment one of you decided to take the bait, if they were able to capture you alive, they’d have all they needed �" your names, identities, secrets and fail-safe measures. After that, they could simply retreat from the city, leak the information, lay back and watch the fireworks as the Order descended upon your heads. Or, if they were feeling particularly vengeful, they might send an assassination team of their own after you. And if you think I’m bad, you haven’t had the honour of meeting one of the “Mano del Male”.”

Silence spread through the car at that, with only the humming of engine audible for a good few minutes. Noctua understood the severity this revelation held for the twins. After all, they had just learned they were inches away from sentencing everyone they loved to a certain death.

“Why?” Tanya eventually asked, the word weak on her lips, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “All of this… such a conspiracy… for what? Just to kill? To kill us?”

“Technically, Knuster was only in it for the money and property,” Noctua scoffed dryly. “But now you see the threat we face. The Euforia are utterly ruthless. If there is the slightest potential of eradicating an enemy totally, they will not hesitate to sacrifice lives, pawns and funds until they have what they want.”

“But why us? What did we ever do to them?” Torsten asked, just as the car managed to finally leave the city premises and enter the suburban area, rows of neat, brick houses flying by as the car barrelled down the road as fast as was possible.

“Who do you think the werewolves were initially created to fight? Make no mistake, there are only a few things in this world capable of killing even the lowliest of vampires. Mages are dangerous to them, because we know how they work and how to exploit their weaknesses, psychological and physiological. But werewolves… in your true forms, you have so much raw power that even the fleshcrafting of vampires can become obsolete when facing you. That is, after all, one of the ways in which you were moulded �" the perfect hunters, capable of taking down even the most dangerous game in the world.”

“But we don’t…” Torsten began, then stopped himself, evidently coming to the exact same realisation.

“That doesn’t matter. You remember what I told you about how the world doesn’t care for how hard you try, Torsten? Well, there’s one more thing the world at large doesn’t care about �" guilt and innocence. All people �" and other creatures �" tend to see are probabilities and possibilities. If you present a threat, no matter how small in potential, there will be those who will try to snuff you out, no matter the circumstance.”

“And yet you care for guilt and innocence,” Tanya said, adjusting the lock of hair which covered her right eye, looking to Noctua as she did so. “Is that not then opposed to how you say the world works? You seem to take it very seriously. Why do that, if you believe the world at large doesn’t care for it?”

“Because I want to believe that the world is not static in nature, Tanya. Stagnation means death, and I believe if we want the world to change, we ought to act as though we were already living in the world we wanted,” Noctua replied, a bitter smile briefly crossing his lips. “Then again, even I have to take probabilities and possibilities of danger very seriously. Which reminds me, we have to formulate a plan of action. Make no mistake,” he said, looking from wone wary twin to the other, “if you want to live through this, we cannot afford to leave survivors. It’s kill or be killed now.”

Both twins frowned at the realisation of what that meant, slowly nodding in agreement. Noctua looked back to the road and began to consider the possibilities open to them.

 

The old automobile warehouse looked as unassuming as any building possibly could. With a matted dark-green roof and worn-down, grey walls covered in abundant spray paint, it seemed perfectly ordinary �" just another relic of the Stuttgart’s already fairly mundane past. A single vehicle stood parked within the spacious, ill-kept parking lot before it �" an unremarkable, dark-green truck, identical to the one Noctua had seen the enemy pack exit within Knuster’s memory. He didn’t see any sign of Schuster just yet, but he didn’t doubt the head of security would be somewhere close by, trying to get as much sleep as possible before the next night-time drive through the city.

Most of the windows of the old warehouse were boarded up, meaning Noctua could not hope to assess their situation from without. There was no traffic on the road by which Noctua and the twins had just arrived. The place seemed, for all intents and purposes, perfectly deserted. That was good, excellent in fact, Noctua mused. It would mean more time would pass before anyone heard gunshots.

Even so, they were running out of time. The sun would swiftly begin to set, in a matter of an hour or less, and they had to make sure not one of the psoglavs would escape. Most importantly, the striga could not be permitted to flee. If she had managed to gather some kind of information on the Stuttgartrudel… well, the Pack would be as good as finished. Even if Alexander managed to somehow intercept the information leaks the vampires would create, the Euforia would bring in a proper team of assassins this time, not these disposable wretches. Perhaps they’d even hire mercenary warlocks to finish the job their dogs had begun. Noctua knew of quite a few of his rogue ex-colleagues who could annihilate the Stuttgartrudel single-handedly. He could not allow such an event to come to pass.

He’d come ready for battle now. Refilling his supply of bullets, he browsed through his arsenal only briefly before eventually picking out a somewhat questionable choice �" a chrome, long-barrelled Smith & Wesson 29. Outdated? In most ways, certainly. Suitable for gunfights? Absolutely not, in this day and age. But it was still a prime choice as a hunting handgun �" more broadly, it was sure to kill anything it hit, especially if the enemy didn’t shoot back. Besides, Noctua was a sucker for classics, old as they may be. The psoglavs may be tough to kill, but even they wouldn’t be getting up easily with a hole left by a .44 Mag gaping in their torso. Still, he was under no illusions that, once he’d fired his six off, there would be no time to reload, and remained slightly hesitant even as he attached the holster to his belt.

That, truth be told, went for all his weapons. He expected the battle to unfold at a rapid pace. The current optimal outcome would be to deal with the hag and survive until the Stuttgartrudel arrived in force, thinning the enemy pack out as much as possible. The ideal outcome would be to annihilate the pack completely, but Noctua was extremely cautious toying with such prospects. They had to be careful and think ahead, lest they wished to die today.

As he chose his primary weapon, he already imagined the torrent of insults and lamentations Huginn would greet him with once the raven had returned. The Mossberg would, once again, find its time to shine. He’d checked the shotgun carefully, as he hadn’t used it in some time, then, loading all seven shots into the weapon, he stuck ten more into his various free pockets. Better to have reserves that way, he thought, hanging the weapon over his shoulder. And, of course, his sword and knife were both at hand, as they always should be.                        He briefly considered handing some sort of a weapon to the Eisenstein twins, but after handing a Glock to Torsten to see how he handled it, he quickly decided against such an idea. If anything, the twins were less secure with firearms than without. Besides, young they may be, but they were still werewolves, and even in their human form were more than capable of killing with bare hands. Still, Noctua at least handed the pair a spare knife each, so that they’d have less trouble piercing the coarse hide of their enemies.

Parking their vehicle some distance away from the warehouse, the trio approached rapidly. Fortunately, most of the area seemed deserted. The saw merely a solitary jogger, about seven hundred meters to their south, and even he was already moving away from their location as they arrived. There were no living quarters nearby and even the few run-down buildings scattered around the hill gave no signs of human activity.

And so, arriving unnoticed, briskly and quietly, the three of them now crouched behind a large metal garbage can, with Noctua browsing the horizon with his binoculars. He doubted he’d see anyone, but it was worth a try. Besides, not all of their obstacles might be enemy combatants. Security cameras, alarms, tripwires, booby traps �" anything was possible, nay, even likely, when it came to the agents of the Bloodlines. He carefully surveyed the optimal path he ought to take to reach the doors to the warehouse, yet found nothing out of the ordinary. That, unfortunately, only served to discomfort him more. It could be that the hag did not wish to draw too much attention to her crew. It could be that he was missing something.

Surprise was the name of the game. They had to get inside and attack before the hag realised Knuster was dead and had spilled the beans on their location. That meant that a swift, decisive strike, which could eliminate as many psoglavs as possible before they organised to protect their Alpha and the hag, was their best shot at success. Of course, they could try and make a beeline straight for the striga, but leaving enemies in your rear was not a risk Noctua was willing to take. They would clear out her followers and pursue should she attempt to flee

He was half-tempted to wait for Huginn and the Stuttgartrudel to arrive and aid them in the fight. To have senior, skilled werewolves at his side in a fight like this would certainly prove a massive tactical advantage. But Noctua could not work with unknown quantities. He had no idea whether Huginn would find a member of the Pack in time. He had no idea whether the raven would be believed. He couldn’t know how long it’d take Hartwig to find his location and assemble a team. In short, he had to work with what he had.

What he had were two bruised, dour and anxious werewolf youngsters, tired from a night of intense combat and only resting for a few precious hours in a cramped, uncomfortable car. Hardly a commando to speak of, but Noctua couldn’t very well dismiss their fighting potential. They had proven themselves the night before. He hoped he could rely on them here as well. Yet the prospect of heading into a battle like this with the two…

“You can still turn back” he told the youngsters, quietly, continuing to observe the warehouse. “Warn the others. Disrupt their escape if I am killed.”

“Fat chance of that” Torsten scoffed, slashing probingly with his knife, from side to side. With his speed, it seemed more a blur than a solid object. “We’re in this together, herr Noctua. Until the job is done. We’ve got the murderer, and his lackeys, almost at hand. There’s no way I’m turning back now, no matter what might happen.”

“And… you saved our lives last night, herr Noctua. Ours, and then von Weide’s. I’d die all the same, only of shame, if I refused to help you now” Tanya added, fixing her eyes on the warlock.

“I might be able to sneak inside unnoticed if I don’t have to mask your scent” Noctua tried to add, but even to him that excuse sounded weak. The twins picked up on it immediately.

“They’ll smell the blood the moment you kill the first one. And if they don’t, they’re bound to work at least in pairs, so you’ll exhaust your strength cloaking yourself in no time. If these monsters are anything like us, there won’t be any hiding once you’re inside” Tanya summed up, and Noctua felt a hint of… pride? Satisfaction? Relief, that he’d been at least able to teach the two something useful? He wasn’t sure how he ought to feel about that. Not with how complicated the relationship between him and the twins really was. He resolved to put those thoughts aside for now, once again.

“If your hearts are set, then I suppose there’s nothing more to discuss. Alright then �" I go first, deal with Schuster and the sentries. Torsten, take the binoculars. The moment I’m inside, I’ll signal you. When that happens, you have to rush through, make a beeline straight for the entrance. I’ll make sure there are no traps or obstacles in your way by that point.” He paused and looked over the twins carefully. Tanya seemed tense, less so than yesterday but also slightly more agitated, whilst Torsten seemed to positively beam with purpose and pre-battle anticipation. Both of them listened to every word he spoke, but somehow, Noctua found he felt the need to reinforce every word he said, to make sure it got through to them. “When hear my signal in your head, you must act without pause. Remember - it’s not about speed. It’s about the flow, the rhythm. Once you reach me and enter that building, the three of us will have to move in sync. I have the ranged firepower �" I determine our direction and pace. You two will be my satellites �" your job will be to stick close, observe and meet any threat which may come too close. With my powers and your enhanced senses, we should be able to cover our approach angles if we stick together, and anticipate every possible attack. And by no means should you stray from me. Is. That. Clear?”

“Yes” Torsten said, without hesitation.

“Yes” Tanya spoke, barely a second after her brother, her teal eyes shimmering with something unknowable.

“Alright. Remember �" this time, don’t hold back. If you do �" you die.”

With those parting words, Noctua handed over the binoculars to Torsten and stepped from behind the garbage container.  There was no fence separating the warehouse from rest of surrounding area, but neither were there any sizeable objects between him and the truck. Noctua walked swiftly, but refrained from running for now. He suspected he knew where he might find Schuster, and couldn’t muffle his footsteps sufficiently if he decided to accelerate from his current speed. Besides, if there were any traps this far, as unlikely as it may seem, he’d be sure to run into them this way.

He tried to sense a presence within the vehicle as he approached, carefully scanning the entire thing to check for a sentient mind. It was just as he’d expected. A man, approximately thirty-five years of age, was sleeping, sprawled across both seats of the driver’s cabin. His sleep was light, but not light enough for Noctua’s cautious approach to disturb him from it. Noctua walked, slowly, towards the right door, the one closer to the other man’s head, and slowly, probingly, pulled at it. Unlocked. A rookie mistake, so much so it actually caught Noctua by surprise. He’d expected he’d have to unlock the car himself. He wondered, briefly, how ahead of security could afford to be this sloppy, and quickly checked for possible traps or alarms he might set off. None. The sound of the opening door did nothing to disturb the man’s sleep either. Noctua took off one glove and pressed his thumb, gently at first, against the man’s head.

Hans Schuster, head of Freuda security, there was no doubt. Noctua briefly pondered whether he might try and read something more about the man’s background, but quickly decided against it. For anyone but a skilled oneiromancer, a man’s dreams were a maze without compare, to try and sift through them could take too long, hours possibly. They were a tangle of truths, falsehoods, wishful fantasies and metaphorical fears, and no judgement ought to be carried out according to them. And he couldn’t afford to have the man wake up and possibly cause an alarm.

Noctua briefly pondered simply tying the wretch up, checking his memories as well to become certain of his guilt. He dismissed the thought, however. He didn’t have time to bind the man, nor was he willing to surrender his advantage for him. He’d seen all he needed in Knuster’s mind. Hans Schuster, even if only by following orders, was as complicit in the murders of thirteen innocent citizens of Stuttgart as his boss and the beasts he’d helped transport. There was no lie in those memories, Schuster went along with Knuster’s plans immediately and willingly. There was only one punishment for voluntarily taking human life via the supernatural.

Did Schuster have a family? Parents who were worried about him, a wife and children expecting him at home? Noctua didn’t know. He’d have liked to say he didn’t care either, yet as he unsheathed his knife and prepared to slide it along the man’s throat, he found he could not honestly claim so. He didn’t like killing like this. It wasn’t a good way to die, in one’s sleep, not knowing who or what was responsible, unable to defend yourself.

No matter, he thought, pulling the blade across his soft skin with no effort. Death is death. Regret only failure.

In his final moments, Schuster’s eyes opened wide in confused panic, and he let out a final, stuttering gasp, as he began to choke and spit and garble, before the light vanished from his pupils and his lips relaxed and waned, life escaping from him along with excess oxygen. Noctua pulled down the man’s eyelids and leaned over the fresh corpse, searching through the pockets of the man’s uniform. He quickly found what he was looking for �" a bundle of thick metal keys, which could only open the door to the warehouse. He pulled a piece of cloth beneath the dead man and wrapped the keys into it, so as to muffle the rattling they’d make as he approached.

Noctua slid from the door of the truck and quietly reversed his knife, glancing with one eye to the closed door barely twenty meters behind him now. Crouching low, he punctured the forward right wheel of the machine. The hiss of the machine accompanying the soft rattling of gravel beneath his feet, Noctua repeated the process with the backward right wheel of the truck as well. He suspected the striga wouldn’t know how to drive, but it cost him next to nothing to ensure she’d have nothing to drive even if she by chance could. As for the psoglavs, they’d barely fit behind the wheel.

Now he had to be careful. One well-placed string, one runic trap hidden in the dirt, and he would immediately alert the occupants of the warehouse to his presence. Yet so far, he saw nothing. He wasn’t sure whether he was fortunate or careless, but he managed to get within two metres of the door before halting and scanning beyond.

An echo of a coarse, feral mind came back to him, a mind which, barely capable of intelligent thought, prominently featured a craving for flesh and hunting, a degree of agoraphobia and a burning hatred for humanity. Much like Schuster’s, this mind was at ease right now, it’s owner quietly lying directly behind the door leading to the lounge. Unlike Schuster, however, Noctua knew this resident would certainly wake up should he attempt to unlock the door before him unaided. Already, the beast’s keen nose began to prickle slightly with a new, albeit faint scent, and Noctua quickly erased himself from the creature’s mind.

Now came the difficult part. Erasing sound was, of all things, ever the most complicated of the five senses, save perhaps for the touch. Noctua would have to begin erasing the sound of the keys unlocking as he made it, but also make it slow enough and draw it out so that, should other psoglavs be resting near him, they wouldn’t be alerted before he could target them. The process, although it may seem simple on paper, required maximal concentration on the behalf of even a skilled warlock. Alexander closed his eyes, pushed the key inside the keyhole, and began to slowly, gently twist.

Remember the rhythm, Lyam would tell him, it is all within the rhythm. Once you find the rhythm of every action, you find the rhythm of the world, and once you are one with the world, failure is impossible.

Twenty-two seconds. It took him twenty-two seconds to unlock the door. He held his breath, then slowly, exceptionally slowly, pulled it back unveiling the abomination lying in wait behind it.

Almost two-and-a-half meters long from snout to toes, with dark, matted and blueish fur, forming a thin coat around its gaunt, bony frame. Its forelimbs were seemingly slightly longer than its hindlimbs, the former extending into five skeletal, human-like fingers tipped with five slender, crooked and hooked claws, the latter ending in greyish, dirt-stained hooves not unlike those of a horse. The short, fuzzy tail stretching from its pronounced spine looked almost comedic in a way, as it absent-mindedly twitched from time to time, and the musculature which connected its ribcage with its abdomen was almost disturbingly sloped, giving the impression of severe anorexia.

The most unnerving, however, was the psoglav’s head. The snout was long and slender, much like the rest of the body, although unlike with werewolves or regular dogs, Noctua could clearly see two pairs of lower fangs extending above the lip even as it remained closed. Its lips were slick with saliva as the beast drooled, although its only eye, placed in the centre of its forehead between where regular eyes ought to be, remained tightly shut. Its ears were narrow and pointed, like those of a Doberman, and overall, in a twisted, malformed way, the creature did resemble that particular breed of dog more so than a Shephard or other breeds.

Noctua slowly peered inside the warehouse. The entire building was steeped in darkness, with no functioning electricity and only a few scant glimmers of the waning light present. He quickly surveyed the space beyond the psoglav sentry �" none of its packmates were in sight, nor could he clearly sense any of them within immediate vicinity. He could sense their presence, of course �" anywhere from eight to eleven similarly feral minds resting within the building, along with one which shone brighter, with more power and more comprehensive thought process driving it. But for now, the coast seemed clear.

Only one thing left for him to do before the fun began, then. Alexander slowly, carefully, took out a small adder stone from one of his pockets and placed it before his eye, surveying the frame of the door before him. Of course, there it was �" the Veter rune, the rune of knowledge. If the hag was worth her salt, she would instantly know who had passed through the door to her domain, and his stated intent in doing so. It was a clever little trick, but as far as security goes, it was the bare minimum of recommended countermeasures. It was then that Alexander realised that this band really was not expecting to deal with much trouble on their mission here. Perhaps the odd homeless man or random bystander, but nothing that could seriously interfere with their operation. Almost jovially, he put back the adder stone and drew one of his many small flasks, this one containing the infamous nigredo decoction. He let three drops fall onto the invisible rune, although he was sure one would have sufficed. Better safe than sorry.

Having neutralised the magical alarm, he briskly stepped over the threshold, drew his runic knife once again and stood above the slumbering beast. Psoglavs were a primal and savage race, one bent merely on sating their basest urges and on the frontlines of any offensive against mankind undertaken by its myriad enemies. They were born to hunt and kill, and as such, he simply happened to be the better hunter this time. Noctua would have liked to say he felt some kind of satisfaction, or at least a sense of just punishment, when he arched forwards in preparation of taking its life. In truth, unfortunately, he found he felt nothing at all.

Still erasing himself from the monster’s brain, he selected an optimal angle, then with savage speed stomped on the psoglav’s gnarly snout, sealing it shut, and drove the knife deep into its fleshy, flappy neck, leaving a long gash under the beast’s chin. Dark, wine-coloured blood flowed as the monster began to flail and convulse, but Noctua’s boot remained firmly in place and the creature was too confused and startled to even attempt to attack or so much as stand up. Its single bulging eye was open now, and Noctua perceived within it shock, pain and the tiniest hint of fear as it rested upon the man who’d just killed it. After almost thirty second of wild thrashing, the psoglav went limp, its cyclopean eye rolling back into its skull, its purplish tongue now hanging slack from the mangled jaw.

One down.

He stepped from the deceased creature and looked over the warehouse once more. Lines upon lines of shelves, some seven to eight meters in overall height, formed a neat set of narrow alleys before him, stretching from one side of the warehouse to the next. Somewhere in that darkness, their enemy lay, possibly already expecting them. Alexander took in one final, deep breath, then closed his eyes and gave the signal.

“It’s time. Now” he sent through their link to the twins as he turned towards the dark alley before him. Already, he could sense the earliest hint of a stirring wafting from inside the building, and he knew it would now only be a matter of minutes at best before their attack was registered. The sorcerer slid the shotgun from his arm and pumped it once. It would have to be at the ready from now on. He was well aware that not even a hit dead in the head was guaranteed to drop the psoglavs immediately, so he would have to be cautious with his ammunition.

The twins were by his side within thirty seconds. Their speed truly was admirable, though Noctua was somewhat concerned by the way in which both held their knives whilst running. Torsten held his too tightly, as if he feared it might spontaneously fly from his hand at any moment, whilst Tanya’s grip could certainly use a bit more firmness behind it. Noctua wiped his own blade against the scratchy, rough fur of the newly made corpse. When the twins saw and smelled what they were truly facing, they grimaced in angry revulsion at what must have seemed to them an obscene mockery of their own second forms. Torsten went to gag, whilst Tanya’s jaw tightened as she strived to compose herself. Both of them quickly sniffed at the air, and only now did Noctua realize just how much the entire building stank �" not just with the damp scent of old steel and concrete, but also the putrid reek of half-rotten meat. Evidently, cleanliness was not one of the psoglavs’ strong suits.

“So this is what we’re-” Tanya began, but Noctua shushed her momentarily with a handwave. Then, he spoke to her telepathically, and though he once again forgot to warn her, he was relieved to see it no longer caused the twins as much discomfort as before.

“We don’t talk orally until we give ourselves away. We go straight now, through the rightmost alley. They like cramped spaces and solid walls around them. My guess is, therefore, we’ll run into most of them around the perimeter. Once we kill our first batch, we keep moving until we’ve drawn most of them to us. When that happens, I release the tear gas. If any are left alive after that, we chase them down. Remain by my side. Do not rush forward. And cover your ears when I fire. Got it?”

“Roger that” Tanya thought, narrowing her eyes.

“Aye” Torsten added, anxiously stepping from one foot to another.

“Alright. Move out” Noctua spoke, raising his shotgun and stepping into the darkness.

Despite the lack of light, none of the trio seemed to have particular problems moving around the warehouse. The twins seemed to be doing just fine with their vision, even if their noses cringed with every step they undertook, and Noctua had also grown quite accustomed to seeing in darkness. Besides, that was not what would primarily guide him through the narrow corridors formed by rows of half-rusted, largely empty shelves. The floor of the warehouse was cracked and filthy through and through, puddles of wet filth occasionally sloshing beneath their boots as they advanced. Noctua wondered whether the smelly pools were merely the result of accumulated water leaking through the old ceiling, or whether their adversaries simply saw fit to relieve themselves wherever they pleased. He found he hoped the latter was the case, despite the unsavoury side effects. If it was so, it may help further mask their scent and confuse their opponents.

As they passed one alley after another, Noctua constantly found himself searching for opponents, yet was incapable of seeing or sensing any in his immediate vicinity. He did, however, see abundant evidence of their activity. Pieces of bone and chunks of decomposing flesh lay strewn in several alleys, and the reek of old meat grew fiercer with every step they undertook. Finally, they arrived at the rightmost alley, with Noctua signalling the twins to turn and move out, walking slightly ahead of them.

Torsten’s breathing was heavy, hearty and irregular. Tanya was doing slightly better, but she couldn’t help but breathe through her nose as well. Noctua might have commented on the fact, had he suddenly not sensed a presence, barely thirty meters from them, straight ahead. He raised his fist, a clear sign to halt, and as the trio slowed down, Noctua made to swiftly identify and assess the creature before them. It was frightening, almost, realizing a seemingly empty space actually contained an enemy from the moment one laid eyes upon it, but this was not nearly the scariest thing Noctua had seen during his career.

Another psoglav, approximately the same in size and stature as the sentry, not quite awake just yet but definitely not sleeping any longer. Its head was raised as it sniffed at the air, a darker outline against a dark pathway before them. He wouldn’t be taking this one down quietly, he knew at once. Fortunately, it seemed to be on its own here, with the nearest presences still too distant to properly identify. Noctua erased himself and the twins from the beast’s senses before it could fully register them, then beckoned the twins to keep pace with him as he inched closer to the beast. The gun had a reliable range of about forty meters, but Noctua could not risk wasting on shot and merely wounding it. Besides, he wanted them to be as close to the intersection as possible when the time came to run. Getting cornered was not an option for him.

The psoglav continued to sniff at the air, confusion evident in its cyclopean features as it began to take in deeper breaths, trying to rediscover the scents which had so abruptly disappeared from its perception range. Eventually, it stood upon its hindlegs, dragging itself up with the help of one clawed hand, its hooves clattering against the cracked concrete as it extended its skinny neck with maximum effort. Despite all his precautions, the first beast they ran into was already getting suspicious. Tanya was correct. There was truly no way Noctua could have pulled this off completely silently.

“Cover your ears” Noctua sent to the twins as he took aim at the snarling abomination. Already expecting a similar command, the werewolf twins closed their eyes and pressed their palms to their earlobes, Tanya going so far as to crouch down when it happened. Noctua took the creature in. At this angle, any hit above the upper torso risked only scratching the psoglav, or simply blowing off a part of its throat or jaw. Eventually, that would kill the beast as well, but psoglavs were nothing if not tough and Noctua had to make sure it wouldn’t be getting up. So, perhaps if he waited for it to lean forward just a couple of centimetres…

He removed his cover. The psoglav’s sole eye widened with surprise as it turned its maw towards the unexpected visitors. Before it had a chance to react, its ears were blown out by a monstrous boom. Then the shell annihilated its snout, face and much of its throat, turning flesh and organs into slimy, reddish gore. The last thing the beast’s eye saw before being torn apart by dozens of tiny lead shards and leaking out was a bright flash of light exiting from a dark tube. The psoglav collapsed like puppet with its strings cut, and what little mind it had to speak of vanished in the blink of an eye from Noctua’s perception.

Two down.

That most certainly caught the interest of the other psoglavs within the building. Noctua signalled the twins to move out again, crossing the remaining distance between them and the central corridor. The alleys of the warehouse were neatly separated by a long pathway running through the middle, and Noctua intended to use that to his fullest advantage. Although the shelves beside them were mostly empty or filled with nothing but rusty metallic clutter, they could still serve as viable barriers and force their enemies to enter chokepoints. The only thing, then, he had to ensure, was that he kept moving and always left at least two escape routes for himself and the twins.

“We go three alleys to the left now, then enter and make our way to the back. The office ought to be somewhere in that area. Do not slow down unless I tell you to” Noctua sent to the twins, sparing one final glance at the headless mess that used to be the psoglav before them. The right hoof was still twitching, but besides that, there was no doubt the beast was dead. He pulled out a round from his pocket and hurriedly slid it into the tube, only content when he finally heard the satisfying little click as it fell in place. He only had space for seven rounds at a time inside the tube. He had to make the most out of the time before combat.

As they came upon the central corridor, Noctua leading, the twins close behind, he went to scan the corridor before them. Empty. He didn’t like that. The warehouse was large, sure, but not that massive, and there were bound to be anywhere from ten to six psoglavs remaining, but the fact they only ran into two thus far meant that the rest were likely concentrated to a single spot within the building. That was not ideal by any means.

They turned left, going down the central pathway, passing two corridors when a pair of new figures walked before them, about fifty metres separating the two groups. In the darkness of the warehouse their shapes were distorted and the specifics of their form were largely indecipherable, yet Noctua quickly sensed what they were dealing with. Two psoglavs, both larger and brighter than the two he’d already dealt with. They had been fully alerted by the shots, but were still cautious, unsure who was attacking or what was happening. Noctua sensed other presences converging towards their location, and knew that if he advanced towards the two that emerged, he would likely be attacked from the right flank. He briefly considered firing at the two from here, but they seemed just out of range. Better to head down one of the alleys than risk getting attacked from multiple directions.

He gestured for Tanya and Torsten to follow him, then briefly turned around. And he froze. The twins remained completely still now, their eyes locked dead-on the hunching forms of the psoglavs before them. Noctua realised what as about to happen barely ten seconds before it came to pass.

“Don’t” he spoke, out loud, betraying a hint of desperation in his voice. The twins seemed not to register him. Then, slowly, both twins began to growl. It was not a sound humans were meant to be capable of producing, and coming from a human throat, it sent chills down the warlock’s spine. Before Noctua could do anything else, Tanya and Torsten Eisenstein darted forwards beside him, towards the shadowy outlines sniffing in their direction.

“Tanya! Torsten! Get back here now!” he yelled, but it was of no avail. The twins were devilishly fast, almost as fast as they had been last night. With such speed, Noctua had no hopes of catching up or stopping them. He briefly considered forcefully freezing them in place using telepathy, but not only would such a feat prove too taxing, it could very well expose both siblings to grave danger. Then, several things happened in rapid succession.

The taller of the two psoglavs before them lowered its head, gave a soft snarl which Noctua could not help but interpret as scoffing, then raised its head and gave a short, sharp howl. As the Eisenstein twins got to within ten metres of the enemy, both psoglavs turned on their heels and ran, their cloven hooves eliciting dull clacking as they ran across the concrete. For such large and seemingly cumbersome creatures, they sure moved with extreme dexterity, utilising their oversized forelimbs to occasionally aid in their movements. The enemy duo ran down three alleys from their pursuers, then turned right and vanished within the following pathway. Ten alleys down, Noctua made it a point to remember, ten alleys down. The twins leapt after them, the blades of their knives reflecting the few meagre beams of sunlight like will-o’-the-wisps in the night. In a matter of seconds, Noctua found himself alone.

 

“Sakra!” Noctua could not help but curse. This had gone badly awry sooner than he’d expected. He had to decide how to proceed, and quickly, but that would require improvisation. Lots of improvisation. Noctua hated improvising. He hated when things didn’t go as planned, although he’d have a hard time counting down the number of occasions when they did.

No matter. He had to make his decisions. He knew best, after all, that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected things to go quite as much out of control as they had just now.

What were those two even thinking? What berserk fury could have gripped them to act this irrationally? Noctua had never seen anything quite like it. He realised his first error was trusting the twins enough to not prepare for such an eventuality. He’d grown more comfortable working with them after last night. A childishly simple mistake which made Noctua want to bash his own head against the nearest wall. He underestimated just what actually tracking down the creature that had robbed them of friends might bring out in the werewolves.

Alexander began to run. He needed to catch up with the twins before they got injured. He was certain they would, or possibly worse, if he didn’t arrive in time to aid them. At the same time, he sensed the psoglavs approaching, rapidly closing in on his position. This was bad. He needed to get a move on, counting down the alleys as he went.

First, second, third.

Another gargled howl, decidedly emitted by a psoglav, rang across the warehouse, followed by a far more human sounding scream of one of the twins �" Tanya, by the sound of it. The voice carried anger, rage even, vitriol and exhilaration all in one, and was swiftly followed by a similar, deeper sounding scream from Torsten. Then, Noctua could finally begin to hear his enemies properly, as the alleys before him began to fill with the clicking of hooves, scratching of claws and sharp yelps accompanied by inquisitive growls.

Fourth, fifth.

Noctua sensed the attack coming as soon as the psoglav carrying it out knew it would be making it. Yet Noctua could not afford to halt and put an obstacle between himself and the twins. He had a promise to keep. Besides, to remain static was to die, in combat in particular.

He accelerated, putting himself directly into the path of the charging psoglav. This one seemed more muscular than the others, with rusty reddish fur and particularly long ears. A torrent of anger and hunger followed a brief flash of surprise as it saw Noctua before itself, and it crouched low and contorted its body, preparing to leap forward and tackle its prey. As it did so, Noctua could perceive another, somewhat more robust, psoglav in hot pursuit.

He turned without slowing down and fired from the hip. The abominable creature howled as its shoulder and upper chest were turned to mincemeat by the blast, tiny shreds of lead remaining embedded within its musculature and burning their way into its organism, and it recoiled in fear and anger, pulling away and blocking the path for its packmate. Noctua didn’t pause to finish it off, nor could he afford to load another round in. It would’ve been preferable to hit the head, but slowing it down had to do. He had to keep moving. He still had six shots.

Sixth, seventh.

The next psoglav Noctua could not prevent from walking into his path, unfortunately. This one was taller, but also even thinner than the rest, with barely any of its hazel fur remaining, and as it turned its cyclopean eye toward him, filled to the brim with hateful poison, Noctua knew he’d have to resort to using his powers sooner than he’d like. He established a link, ignoring the creature’s base thoughts of voraciousness and aggression, and sent a skull-splitting migraine into the enemy’s brain with as little power as he could. It worked. The psoglav closed its eye, turned its head to the side and began to wail in agony, using its clawed hands to try and wildly scratch at its neck and temples to soothe the pain.

Noctua fired off another shot, this one aimed at the monster’s knee. As the joint largely disappeared in a puff of bloody mist, the psoglav’s agony only increased, and Noctua briefly considered finishing it off before deciding against it. A crippled enemy was usually better than a dead one, and he had to save ammunition. He still had five shots.

Eighth, ninth.

He almost considered turning on the ninth already, but as he saw another pair of psoglavs leaping towards him, he reconsidered. Tenth would have to do. These two were both slightly smaller, even than the ones he’s already killed, but also appeared to be nimbler and faster, running without the aid of their front paws. Noctua guessed they were young females both, but he did not pause to check their minds. Instead, he risked letting go of the shotgun with one hand, reached into the inner pocket above his breast and pulled out his hihi'irokane, hoping it had recharged from when he’d last used it against Tanya, rubbed his thumb along its length and threw it under the psoglavs’ hooves.

The small crimson oval sparkled and then exploded with light, blinding both females as they howled in surprise. Confused, one of the psoglavs slammed its head against the shelf to tis right, straight into a pile of metallic scrap, halting in its tracks in just the right position for its companion to slam head-first into its back. Both beasts collapsed into a tangle of limbs and bony spines, snapping and barking angrily at each other as they struggled to rise from their predicament. Noctua made it a point to remember to come back for the trinket once everything was done.

Finally, he turned right, heading into the tenth alley down which the twins and their prey disappeared. Of course, there it was �" the dark rectangle of the former office’s doorframe. Where else might the striga set up base? A nice, secluded location all to herself, away from her bestial underlings. In that same moment, he heard a scream of terrible, unspeakable agony, coming from a young girl’s throat. He cursed himself and tried to accelerate as he leapt into the narrow pathway. And then, just as swiftly, he halted in his tracks and raised the weapon in his hands. This was really not going according to plan.

Four psoglavs, at the least, came into his view, approaching from the opposite end of the alley. Three of these were particularly bulky and muscular, the largest Noctua had seen up until this point, rushing straight towards him, jaws wide open, claws extended with killing intent, eyes like a host of dark-yellow lanterns shining from the abyss. Behind him, the five psoglavs he had already passed were closing in, the two females once again in tight pursuit. He was cornered. He had nowhere to run, no place to avoid the oncoming attacks.

But he did have the Mossberg.

Noctua dropped to one knee with lightning speed, taking aim and firing off in rapid succession. The first shell vaporised the right hoof of the leading psoglav, leaving a filthy streak of blood, bone and lead smeared across the floor. As the creature tumbled to the ground, the second shell splattered itself against the chest of the slightly smaller monster behind it, tossing it almost one meter back as it squealed in agony, landing amongst its two remaining packmates and sending them scrambling back in a panic. Evidently, these particular beasts were no better accustomed to dealing with modern weaponry than regular psoglavs. As the crippled psoglav began to rise back to its feet, spitting flecks of bloody saliva and almost hissing with anger, a third shot reduced much of its neck and the back of its skull in little more than red paste, dropping the brute rather disgracefully back onto the filthy concrete. Three down.

With the two females nearly upon him, Noctua turned and fired off both of his remaining two shells almost simultaneously. The first one tore through the innards of the sand-coloured female, knocking her back a few feet, the other blew away much of the other female’s shoulder, sending her whole body spinning around as it did so. Both females howled and skittered backwards, trying to get as far away as possible from the range of the gun. As they did so, Noctua noticed one of their clawed arms was now hanging from its socket only by an improbably thin knot of musculature.

The other psoglavs coming from behind Noctua evidently noticed this as well. All but one had already tasted just what Alexander’s weaponry was capable of, and so most of them seemingly decided not running directly at him was the more reasonable approach. The beasts from the other side of the alley did so as well, snarling and whimpering as they scattered to find cover. In this, Noctua was fortunate. He’d halted in right about the mid-section of the alley, and as such any psoglav running at him would have no chance of avoiding his fire. Unfortunately, he no longer had any shots left. Fortunately, the psoglavs remained ignorant of this.

He briefly considered reloading and firing off another volley, but not only would that expose his bluff and maybe convince the other psoglavs to resume their attack, it would also cost him a lot more time than he was comfortable with. Another pained scream from within the office space reminded him he hadn’t a second to spare.

Though at least eight psoglavs stood against him, he had a natural advantage here. He was shrouded in darkness now, and though they may smell him well enough, he could still eliminate himself from their vision and hearing. If he acted swiftly enough, without moving too briskly, he could make it work. He quickly searched for the minds of all eight creatures surrounding him, finding the pathways and information streams he needed. And then, simultaneously, he cut them all off.

Ignoring the panicked growling and barking he heard as he disappeared from the perception of the entire pack, Noctua pulled the two tear gas grenades from his belt, cautiously but not too slowly. Two of the psoglavs began their approach once again, creeping out from behind the edges of the entrance, wary and cautious, sniffing at the air and growling as much at each other as in Noctua’s general direction. Alexander pulled out his filthy red handkerchief and slowly tied it around his face. Even an action as simple as this made him sweat buckets’ worth of water, as he strived to completely conceal himself from so many monsters at once.

As the two muscular psoglavs, one still bleeding profusely from the wound in its chest and wheezing like an old teapot, got within twenty metres of him, Noctua tore the safety pins from both grenades, then tossed one of them as gently as was possible down the corridor and towards the office door. As the metallic cylinder hit the floor and began to roll towards the office door, they began to ooze thick, putrid clouds of tear gas. Even to a regular human, its effects are noxious to put it mildly, but for the finely attuned senses of psoglavs, it would be living hell. Soon enough, all three psoglavs caught within the gas began to bark and sniff as the chemicals assaulted their respiratory systems.

Less than ten seconds after he’d thrown it, Noctua hurled the remaining grenade behind him, to greet the remaining beasts still in pursuit, picked up his shotgun and began to sprint toward the office door. As he reached the point where the gas began to spread, he knew the hardest part was only now to come. If he wanted to remain combat effective, he’d have to spare his eyes from the worst effects of the gas he himself had released. Naturally, he’d been trained to be able to withstand the worst of its properties, but he couldn’t afford to have his eyes sting with what he knew was about to happen. Therefore, as the dampened odour of the gas reached through his improvised mask and into his nose, he closed his eyes and let the rhythm guide him through the sea of claws and fangs blindly swaying within the cloud of poison before him.

Always be one with the rhythm. When you are one with the rhythm, you are one with the world. When you are one with the world, you can never lose.

Noctua could not predict the movements of the psoglavs very accurately without looking. However, his senses did allow him to approximately determine their location. As the first psoglav, snarling with frustration, swiped its massive talons to hit his chest, the sorcerer ducked and leapt forward, still crouched low, the breeze from the enemy’s fingers caressing his temple as he went.

A loud thud seemed to indicate that the second psoglav had dropped on all fours, unexpectedly, blocking out the entire pathway with its gnarly body. Noctua could not go around or below it, there was no space left. Therefore, Alexander sped up, leapt with one foot extended to the side and used one of the lower shelves as a springboard, launching himself up and around the psoglav’s lowered head, leaving the befuddled creature none the wiser as to his location.

Noctua sensed the third psoglav turning away from him, barking in irritation and trying to make its way out of the gas. Even though the cloud had yet to reach its full power, in the damp, putrid air of the warehouse, it was already driving the beasts mad. He estimated that, in fifteen steps, he’d be able to reach the doorframe and leap into the office room. He was so close now. He pulled out a shotgun shell and tried to slip it into the weapon as he ran.

The final psoglav turned, unexpectedly and devilishly quickly, and something nimble and sharp flew through the air. Noctua felt dull pain in his abdomen, his grip on his weapon loosened and he was flung almost three meters away from the office door, his back aching as he hit the ground and tumbled for a little while longer before halting on the concrete. The last psoglav had managed to slap him aside, whether on purpose or with blind luck, Noctua couldn’t say. Worse, however, was that his shotgun was nowhere to be seen. And even worse than that, unfortunately, was that the psoglav had noticed in which direction he’d flown.

Noctua struggled to stand, his whole body aching, as the bony figure of the beast began to approach him, its eye watery and bloodshot after being exposed to the tear gas, but still healthy enough to easily make out Noctua’s lying form on the dark ground. Noctua thought momentarily of erasing himself once again from the creature’s perception, but if he didn’t get up at once, it would do him no good. From the alley, plentiful barks and howls remained audible, though only one of the monsters had managed to find its way out insofar. Noctua knew it wouldn’t last long. He had to move before the rest of them could regain focus. Alas, that would require dealing with the salivating, hunched beast currently less than a meter away from him.

He knew the second he’d go for any of his backup weapons, the monster would pounce. If he didn’t shoot with the revolver before that, he was a goner for sure. Could he shoot first? Well, only one way to find out.

The second before Noctua went to reach for his gun, he registered a new presence within his vicinity. The psoglav evidently smelled it too, and for the briefest moment became distracted trying to locate its source.

It swooped down, suddenly and with a gusto, going for the large eye placed at the centre of the beast’s forehead and tearing at it with ferocity unmatched, its black feathers flying away left right and centre as it clawed, pecked and smashed against the enemy monster’s soft ocular tissue. Noctua had no doubt Huginn had likewise initiated a mental assault against the enemy’s mind, and as he struggled to stand up, an altered version of his voice delivered him a simple, yet incredibly welcome message.

“The werewolves are coming. They’ll be here in no time. Go get the whelps, silly!”

Noctua spared Huginn a single nod, though he knew the raven could read for itself just how much gratitude Alexander felt in that moment. Leaving Huginn to continue tearing and clawing at the psoglav, his eyes rested briefly upon the barely visible outline of the office door. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he unholstered one of his handguns, drew his sword and leapt into the abyss.

 

Truth be told, Tanya wasn’t really thinking as she heard Noctua’s screams behind her. The moment she could clearly discern that scent, its source, her mind simply went blank for a couple of seconds. She barely registered her brother doing the exact same thing. She simply stood there, the rage of the last few days slowly but surely pushing its way to the surface in a way Tanya had never experienced before. All sense, logic and forethought have sizzled out from her, even as she recognized it happening, and the only thing, the only act she could see herself doing, was going after the hunched figure of the creature responsible for the death of her loved ones and tearing it to shreds.

She knew she’d get isolated doing so. She knew she’d likely be surrounded within moments of running out. But in that instant, when she finally saw the beast which had caused her so much pain and misery over the last couple of days, which had threatened to ruin the lives of everyone she’d ever cared about, the only thought on her mind was primal, savage violence. Violence and vengeance, rip and tear until all this was done with and she could finally rediscover peace.

Therefore, as she and Torsten lowered their stances and began to sprint towards their hated enemy, their noses thick with its repulsive odour which smelled like a foul perversion of their own, she didn’t actually hear Noctua’s calls coming from behind her. Her focus was concentrated entirely on the beast directly before her.

When the large psoglav howled and turned to flee, her rage only increased. So, the wretch was planning to seek refuge behind its packmates? Tanya found this utterly detestable, to the point she actually began to salivate at the prospect of ruining its plans. As its furry bulk vanished behind one of the side alleys, Tanya resolved she would not allow him that luxury, and doubled her already impressive speed. In that same instant, Torsten did the same, almost prompting Tanya to let out a laugh. They truly were alike in all things.

She had no trouble locating the beast they were after, its scent burned into her memory as it was. Though there was precious little light within the building, her inhuman eyes were more than capable of making out as its dark-grey, almost blueish tail vanished within a tall dark rectangle on the opposite wall. She scoffed and extended her right hand to the side, brandishing the knife herr Noctua had given her. She’d never used a knife in combat before, but she was sure she’d find a way to make use of it.

Now it’d pay, she thought. Now they’d have their reckoning. Now, she hoped, she could sleep in peace again.

Both twins rushed into the office space, heedless of the fact that none of the enemy tried to stop them. They were expecting to find the rest of the enemy packmates there, a swarm of teeth and claws, and both twins were, in their fury, completely certain they’d be capable of taking the monsters apart.

Instead, from the darkness, only a single mustard-yellow sphere came to greet them, a large and bulbous thing belonging to a large, spindly creature whose very existence seemed to bizarrely mock their own suffering.

This psoglav was definitely a lot larger than the ones they’d seen herr Noctua kill thus far. Though its skin was just as sinewy and thinly furred as with the other abominations, musculature was more than evident underneath it, making it clear that despite its gaunt and starved appearance, it was by no means sickly or in a weakened state. It had a somewhat shorter, less canine snout than the others, and its hooves seemed a bit flatter and wider than those of the other psoglavs she’d seen. Most curious, however, was that the beast made no move to attack the twins, even as they very clearly had it cornered at the present. It simply stood there, watching, thick cords of slimy saliva hanging from its drooling mouth as its disgusting cyclopean eye swirled from one werewolf to the other.

Had she tried to think the situation through, Tanya might have paused to consider this odd behaviour. She might even have decided to turn back and try and regroup with the warlock, to make certain she and her brother would not be caught in some kind of trap or another. She did neither of those things. Instead, she merely looked to her brother, who nodded with approval without taking his eyes off the enemy, then tightened the blade of the knife, waiting for the seemingly cornered monster to make its move.

The psoglav obliged her in that regard. It once again raised its head and let out a long, triumphant sounding howl. As it finished and its face returned to gawk at the twins before it, something like a twisted parody of a dog’s happy expression spread across its features, as it narrowly opened its jaw and let its tongue hang slack, hiding its upper f**s and pricking its ears up. If anything, this only served to provoke Tanya even more. What reason did this b*****d have to be happy about anything?

And then she let it out. All the rage, pain, sadness, fear and anticipation of the last four days, all the disappointment and frustration of the last several months. She led it out, and dimly, through her own inhuman scream of ferocity, she perceived Torsten doing the same. Then, without hesitation, both of them charged at the psoglav.

Or at least, that is what they had wished to do. For as she tried to move her left foot forward and thrust her arm to the side, she found her body would not respond. No, that was not correct �" her body did respond, but remained unable to carry the action through. In disbelief, she tried to move again, with more concentration this time, and found that it was as though some kind of invisible, monstrously potent force was holding her by the arms, legs and torso, preventing her from moving a single inch forward. She looked to the side, to see how her brother was doing, and panic began to engulf her as she perceived he too seemed to struggle with that same invisible kind of barrier. She couldn’t move at all. She was stuck in place. And she had no idea how to set herself free.

“Ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke-ke!” a sound not unlike the clucking of a hen became audible from the other side of the room, though it was deeper and somehow more menacing, a crude, crooked form of laughter Tanya concluded. It was swiftly followed by a round of likewise amused grunting and snickering, interrupted by the occasional moisty snort. The creature making the sound elicited complete revulsion in Tanya even before she could see it, but it was only after the other denizen of the office space stepped from behind the psoglav that she knew what true disgust meant.

The figure of the striga was hunched and fairly small, no larger than one hundred and forty centimetres in height. Her steps were light and wobbly, and the soft clanking sound they elicited likely meant she had at least a few talons growing from her toes. Much of her body was, fortunately, covered by a long brown cloak, filthy with mud, blood and faeces along its edges and reeking of animal sweat and old meat. Yet her head remained clearly visible, and Tanya could not help but think that, should she ever give birth to a child so hideous, she’d have a hard time loving it or even looking at it.

Her skin was dark-grey, almost black, flappy and leathery, with dozens of calluses criss-crossing it from one side to the other in random patterns. Her mouth was unnaturally wide and she had no lips, its edges only barely delineated by lines of encrusted phlegm, and as she chittered once again, sharp, yellowish teeth became visible extending from blackened gums. Her nose was almost comically large, very long and flat, giving the impression of a pig’s snout. Her hair was fairly short and extremely greasy, hanging in slimy knots from several parts of her head, although in all she seemed to be balding. One of her eyes was massive and wide open, seemingly lidless and similar in nature to a hawk’s, the other, far smaller and almost hidden behind the flap of grey skin that was her brow, seemed vaguely human, albeit bloodshot and leaky. She lacked one of her earlobes, reduced to a shrivelled mass of flesh on her left temple, whilst her right earlobe was likewise somewhat shrivelled but overall had become sharper and slightly longer than was common in humans.

Contorted, was the only word that came to Tanya’s mind when laying eyes upon the abomination. Twisted and contorted. This was only reinforced when she perceived the striga’s hands �" they were likewise full of calluses, warts and weeping sores, but they also seemed to have been twisted several times over at the wrist, as if someone had been repeatedly breaking them and turning them around like screws. How the striga could even move limbs so grotesquely deformed, Tanya was not certain she wished to know.

Both of those deformed limbs, however, were outstretched towards her �" one to her directly, the other, to her twin brother. She realised then what was happening and, with all her considerable strength, struggled to release herself from the hold into which the enemy had locked her. Yet the striga’s fingers, ending in long, filthy nails, merely wiggled slightly from side to side and Tanya was immobilised once more. She tried again, desperation now adding to her anger, and she noticed Torsten doing the same, but still, it was to no avail.

“Ke-ke-ke!” the striga let out what seemed like a chuckle, remaining focused on the twins throughout. “Sjajno, Gryga, sjajno” she spoke in the psoglav’s direction, her voice sounding like the tearing of wet tissues, and though Tanya did not understand a word of what she might have been saying, the satisfied growl the psoglav gave upon hearing it led her to believe Gryga was the monster’s name.

The image of that monster being content with anything poured new fire into her veins and she began to struggle against her telekinetic chokehold even harder than before. It began to hurt really, really bad to try and so much as move her thumb, and as the striga noticed her effort, she merely flicked her fingers and all progress Tanya had made was undone, her body snapping back into place. The hag smacked her mouth in satisfaction, then began to slowly approach the twins directly, one clunky step at a time. “Dva vukodlaka umjesto jednogo! Dama će biti zadovoljna! Ke-ke-ke-ke!”

Tanya did not understand what the abomination was saying, and at first, she did not care. Then, however, in the gloom behind the hag, she saw something shining, only slightly, but enough to register with her keen eyesight. She focused at the small, spherical object placed upon the table in the far end of the room. And she froze. For an instant, all her anger and pain fizzled from her like so much steam, and she realized what the object was.

The crystal ball, an object so commonly replicated and sold as a souvenir, an object commonly found in cartoons for children, now filled Tanya with unprecedented dread. If that thing served the purpose she thought it served… yes, it could only serve that purpose… then…

She screamed in defiance and began to struggle once again, ignoring the pain. She had to free herself, she had to move, she couldn’t let that b***h get any closer! If she read her thoughts, if she found out what she needed, all would be for naught. She will have singlehandedly doomed the entirety of the Stuttgartrudel to death! D****t, d****t, d****t!

The hag was evidently surprised by her struggle, taking a step back and giving off a surprised snort. Gryga seemed to regard the entire scene with single-minded curiosity, eyeing both the twins hungrily regardless of what they did. Torsten turned towards her, as much as the lock allowed him that is, confusion written plain across his face. “Sis’, what’s the matter? You can’t just struggle against it blindly, or you’ll…”

“The ball, Torsten, the ball! The moment she finds what she needs within our heads, she’ll use it to send the names of the Pack to her masters! If that happens, everyone, all Stuttgartrudel members, all of them are dead! And I’ll be damned if I let this putrid c**t do that! You hear me, you rancid b***h?! You try and enter my skull, I’ll take you for a ride you won’t forget!” Tanya yelled at the top of her lungs, though she knew those threats were less than empty. She had no way of defending herself, she was completely at the hag’s mercy, and she hated everything about that. The realisation hit Torsten like a truck as well, and he too began to struggle and reel against his lock, trying kick out with his right leg with every iota of his power.

The striga glared at Tanya with her bulging eye now, no longer in the mood for sniggering apparently. Tanya had no idea whether the creature understood what she had said, but she was sure her tone had made it more than obvious to her. Much to Tanya’s delight, she noticed that the hag’s fingers, previously calm and almost leisurely outstreched, were now twitching and shaking, though only slightly. That was good, excellent in fact. Now, if only she could try and free her arm. Shots could sporadically be heard from the outside now, but Tanya could not afford to get this distracted by them.

The striga hissed with irritation and clenched both her hands into fists. Tanya suddenly felt all her limbs contorting and twisting towards each other, bones creaking and straining, muscle fibres snapping and tearing. It was pain unlike any she had experienced ever before, it was a thousand times worse than the agony of night-time transformation, and she began fighting the rapidly mounting urge to begin screaming.

The petals, think of the petals, she told herself, look for a flower and search for its petals. But there were no flowers in this room. There was no life here, only death, rot and a pair of nightmares made flesh who would soon cause the deaths of everyone she’d ever loved, all the while she remained literally unable to move. It was as though every single bad thing which had happened over the course of the last few days, nay, over the course of her entire life, returned with a vengeance and delivered a well-placed punch into her ribs, until her chest ached and her heart felt ripe to burst. And as she realised that, there truly were no petals here this time, she finally lost that one last tiny sliver of self-control and began to scream.

Tears streaming down her face, telekinesis crushing and twisting her body into a bloody mess, she screamed, through sobbing and gulping, her tears stinging at her eyes, and she kept on screaming. She felt ashamed, she felt, once again, defeated, and she felt like it was all her fault. She let go of the knife’s handle, until now firmly grasped within her palm, for she no longer had any command over her limbs, and once her vocal cords had run out of air and her scream was finally cut short, she meekly turned to look at Torsten.

Her brother was resisting bravely, his lips bloody from how many times he’d bitten into them over the last few seconds. Tanya admired him so much. He was ever the more impulsive, the les thoughtful of the two, but he was no quitter. He had the courage she lacked. He had the resolve, he was as firm as they come. What was she?  Who was she even? She was the reason why they were in this mess to begin with. Once again, within the span of a day, she had gotten her brother into mortal danger. She would never forgive herself that. She couldn’t.

Eventually, even Torsten’s will of iron broke and he began to gulp back tears of pain and anger, until eventually, he too was screaming in pain. That at least returned some measure of resolve to Tanya. If nothing else, she would not allow that b***h to torture him. He was her responsibility, her little brother, and she wouldn’t let anyone harm him if there was a single thing she could do about it. She looked back to the striga then, her eyes burning with hatred.

“Nepristojni stenci” the striga murmured through clenched teeth, though she did give Tanya a smug smile when she noticed her looking. “Gryga, pridrži ih” she added, a malicious glare in her eye now. The psoglav licked at its pinkish gums when it heard the unknowable order, then walked forward, hoofs clicking against the cement floor with every step as it approached the suspended twins. Tanya was certain she saw mockery within its single ugly eye, and that too returned some fire into her strained limbs.

The psoglav walked around the twins, standing behind them from the back, then opened its immense front paws and easily enveloped them around the twins’ necks, its rancid smell so invasive Tanya had to continually supress the urge to gag. When it leaned in and began sniffing at her hair and her brother’s neck, she found she finally had a singular objective she could focus on once again. This creature had to go.

The striga approached from the front, her crooked body swaying from side to side as her clawed feet elicited their tiny clanks, claws or perhaps merely long nails scratching against stone. She folded four of her fingers on each hand now, extending merely her thumb in what seemed like a queer parody of the “thumbs up” gesture a human might make. Gryga gave what one might generously interpret as a chuckle as he saw her approach, and his fuming breaths now filled Tanya’s left ear, much to her disgust. The psoglav held her with his right hand, her brother with his left, none too gently with both she didn’t doubt. If only she could think of some weakness or another. She felt a new smell enter her nostrils then, though she could only sense it faintly through Gryga’s putrid odour. It smelled like some kind of gas, but what…

The striga was barely three feet away from her. Once she crossed that distance, it was all over. Tanya’s secrets would be sucked straight from her brain, leaving her mind scrambled and her as good as a vegetable, powerless to so much as move as she would be devoured by the same monster which had dined on her friends. The striga seemed to bask in her despair, even as she had begun to shuffle along faster. She grinned, showing her deformed dental structure, and said “Ideš prva, djevojka” in that same unknowable language, thumb prepared to touch Tanya’s forehead. The girl resolved she wouldn’t close her eyes as it happened.

A shot rang out through the office space, barely two metres behind her. And another, and then three more, in rapid succession. Gryga howled in agony, tumbling to the ground, his clawed hands leaving a painful yet shallow cut on Tanya’s back as they slid from her shoulders. The striga’s expression changed instantly, from smug satisfaction to surprise, to fear, to undiluted terror, as she pointed her palms towards her feet and bounced back an improbable distance, almost three meters in fact. Tanya realised she could only have made that jump using telekinesis the same instant her body went limp and she tumbled to the floor, Torsten following her in that same moment. Her body hurt like hell and she probably had several broken ribs from the pressure, but those had already begun to mend and the realisation she was once again free immediately began to fill her with new power. She turned to the doorframe behind her, and for a second was utterly stunned by what she saw.

Alexander Noctua moved with an utterly singular focus. He might not have had the same levels of inhuman speed as herr Hohenbach or Petra possessed, but he moved with greater fluency and precision than anyone Tanya had seen in her entire life. His sword was unsheathed in his right hand, the steel blade reflecting the few scant rays of light within the tiny room, and in his left, he held one of the guns she’d noticed remained ever concealed beneath his jacket, firing off in the striga’s direction. He spared the twins a single glance, then, with that same smoothness which seemed to indicate he had practiced this exact scenario a thousand times before, moved towards the retreating, stumbling hag, firing round after round as he went.

Tanya wondered, for a single instant, why the shots were not connecting, but a single look at the striga gave her the desired answer. As the crone stumbled backwards, eliciting panicked shrieks and squelches, both of her contorted hands remained outstretched, making her retreat appear rather comedic. As one of the bullets fired by herr Noctua halted in mid-air and dropped to the ground before making contact, Tanya understood what the hag was trying to do. No, not trying �" it was what Noctua was making her do. For the sorcerer continued to fire at the b***h, closing the distance between the two with every step he made. He fired off eleven more shots, the blasts of his handgun filling the room with light and noise as he emptied his magazine within seconds, then, without pausing, he tossed the empty firearm aside and pulled his spare from within his jacket, pulling down the safety and unloading upon the striga all over again �" all within the span of three or four seconds.

The crone stumbled back, shrieking and stammering in a panic, though Noctua pressed her so hard she could not so much as think about passing into offense. Instead, she merely sought to prolong the inevitable, to increase the distance that was slowly, but steadily, decreasing. The it all happened in a blur.

Noctua fired off five more shots, then threw his second sidearm as well, directly at the striga’s shield, raised his sword and gripped it with both hands, one by the hilt, the other by the blade itself, and lunged forward to cross the remaining distance between himself and his target. At first, it seemed like overkill to Tanya, but as the sorcerer’s body very clearly slowed down as the striga gestured in a panic, Tanya realised it was, as ever, a thoroughly pragmatic solution. Hurling himself forward at full speed would help Noctua pas through whatever forcefield the crone might try and erect around her. Seeing her death, black-clad and wordless, flying towards her, the striga raised her hands up in an almost reverent gesture and began opening her mouth to scream. She never got the chance. Noctua’s blade sliced straight through her disgusting, bulging eyeball, reducing it to jelly and continuing smoothly on into the brain. Instead of a final vengeful shriek, a handful of wet coughs was all that striga managed to produce as her lifeless body began to slide from the blade of the sorcerer. Leaving the sword in place, Noctua quickly pulled out a knife from his belt and swiftly buried it within the hag’s chest, beginning the lengthy process of removing the heart of the cursed creature.

Tanya might have simply laid there and kept watching, but a grunt of pain from her brother reminded her all was not yet well. Torsten seemed relatively unharmed, though Gryga’s claw did leave a noticeably larger gash within his right arm, and as he struggled to rise, drops of dark red blood began to trickle down his hand. Seeing her brother hurt and in pain caused Tanya to refocus upon the wailing psoglav behind them, fury incarnate.

Gryga was trying to rise back to his feet, though he met with only limited success with each panicked attempt. Only now could Tanya surmise the damage Noctua’s handgun had caused to the beast. Both of the psoglav’s knees had been shot through, leaving clean, if only small, bullet holes in both of them, doubtlessly making it difficult for the legs to carry the creature’s abundant weight. The other three shots, Tanya had surmised, were aimed at various points in the creature’s back, and she suspected that only the fact that Gryga had lowered his massive head to sniff at the twins had spared the monster a bullet to the nape. Even so, she noticed that a small stain of dark, almost purple blood, now marked the monster’s neck.

“Now, Torsten! Now’s our chance!” she cried, trying to spring to her feet as fast as possible, though still feeling somewhat unsteady. Torsten seemed to have fewer problems getting up, though his arm was evidently pained. As her brother rose, the two siblings exchanged a single, all-meaning glance, and no further words needed to be spoken. In unison, they turned towards the injured psoglav, which had already managed to establish a shaky footing despite its injuries. When he saw its former hostages looking at him with that same, single-minded intention they had before, to his credit, he did not run away. Whatever else might have been said of the abomination, at least it wasn’t craven in nature. Instead, its single eye narrowed, it dropped on all fours and let out a clearly challenging roar, lowering its stance in preparation for battle.

The twins surged forward, though this time, neither one of them spoke a word as they came. Though they were still wounded and winded, they still had the strength to do this. They had to do this, there was no way around it, and that gave them the energy they required to make it so. They did not bother to pick up their knives then. Both knew, after what had just happened, only bare hands were appropriate.

As the sounds of the dying hag echoed from behind them, the werewolf twins did battle with a monster from legend in the damp darkness of the Stuttgart warehouse. For all his injuries, Gryga proved he was still more than a match for the siblings. He struck first, a massive clawed hand swiping in a wide arc, an attempt to kill two flies with one stone no doubt. Tanya ducked and rolled forward, whilst Torsten, on the account of his arms, simply slowed down and let the blow pass before him. As she finished her roll, Tanya’s hand shot to the side, gripping the psoglav just above the hoof and pulling. Easily enough, a thick cord of tendons and flesh came off along the entirety of the psoglav’s lower leg, and Gryga once again howled in agony. As the monster fell down once again, it swiped after Tanya with both arms and even tried to bite at her, but this only allowed Torsten to make his own opening. With his healthy left arm, her brother delivered a crushing punch directly into the centre of the beasts’ ribcage, causing a booming crack, audible even through the gunfire, to be heard. Gryga yelped and began to gargle, blood now mixing with phlegm in his jaws. Fragments of the shattered ribs had likely pierced his lungs.

The twins circled the monster as it struggled to remain on its knees, possessing no longer the strength to fully stand. He turned his head to bite after Torsten, but the psoglav was already becoming too slow. The boy avoided the snapping fangs with ease, then brought his own knee to bear with a swift upwards kick, causing several yellowed fangs to get scattered across the floor, along with a piece of dark-pink meat that used to be attached to Gryga’s tongue. As the psoglav recoiled from the blow, Tanya flattened her palm as though practising karate, then thrust, her fingers parting sinew and muscle to get at the soft innards beneath. The beast wailed in agony as a sizable chunk of its intestines began to worm their way from his ripped stomach, falling onto the ground in thick, slimy knots. As his injuries mounted, Gryga’s resolve turned into naught and the psoglav began to whine and wail, lowering its head and quietly whimpering.

Both twins stood in position then �" Torsten from behind, Tanya from the front, looking the dying creature straight in the eye for the briefest of moments. In those eyes, Tanya could clearly read fear, anger and vexation, not a trace of remorse or contentment. This creature, Tanya thought, revulsion marring her features, was even worse than any man or animal. It only possessed the worst traits of both worlds. It enjoyed toying with those weaker than itself and thought only of its own standing and benefit. Faced with a superior foe, it showed no dignity when confronted with the prospect of dying. If there was a creature which did not deserve a right to live, then of all creatures in the world, Tanya supposed, this was it.

“For Micha” Torsten spoke, preparing his healthy arm for the strike.

“For Priska” Tanya replied, looking directly at the abomination as she too took aim for her final blow.

In unison, both twins punched through the psoglav’s chest cavity, bypassing shattered ribs and pieces of lung tissue, grabbing the beast’s heart from both sides. Then, at once, both of them screamed, pouring out all their vengeance and grief in a united, potent scream, and pulled, tearing the organ in two and pulling out naught but chunks of dark red meat. That felt good, better than it ought to have felt, to kill for the first time, and Tanya was terrified as a sudden surge of vigour spread through her body like wildfire. Without another sound, life left Gryga’s watery eye, and the psoglav responsible for the deaths of Micha, Priska and eleven other citizens of Stuttgart collapsed ignobly to the dirt, dead as a doornail.

As Tanya saw the lifeless heap of flesh and fur collapse, the initial heat of the moment leaving her, she expected to feel something. She expected, no, she wanted to feel vindicated �" she wanted to feel at rest, calm and focused, like she was able to once again firmly grip the life which had so spun out of control for her over the last couple of days. She wanted to feel a sense of a job well done, of having succeeded in doing the right thing, of delivering justice upon the guilty. But all she was left with was something infinitely less fulfilling. She felt relief �" relief that she had managed to get out of a bad situation and fulfil her task. That was it. Relief, and the last slivers of perverted excitement of having just taken her first life. That was it and that was all. Staring down blankly at the psoglav’s mangy corpse, she wasn’t sure how to react to that. Could it be… could it be that…

“Are you done?” Noctua’s cold, cold voice dragged her out of the clueless stupor she began to wallow in all of a sudden. The sorcerer’s tone was even less emotional than usual, and suddenly, an ocean of guilt replaced the blank depression within Tanya’s heart. Only now that she perceived the man who’d once again saved her life, bruised and very clearly tired after the doubtlessly difficult struggle to reach her and her brother, did she realise fully how selfish she’d been. She didn’t spare a thought of what would happen to Alexander once she and Torsten left him behind. It didn’t even enter her mind as she heard the irregular gunshots coming from outside the office. Her shame weighed her down like a sack of stones now, and she found she could not look the warlock in the eye as she tried to answer.

Noctua walked over to the fresh corpse, swiftly knelt down, grabbed one of the monster’s large, jutting fangs and pulled it out of its bloodied jaws, rubbing it against its fur to dry it and then sticking it into one of his few empty pockets. “If so, snap out of it and move away from the entrance. I killed one and injured a few, but the rest are sure to come our way now. Besides, now that the Alpha’s dead, they’ll get a taste for some vengeance of their own.”

Only now did Tanya fully register the abundant barking, howling and scratching audible from outside the office space, realizing that though they may have dispatched the head, the body would not simply roll over and die. She gave one more look to the wretch that had been Gryga. So, this was the Alpha was it? For a moment, Tanya found herself doubting the famed toughness of the psoglavs as herr Noctua had described them, if their leader and largest specimen was defeated so easily. Then she noticed the handful of bullet holes lining the beast’s shaggy back and her own aching bones, and the thought left her like a spring breeze.

She meekly looked toward Noctua, like a child aware its parent knows it’d been rummaging through the candy shelf. The sword he’d used to smash through the striga’s invisible wall was still in his left hand, unsheathed, running with the rust-coloured blood of its unfortunate victim. The shirt on the sorcerer’s chest was ripped and mashed, though the only blood covering him seemed to have come from the striga lying dead in the corner. In one hand, Noctua still held the dark-brown chunk of flesh Tanya realised was the hag’s heart. As soon as she noticed it, Noctua carelessly threw it aside, the organ landing in a half-ruined trash bin positioned beside what probably used to be an office table.

“Quickly. Huginn says the Stuttgartrudel is set to arrive soon enough, but for us, even seconds can make a difference. Get your act together and stand beside me now” he said, retrieving one of his handguns from the ground and looking it over. Without another word, he turned around and fired off a shot. The bullet shattered the small glass sphere pulsating with dim light in the corner of the room, and Tanya found she could breathe slightly easier now that the object had been destroyed, as if some oppressive presence had been removed. Silently, Noctua holstered the weapon, then retrieved the large revolver hanging by his side and unlocked the cylinder to check his ammunition. Satisfied, he snapped it back into place and aimed it at the door. “Now, children” he raised his voice, only slightly but just enough for both siblings to obey.

As soon as they stood beside Noctua, they heard the clanking of hooves just outside the doorframe leading to the office, and within the next moment, sniffing and wet snarling, as one of the psoglavs began to cautiously deduce what had happened within the room. It kept getting interrupted by violent bouts of somewhat comedic-sounding sneezing, and Tanya wondered just what kind of a tear gas herr Noctua had used against the creatures. She stood to Alexander’s left, Torsten to his right, all three bloodied and expecting another fight.

“Cover your ears” Noctua repeated to both siblings as a massive, clawed mockery of a human hand appeared out of the darkness beyond. A revolver in his left hand, a sword in his right, he outstretched one foot behind himself and slightly bent his knees, in a posture not unlike the one Tanya had seen him assume when fighting von Weide. She pressed her palms around her ears as best she knew. Even as she never took any interest in firearms, she knew enough to understand just how loud the sound of a fired revolver is even to a regular human.

Within the next instant, the psoglav’s shaggy, malformed head appeared from beyond the wall, its single eye bloodshot and teared-up, snarling and licking at its puckered gums with a sinewy, knotted tongue, its snout covered in fresh, shallow cuts and scratches. The moment it turned its head fully to perceive the carnage that had occurred within the room and began to growl, Noctua pressed the trigger.

For a brief second, Tanya thought her own head would explode, the sound so unpleasant and deafening. Even with her earlobes covered, her head began to ring slightly. The only thing that did explode, however, was the psoglav’s eye. Turning into a reddish goo in an instant, the psoglav’s organ deformed itself and vanished entirely, as the bullet tore a chunk of bone and fur from its temple and decorated the wall behind it with the monster’s slimy grey matter. The corpse fell in an instant, its bulk partially blocking the entrance to the door as life escaped its confines. Beyond the walls, howls of fury and vengeance replaced those of curiosity and caution within the blink of an eye.

“Brace yourselves” Noctua hissed her way, cocking the revolver once again. Tanya noticed that, even though he clearly knew what to expect, the kick the weapon delivered was enough to make Noctua’s arm fly backwards as he pressed the trigger.

Even before the dead psoglav’s body had hit the floor, Tanya could already hear the others getting closer. Their steps were hurried and imprecise, stumbling and bumping into each other as they came forward, but come they did, at least seven more of the canine monsters, howling and sniffing all the way. As Tanya crouched down and extended her hands to her sides, preparing to meet the enemy rush, suddenly, the enemy slowed down and then halted altogether. A handful of sorrowful wails and whimpers passed between the monsters just outside of her view, and then, something unexpected happened. With a curt, sharp bark that could only have been an order of some kind, the limp corpse stuck in the doorframe was slowly pulled back, vanishing from the office. For the slightest moment, Tanya held her breath, unsure of what was to come. Then, all at once, the psoglavs rushed them.

Noctua fired off another shot the moment the first bit of fur appeared from behind the doorframe, the bullet tearing out a chunk of flesh with a wet squelch. Even so, the target it had hit continued onward, seemingly undaunted by the massive gap where its neck ought to have been. The reason for why that was became apparent seconds later, and Noctua hissed something that could only have been a curse. A second shaggy form followed close behind the first, but as both creatures turned to face Tanya and her allies, she saw only the meaty hole left behind by the magnum round where an eye ought to have been. Clawed fingers gripped the corpse of the first psoglav by the waist and under the armpits, as the second creature made an impromptu shield of its former comrade. Its head and torso safely covered by several centimetres’ worth of bone and tissue, the monster dashed towards Noctua without hesitation. Behind it, more of its kind followed.

Noctua fired once again. This time, however, he wasn’t aiming for a kill shot. Instead, his bullet sped past the limply dangling legs of the raised corpse and tore its way through the sinew and bone of the charging psoglav’s right leg, ripping off its hoof and sending it diving headfirst into the ground. An irritated huff escaped the monster as it tumbled forward, yet even so, it had already crossed almost half of the distance between it and its targets. The meat-shield it carried fell down along with it, unveiling to Tanya a sea of fangs, bony hands and watery, canine eyes, all filled with anger, hunger and excitement. Two more shots left the revolver in rapid succession, ending up within the neck and skull of a brute with a torn-up shoulder respectively. And then, the beasts were upon them, snarling in triumph even as one more of their packmates tumbled to the ground, grinding his corpse into porridge with their hooves as they passed him. The casual disregard for their former allies’ bodies infuriated Tanya on a primal level. Just as Noctua let go of the revolver and gripped his sword with both hands, the twins roared and dived forward to meet the enemy.

Immediately, Tanya realised this would be harder than she thought. The psoglav she tackled was a smaller, skinnier creature with a bloody mess in place of a stomach, yet she was appalled by the prodigious strength the creature possessed. She managed to successfully catch and halt both its hands as the monster made to grab her, but even as she did so, she realised she’d committed a colossal mistake. The psoglav was strong, too strong, and continuing to hold it in a bind was taking up all her strength and concentration. That was bad, very bad. They were outnumbered, and the moment she became too focused on an opponent, two others might flank her and tear her to shreds. With the corner of her eye, she saw Torsten trading blows with a much larger beast, werewolf and psoglav slashing away as both were equally matched in terms of speed and reaction time.

That look almost cost her a head, as the monster she was grappling with made full use of its massive jaws and snapped at her neck repeatedly, apparently intent on ripping out Tanya’s throat. With a curt jerk, Tanya evaded, and again and again, but the psoglav remained determined as it kept snapping at her, its teeth closer to hitting Tanya’s throat every single time they closed together.

For an instant, Tanya expected to die. She was taking too much time with this. At any moment, she anticipated the sensation of teeth burrowing into her nape and claws digging through her abdomen, and she knew she’d be powerless to stop it from happening. When that proved not to be the case, despite herself, she grew curious and spared a single glance over the attacking psoglav’s shoulder, wondering where the rest of the pack was.

The scene she saw initially reminded her of a dance, but that did not seem quite right after she looked at it more closely. In a dance, the participants try to move not only fluidly, but also stylishly, with their movements refined and polished to not only remain consistent, but also aesthetically pleasing. Noctua did nothing of the sort. All of his movements were utterly purposeful �" he never made a single unnecessary step all the while, never overdid a swing, never overstretched his hands when stabbing forward. It, more than anything else, reminded Tanya of a flowing stream �" like water moving with unstoppable force, adapting and morphing as it continued, but not once halting or slowing down.

The sorcerer slashed open a psoglav’s stomach as he ducked beneath a wide swipe of its clawed paw, then turned around and, gripping the sword by the blade, rammed its point down through its torso, almost surgically avoiding the beast’s ribs in the process. The wounded monster howled in agony, bloodied but not dead so far, and yet the psoglav behind hit, from whom Noctua was no more than a meter away, made no move to attack, heavily breathing and rapidly swaying from side to side, as though unsure of what to do, with its tongue hanging out and an idiotic blankness present within its eye. Only when Noctua turned and slashed, relieving the psoglav of its lower jaw with a disturbingly clean blow, did the monster gargle in surprise and made to attack the warlock. Instead, its hands enveloped the length of the blade, after which Noctua simply pushed and then pulled the blade sideways, sending six clawed fingers scattering to the ground. Stumbling in pain and confusion, the psoglav’s whimpering was cut abruptly short as Noctua drove the blade of the sword up through the beast’s unguarded jaw and into its brain, its runny eye rolling back into its head as its body folded, not unlike a puppet with its strings severed. Even before the first drops of its cranial fluids hit the ground, Noctua was already moving, thrusting at the next bewildered monster beside him.

The sorcerer’s resolve seemed to pour new vigour into Tanya, as she turned back towards her own attacker, roared defiantly and spat bloody flecks straight into the creature’s eye, causing it to blink in surprise and halt its rapid attempts to bite out her jugular. She wouldn’t leave Noctua to deal with these monsters alone. Not again. As the psoglav paused, Tanya grinned like a lunatic, screamed again and smashed her forehead against the tip of the beast’s snout, smashing it to paste in an instant. With an agonised howl, the psoglav tried to pull back, but Tanya would not let go. The creature was taller than her by almost half a meter, she needed to erase that disadvantage. She kicked out, with enough force that the psoglav’s knee crumpled and snapped like so much cardboard, crushing the beast’s forearm at the same moment. As the monster tumbled to the floor, Tanya finally let go of its arms and once again flattened her hand in preparation for a swift chop to finish it off.

“Nyaargh!” a familiar voice cried from behind her, and Tanya’s heart skipped a beat the moment she heard it. She turned, mortified, and saw her brother collapsing, going down on his knees, gallons of blood, his blood, running down his trousers, as the snout of the enemy psoglav remained firmly, viciously locked around his left arm, its hooked claws sinking deep into both his hips. Torsten tried to struggle, his own right hand partially buried within the beast’s throat, but he was bleeding out fast, and with every moment, Tanya could see the spark in his eyes growing weaker, the light dimming behind his irises dimming.

Tanya screamed, forgetting her own opponent in an instant. She screamed, harder than she ever had in her entire life up to that point, and charged, no, she leapt to her twin, her brother, her better half, heedless of her own safety or well-being. She did not really see the five razor-sharp claws of the psoglav’s right arm, extended in expectation of her approach. She did not actually feel the pain as they pierced through her chest cavity and tore through one of her lungs. They failed to pierce her heart. That meant she could keep going. That was all that mattered. With all her weight and strength, she pushed forward, shattering the bones within the psoglav’s hand like a bottle of glass. Before it had the chance to wail, Tanya was upon it.

She wasn’t thinking, not enough at least, she simply did in that instant. She didn’t pause to fold her fingers, she merely grabbed the psoglav’s neck and tore, and again, and again, like an animal, her only thought to separate the jaws from the body before they could squeeze more life out of her brother. Tanya pulled, and chunks of wet fur and dark-red meat went flying. She pulled, and the beast’s cyclopean eye grew wider, fear replaced by numbness within them. She pulled again, and now, a crack became audible, and something sticky and smelly that was not blood covered Tanya’s fingers when she withdrew her hand. She pulled, and with a final wet tear, the psoglav’s head was separated from its body, its jaws still locked around her brother even as purpose left the nerves which governed them. With blood leaking onto Tanya from the severed stump of the enemy’s throat, she lowered Torsten to the ground as gently as she could, only realising she’d lost all feeling in her right hand when she tried to grab his shoulder.

As Tanya pulled back her hand to assess the damage, she briefly felt the urge to vomit. Her fingers were a ragged mess, all of her fingernails were gone, her knuckles were showing and most of her tissue had been scrubbed off from her palm upwards. No time to bother with that for now, however. She had to focus on helping her brother.

“Torsten! Torsten! Torsten, don’t you dare close your eyes, you hear me! We’ll get through this Torsten, but I swear I’ll kill you if you die on me now, you hear?! Torsten! Come on, little brother, stay here with me!” she yelled, heedless of what was going on around her, heedless of the warm blood soaking through her pants, heedless of the fact that with every word she spoke, it was becoming harder to breathe, heedless of the idea that maybe, just maybe, she ought to have finished her own opponent before dashing to save her brother.

“Nie!” she suddenly heard someone cry behind her, sharply and brusquely, and then, within the span of several seconds, many things happened. Firstly, as she began to turn around to get a better idea of what was going on, she received a truly fine blow to the head from a heavy black boot, a lacklustre hit, but still strong enough to send her sprawling onto the ground and away from Torsten. Even before she landed, she heard something heavy crash and break a piece of furniture before her, and a triumphant howl coming from behind her. Only once she found the strength to look up, dazed and spitting blood, did she realise what had happened.

Alexander Noctua was lying two meters in front of her, unmoving, the only sound coming from him in the form of short, pained wheezes as he struggled to breathe. He was sprawled a few feet from the corpse of the striga he’d slain, amongst the ruined remains of the table which formerly served as the platform for the crystal ball. Tanya could not see any injuries on him from this angle, but the slowly spreading pool of red blood beneath him spoke for itself. Tanya huffed and tried as best she could to look behind her. The psoglav she had already maimed was licking fresh blood off of its talons, its hand shaking and unsteady but clearly still functional, purring with pleasure as it refocused its eye on Tanya and, with self-evident malice, began limping towards her. With a snap, Tanya realised what had happened.

Idiot! Why did he do it? Why? What reason did he have to once again try and pull Tanya’s head out of the noose that she’d made for herself? She hated herself more than ever before in that moment, and knew well enough that the kick the sorcerer had delivered her moments prior was an iota of what she deserved.

The three remaining psoglavs behind the one that had swiped away Noctua, all cut or injured in some way or another, began to stalk closer as well, still cautious but growing bolder now that all three of their opponents had been immobilised. Torsten remained on his back, his breathing shallow and irregular, and he made no attempt to move. It was up to Tanya to finally do something useful. She had to. There simply was no scenario in which she could afford to not do anything right now.

She couldn’t stand, however. She’d lost too much blood now, and even her healthy limbs were growing steadily less responsive. The damage done to her lungs had been worse than she’d expected. As Tanya took in another shuddering breath, she was wracked with a bout of gut-wrenching coughing, and blood began to trickle from her mouth even after it had passed. Nevertheless, she crawled forward on all fours, desperately trying to buy enough time for her lungs to heal and the bleeding to cease. She was a werewolf, it wouldn’t take nearly as much time as it did for a regular human. Then, she cast another brief glance over her shoulder and came to the conclusion that, werewolf or not, she didn’t have the time to wait. Not if she wanted to protect her brother and Noctua.

Clank. She heard the distinct sound of hooves stepping onto concrete, accompanied by a softer sloshing sound as the psoglav behind her stepped through pools of blood that now covered much of the floor. Tanya could hear as it drooled and snarled, licking at its crushed snout and emitting a sound which seemed like a cross between guttural laughter and canine barks. The monster was approximately six steps from her now. She knew that, once it had crossed that distance, there would be nothing Tanya could do. Desperate, she strained her neck to take in her surroundings, looking for something, anything, that could give her an edge and buy her more time. Just a few more minutes, a couple more minutes was all she would need…

Clank. Inadvertently, her eyes rested upon a small, oblong object, its steel bulk reflecting what little light shone into the office space from outside, grabbing Tanya’s attention. It was the revolver herr Noctua had dropped after the psoglavs had entered close range �" Tanya assumed it had been pushed further back once the fighting had begun. It was approximately two meters away from her. If only she could reach it… But how many times did Noctua fire? Were there any rounds left within it? Would the weapon still work? Would she be able to hit?

Clank. I have no choice, Tanya resolved as another step echoed from behind her, and using all her strength to supress another fit of bloody coughs, she forced herself to literally crawl through the blood, filth and s**t of the room towards the firearm, one agonising pull at a time. Her limbs grew less responsive with every move she made, and she could no longer feel her right hand from the wrist down, forcing her to use her elbow to support her advance and slowing her down even more.

Clank. Tanya consciously forbade herself to contemplate not reaching the weapon in time. She actively refused to consider the gun might be empty. Likewise, she wouldn’t spare a single through of what to do about the remaining psoglavs once she’d reached the gun and fired off, although she knew full-well there couldn’t be more than one or two rounds left within the cylinder if she was lucky. If only she could remember how many shots Noctua had fired. Was it four, five, six?

Clank. She bit her tongue and clenched her jaw as the pain from her still fully-responsive left arm and chest threatened to overwhelm her senses. This was her penance, her mess and her punishment. Her punishment for seeking vengeance when she’d been advised not to. Her punishment for repeatedly overestimating her own strength and capability. Tanya had grown up forced to rely on her strength and her strength alone, since she’d always had to assume her own strength was all she’d get once the chips were down. And she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t served her well in life. It saw her through pain, fear, confusion and doubt, it allowed her to live her semi-comfortable lie and, most importantly, to ensure her brother could rely on her. But only now, as her brother and the strongest being she’d ever beheld lay bleeding and incapacitated around her, she finally knew, finally understood what it was Noctua had been trying to tell her from the moment she’d met him. You cannot hope to win unless you know yourself. And to know yourself, you had to know and respect your own limitations. At this very moment, she knew exactly where her own limitations lay. She only regretted they reduced her to moving half a foot forward with every single agonising pull.

Clank. She could almost reach the gun now. At the same moment, she felt the psoglav lowering its shaggy head as its huffing breaths grew louder behind her, and she realised the monster would go for a bite now, likely considering her too weak to fight back effectively. She was tempted to simply outstretch her hand and grab the weapon from here, but that might grab the beast’s attention and cause it to immobilise her single healthy arm before she had the chance to turn around. Instead, death barely a meter from her, she made her body pull itself forward one more time, tears of pain filling her eyes as she laid her pierced chest against the cold, wet floor. Now, if only her hand remained responsive enough…

Clank. The psoglav gave a muffled bark, and as thin knots of spit stained her back, Tanya knew the monster was getting ready to bite into her nape and crush her spinal cord. She had no time left to aim. She barely had the strength to turn around. How many bullets did she have left? She couldn’t let that stop her though. The same instant she felt warm breath tickle her hair from behind, she roared with pain, shot her left arm out, grabbed the revolver and, cocking the weapon as she turned on her back, blindly extended her hand, hoping to point at something, anything vital when she stopped. The same moment Tanya had fully rolled onto her back, she felt intense pain in her left elbow, and perceived that fully half of her hand, revolver included, had vanished within the half-mushed snout of the beast behind her, a handful of broken fangs raining down on her face as she did so. The creature was evidently surprised, but before it ever had the chance to fully process what had just happened, Tanya snarled and pushed her hand deeper inside, content to feel the tip of the muzzle pressing against the fleshy interior of the psoglav’s throat.

“Blei schluckst,” Tanya murmured whilst the psoglav’s lone eye widened in shock as it understood what would happen. As she felt its fangs increasing their pressure against her elbow, Tanya Eisenstein pulled the trigger of the revolver. Was it four, five or six?

A geyser of blood, bone and fur erupted within the cramped space of the office, as the psoglav’s head positively exploded from the back, annihilating at least half of its brain within an instant. Its eye remained fixed on Tanya, disbelief and panic forever etched within its dilated pupil, even as focus slowly escaped from within it and the girl could feel the full mass of the enemy’s dead weight pressing down against her, even as blood and brain rained down on her face in a mockery of spring rain. With her last remaining strength, Tanya knocked the falling corpse aside and withdrew her hand from the psoglav’s mangled snout, hissing in pain as the monster’s still sharp fangs tore deep gashes within the tendons of her forearm. She tried to at least sit, but she found neither of her hands had the strength to support her any longer, and thus, she simply lay on her back, the revolver still in her hand, though she could feel well enough that the bullet which had saved her life just now had been the last one contained within the weapon.

Of course, the three remaining psoglavs had no way of knowing that for certain, and seeing the messy demise of yet another comrade they had surely considered victorious made them pause in their approach, licking at their snouts and barking at Tanya in irritation. Two were already heavily wounded, one was missing a hoof and the other had been badly slashed by Noctua, and even the third one had a nasty scar running across its snout, but Tanya retained no illusions about her current predicament. She’d used her last ace in the hole. She’d cheated her way to as much time as she would ever get. The moment any one of the psoglavs resolved to make a move and found she would not shoot, she would be dead meat. Worst of all, she no longer had the strength necessary to think of doing anything else. She was wounded, winded and thoroughly depressed. She no longer saw a way out. The only thing she could do now was drag the psoglavs’ attention to herself, make certain they’d kill and eat her first and buy Torsten and Noctua a little more time before help arrived. Certainly…

Just as she wondered what kind of insult stood the best chance of catching the psoglavs’ attentions, all three remaining monsters suddenly raised their heads and began sniffing at the air, exchanging looks of surprise as they did so. Before Tanya could register whatever might have piqued their fancy, the healthiest of the beasts, the one furthest from her, began to turn around, only for its breast to suddenly and extremely violently rupture and burst, its deflated heart launched from within its cavity with disturbing force. As the bewildered psoglav’s legs betrayed it and the creature went down on its knees, a pair of muscular hands gripped it beneath the snout and twisted, literally screwing off the monster’s head before it had the chance to so much as gasp. As its bulk slumped ignobly to the floor, Tanya saw Hartwig Hohenbach standing behind it, wearing only white shirt and simple trousers and fuming with anger Tanya hadn’t thought him capable of.

As the remaining two psoglavs actually began to whimper and wail at the sight of their comrade’s demise, Hartwig leapt at the psoglav missing a hoof, standing on its remaining three limbs, kicking one of its arms with enough force to tear it from the socket before the beast had any chance of responding. As the monster tumbled snout-first onto the ground, biting off its own tongue as its jaw was closed shut with the impact, Hartwig swiftly brought his right foot down on its head, turning its eye and forehead into naught but a meaty crater. At the same time, from behind Hartwig, Petra Spatz assaulted the other psoglav with nearly identical speed, catching the monster by the jaw with both hands and pulling it apart. The psoglav, too panicked to try and attack, struggled for roundabout two seconds, before a disgusting wet crack echoed through the room and the final beast’s body went limp.

Tanya let go of the revolver. She wasn’t sure how to feel. In truth, she was too tired and pained to even feel joy or relief. Overall, she was simply glad it was finally over. She began to feel sleepy all of a sudden, more so even than she ought to be during the Time of Change. Strange that. Yes, getting a few minutes of sleep did sound like the best thing to do…

“Tanya? Tanya! Tanya, don’t fall asleep now, Tanya! Listen to my voice, d****t! Wake up, Tanya!”

Hartwig. Yes, she would have to wake up now. She had a duty to the Alpha. Funny, she had never given it much thought before, but now, it felt like the naturally right thing to do �" to follow the commands of others. Dimly, she understood that sensation ought to bother her a lot more than it did, but in truth she was too exhausted to ponder the matter right now, even as she perceived she was now somehow diminished, as if something vital had trickled out of her along with the blood. 

“There, you’re safe now, Tanya. It’s alright now. Just stay awake and listen to my voice” she heard Petra’s voice just above her, and tried as best she could to turn her head around to get a better look at her Beta. What she saw almost made her grin with amusement. She hadn’t ever seen Petra this worried, this uncomfortable ever before. Spatz always put on such a brave face, whenever she saw her, even when talking to Hartwig. Maybe that’s where Tanya had learned to do the same. To finally see her afraid… It sure is funny, Tanya thought, blinking more rapidly with every passing second.

Dimly, she perceived someone wrapping her right hand and left forearm in bandages. She didn’t like that. The pieces of cloth became immediately soaked with blood, and she hated the sensation of wearing something wet. It reminded her of wearing new skin after every transformation, how it always seemed as though the new layer never would fit quite as well as the previous one. She even hated washing her hair for that same reason, though mom had always made her do it. A girl needs to look pretty if she is to be happy, she’d say. Tanya continued to wash her hair regularly, knowing it to be what mom would have wanted. Surely…

And then, with a snap, she remembered she was not here alone. Her eyes wide open, she tried to sit back upright. Torsten, her brother, what happened to Torsten? Petra could read the panic in her eyes clear as day, and so moved aside to let Tanya get a good look at her brother. As she did so, Tanya let out a shuddering sigh of pure relief. Her twin, though badly mauled and still bleeding from several larger wounds, was once again breathing at regular intervals, his enhanced metabolism hard-at-work repairing the damage dealt by the psoglav’s jaws and claws. Still, he had his eyes closed and his face remained blank and expressionless, even as herr Hohenbach knelt down to check his heartbeat and assess the damage dealt.

“Will he…?” Tanya turned towards Petra, a silent plea echoing from her gaze.

“Both of you will be fully recovered before tomorrow evening” Petra spoke, as encouragingly as she knew, and gently outstretched her blood-stained hand to help Tanya stand. Tanya took it, and though her breathing still hurt like hell and even the slightest movement felt as if she’d had needles implanted within her muscles, she rose, trembling, back to her feet. “Although the same cannot be said for him” Petra added then, looking grimly to the far end of the room. Tanya followed her line of sight and a chill ran down her spine at what she saw there.

Noctua’s chest was still visibly moving, but only just. The pool of his own blood beneath him had spread to an uncomfortably broad radius, though the heaviest bleeding had apparently already stopped. Tanya tried to step forward and approach the sorcerer, but found her feet were still too weak to carry her, and so had to rely on Petra carrying her closer. From this angle, she now saw three long, ambiguously deep slashes across the sorcerer’s unshielded chest, his shirt torn to shreds in several parts, revealing a layer of more sturdy dark fabric beneath it, not entirely dissimilar to standard bulletproof vests. Tanya had no doubt that was what had saved the warlock’s life when he took the blow which ought to have torn her head clean off. Noctua’s eyes were closed and his head twitched slightly from time to time, but apart from that he remained motionless.

Hartwig approached then, leaving Torsten in the care of Martin and Erik, and knelt beside the fallen man to check his pulse and breathing. As he slowly raised Noctua’s head from the ground and turned it to the side, Tanya could see a nasty bruise on the sorcerer’s nape, evidently what had managed to knock him out upon impact. Closer to him now, she could see Noctua’s eyelids twitch from time to time, sharp, curt movements, which spoke of anything but a calm and quiet sleep. For whatever reason, that made him seem more human than anything else Tanya had perceived him doing before.

She slowly turned her head around, taking in the utter slaughter which had been unleashed upon the old office room. Limbs, guts, bones and heads lay scattered here and there, the massive bulks of the dead psoglavs tangled together and impossibly deformed, crushed, squashed and slashed during the chaos of the last couple of minutes. Tanya was not even sure which body parts belonged to the hated Gryga anymore, and truthfully she had no desire to know. She didn’t want to know what the members of the Stuttgartrudel, most of whom were now walking amidst this scene of bloody slaughter with expressions of awe and disbelief, would do with the bodies of their would-be hunters. The only question she wished to find an answer to came to her mind when she once again looked down on the unconscious sorcerer.

“Why?” she whispered, slowly, as though unsure whether words would even come out of her mouth at first. Petra gave her a confused look at that, evidently not catching on to her meaning. Hartwig, on the other hand, seemed to comprehend instantly.

“Why would he do it? For strangers… why?” she asked, her tone growing more urgent as she continued. “Why, herr Hohenbach? What…?”

Hartwig did not reply. Tanya could see an answer trying to force its way from behind his lips, but he kept them locked, looking away from his ward and back to the man lying beneath him. Once more, Alexander Noctua’s head twitched slightly, and Tanya wondered whether the man himself knew the answer to her question. And, what was more, she wondered whether she truly wished to know.

 

Noctua knew he was dreaming.

He had spent enough time studying and practicing oneiromancy to recognise when a man was in the state of dream. It was not lucid dreaming per say �" Noctua could no more command his surroundings and events unfolding than a regular person might when asleep, but he was keenly aware the things surrounding him were naught but dreams. That, naturally, did not mean they weren’t real �" if only one’s mind was real, as some may claim, and dreams were the product of such, were not dreams as real as reality?

No, Noctua concluded, no they were not. A man ought to have power over his reality, and within dreams, all but a select few chosen were less then hapless when it came to their actions and wishes. Dreams might serve as mirrors to one’s life, but a mirror would ever remain but a second-hand imitation of the original.

He was walking through an indistinct, blurry place, nothing around him holding any type of solid form or shape. That didn’t actually matter to him at the moment though. He knew the dream was but a reflection of his own state of mind, although within the dream, he naturally had no recollection of what caused it. It would seem that he’d fallen asleep during an instant of great unrest, what with how empty and disorganized his mind was at the moment. Something at the back of his head kept screaming at him to wake up, wake up and do something about something else, but, naturally, he had no hope of remembering what it was for now.

He looked around, searching for a vantage point within the mirage of his mind, and, nigh instantly, he saw her. She was less detailed than she usually was, her long blonde hair fading and intermingling with the dark-brown of her own jacket, and the sword by her hip almost looked as though it had pierced her due to the lack of detail in her image. Nevertheless, it could only have been her, and immediately, all other concerns vanished from Alexander as he made his way straight towards her position.

As he approached her, she smiled with that mischievous, daring smile which he’d always be able to discern, no matter how blurry her likeness, and her green eyes, as ever, remained sharp and nearly as filled with life and curiosity as they were in truth. That was what he’d fallen in love with first, those eyes, yes, those two piercing emeralds…

He paused momentarily, unsure why he was seeing her now. He hadn’t seen her in a long time in his dreams, he knew that for certain. The only times he saw her… the only times he ever saw her, was when… when he was close to giving up. He remained in place as he realised that, now unsure of what to do, whether to follow that smile to the end or turn away and leave the decision for another day.

“Come back to me, Lex” she spoke, though her lips did not move and her voice came from all around Alexander. “Don’t die without purpose. Don’t die alone.”

“Everyone dies alone” Noctua replied quietly, speaking more to himself than to the projection of his mind before him. This was not actually her, of course �" he’d recognise her power influencing him instantly. No, this was merely a side effect of all the times he’d allowed their minds to mingle, for her consciousness to speak to him as their bodies were allowed to rest. His subconscious had taken a liking to her form, he knew. So did his conscious mind, after all.

“Not us, Lex. We’re extraordinary. We don’t have to die alone. You don’t have to die alone. You don’t have to die pointlessly” his subconsciousness insisted, its smile fading and replaced with a worried frown. “You’re not invincible, Lex. You can’t keep doing this forever. You came close to dying once again just now.”

“Did I? Good, means I likely managed to accomplish something today.”

“Not if you had died, Lex. Not then…”

“We’ll, you’re still pestering me, so I’d wager I’m not dead yet. So long as I’m not crippled too badly either, I can keep on going. That’s all that matters after all �" stagnation is death, don’t you recall? Good grief, of course you do, you’re me for crying out loud.”

“One of these days you won’t be able to say that if you go on like this.”

“Well, on that day, if there happens to be a mirror nearby, I can look into it with a clear conscience, knowing I did freely and well what others couldn’t or wouldn’t. So long as those conditions remain, death does not bother me overmuch.”

“There are worse fates than death. You know this better than many” she whispered, beginning to fade even more, melting back into the blur that were her surroundings, all of which were growing steadily darker. “You know this, Lex…”

Noctua knew what would come next. On the one hand, he was happy �" this meant that he was one step closer to waking up. On the other hand, even though he’d lived through it tens of thousands of times, he had no wish of going through his terror yet another time. Seeing the only light before him, a glistening, tiny rectangle set against a non-existent frame, he accelerated and began to run.

Even as the darkness descended all around him, he forbade himself from pausing, from halting, from looking back. There were times when one had to look back, but this was not one of them. He knew that, if he looked over his shoulder now, he would remain halted on the spot for all eternity. Alexander could not afford to do that. He was sure that, back in the real world, he had to do something important. There was something serious he’d left unresolved as of yet.

He accelerated as he heard the all too familiar scratching of long nails and the disgusting drops of long, slimy lines of saliva, hanging from a puckered, lipless mouth. He heard the scraping of thin, needle-like teeth, accompanied by the swashing of strings of musty, greasy hair, which grew ever closer no matter how fast he ran. Noctua always ran in his nightmares, though no matter how fast or how far he ran, he could never escape the thing that was just behind him. It never spoke, and he knew it never would speak, for his mind had long since blocked out the things it’d told him along with its voice, but the things that accompanied its arrivals �" those, Noctua had no hope of blocking or suppressing. And so, as hectic, aroused breathing once again began to caress the back of his neck, he knew all he could do was run. Run, go forward, chase the light until the body had had its rest and he could finally wake up once more.

If only… if only he could forevermore remain within the light… if only…

 

Noctua awoke lying on a couch. That was more comfortable than what he was used to, but given his splitting headache and sore chest, he was not one to complain. He tried to open his eyes, but the moment his eyelids widened even slightly, his eyeballs began to sting and the throbbing pain swiftly extended into his brain. Given that, Noctua deduced that he’d likely suffered a serious concussion after being sent flying by the female psoglav. The first issue which came to his mind after realizing what had happened just before he’d blacked out was whether the twins had made it out alive as well. Given that he was still alive, it seemed very likely that at least Tanya would have made it. That gave Noctua some, scant comfort, but not much. He shouldn’t have taken the blow. He should have halted the attack, somehow, even if it had meant Tanya got partially hurt. He got emotional, something he couldn’t afford to do nowadays.

Momentarily, he tried to use his power to scan the room, then immediately thought better of it. His brain was still in a tumultuous state, and he’d overused his power when fighting the psoglavs. Constantly switching from one brain to another, eliminating himself partially or completely, entering into minds on the verge of death, minds so alien to those of humans �" it was all exceptionally difficult to pull off.

The twins’ disappearance didn’t help it either. He’d used up far more ammunition and resources than he’d originally intended. Ah well, he had projections which considered unpredictable expenses over the course of the next three months. As he thought on that fact, he tapped his hand across his chest, trying to see whether any of his flasks and potions might have been crushed. All he could feel, however, were thick bandages wrapped across his breasts in several layers. He hoped the werewolves hadn’t gone through his inventory. That would be… most unfortunate.

With a huff, Noctua forcefully pushed himself onto the couch, its smooth sheet pleasant to the touch, and he realised just how long it’d been since the last time he’d been without gloves for no particular reason. He tried to sit as straight as was possible, then carefully began to caress the areas of his chest which stung the most whenever he moved. Two ribs broken, but not too badly. The amount of blood indicated a long but relatively shallow scar from below the right breast to the left n****e. Based on the amount of bleeding, Noctua supposed the ribcage took the brunt of the blow, and he doubted any of his organs had been overtly damaged. That was good �" it meant he was not a cripple yet.

Next, he slowly pressed his fingers against the back of his head. The size of the bruise on his left temple was frankly disturbing, but upon closer inspection, although gritting his teeth in agony, Noctua concluded his skull was in one piece. It was in times like this that he was grateful he always kept a short haircut. It made it easier to find new scars once they appeared.

Finally, he carefully pointed his index fingers at his still shut eyeballs and slowly, patiently began to massage his eyes, controlling his breathing as he did so. Eyes were important to every sorcerer, but particularly for telepaths. They were the fastest shortcuts towards the brain, and any mage worth his salt knew to keep his eyes in top shape, for both offensive and defensive purposes. Rubbing and massaging them for thirty seconds straight, Noctua finally, slowly, opened his eyes.

He was very evidently in one of the upper-level rooms of the Heiligtum, that much was clear from the architectural design and decorations surrounding him. The window was open and a soft breeze was blowing, one pleasant to the senses despite the chill of the morning. Noctua assessed himself fully then, and saw that his sensual observations had been largely correct. The werewolves had stripped him completely as far as chest and torso were concerned, but they didn’t seem to tamper with his trousers or even socks. Good, that meant it should still be there…

Alexander was slightly tempted to use the bezoar, but quickly thought better of it. The bezoar was for near-fatal injuries only. It would allow him to recover from these wounds within a day, true, but he could not afford to use it willy-nilly. He’d simply have to endure the pain and pray that his next contract was not as physically demanding. Instead, he took out the small can of tassalfur, opened it and began to spread the pleasantly-smelling ointment all across his chest. It wouldn’t soothe the pain, but it would greatly increase the healing capabilities of his body. Still, he carefully only dipped the tips of his fingers into the can for every brush. No point in wasting some of the substance on a layer too thick.

He wondered where Huginn had gone. He half expected the raven to show just as he thought the notion, to fly through the window and perch itself on the opposite chair, but nothing of the sort happened. His head still hurt too much for Noctua to be able to discern anything about his surroundings, and the bird’s possible absence queerly disturbed Noctua in a way.

A soft knock came from the door behind him, the person knocking evidently unsure of whether Noctua was awake or not. The sorcerer sighed, looking for something to put on himself, then concluded he would not be afforded such luxury and simply replied “Come in.”

Noctua had no doubts it would have been Hartwig who’d enter the room first �" apart from being the Alpha, he was likewise the only werewolf who could stand Noctua’s presence for any particular period of time. Which is why he was surprised that, after Hartwig, Petra Spatz and Erik Grautener entered as well. Petra had a guarded, stiff bearing to herself, one which spoke of indecision and discomfort, whilst Erik put on a convincing yet nevertheless palpably fake façade of suave ease and elation. Noctua could not discern the reason for this behaviour, nor what lay beneath Erik’s act, and for now, he was too tired to care.

As for the Alpha himself, Hartwig looked even more tired than Noctua was feeling, and unusually flustered as well. If he had to take a wild guess, Alexander would chalk that down to exposure to combat after a prolonged period of time. He was certain Hartwig at least would have been amongst those who’d dispatch the remaining psoglavs, and the spilling of blood by his own hand, for what could possibly be his very first time, would likely not have been beneficial in his evening transformation. Hohenbach sat down on the chair opposite Noctua, Petra slowly seating herself beside him, whilst Erik walked around his seniors and leaned back against the open window, looking out to the street below.

“How are you feeling?” Hartwig began, adjusting his fake glasses as he did so.

“Like I was slapped across a room by a massive clawed hand” Noctua replied, extending and retracting his hands as he did so. It hurt, naturally, but not as badly as he’d feared at first.

“From what Tanya tells us, that is pretty much what happened. She also said that, had you not interfered, her head would have likely been sent flying instead of you. For that, I cannot express my gratitude enough, although I would have found it preferable had you not taken the Eisensteins with you at all. That was, after all, my order to them.”

“I cannot speak for their insubordination, you’ll have to talk that one out with them personally. I did what I deemed would be most beneficial for them, and I stand by my decision.”

“For them? Not for your own investigation?” Hartwig quizzed, raising an eyebrow.

“As much as they proved themselves to have the potential to be helpful in stressful situations, overall they were a chaotic variable in my undertakings. The reason I allowed them to aid me was for their sake, not my own” Noctua replied, steepling his fingers and giving them a good crack. “How are they?”

“Both alive, largely thanks to you. Torsten is significantly worse off and Tanya won’t be able to use her right hand for at least the following week, but none of the damage they endured is likely to be permanent. They’re still young, their bodies are still evolving. They’ll go through many more transformations before their wounds begin to leave scars. I’d hope by that time, they won’t receive any other wounds.”

“So would I. Which, incidentally, is why I allowed them to stay by my side. I know you probably have issues with that decision, Hartwig, and I can assure you I did not make it lightly. I realize that, for all my planning, taking them along was a tall order. Perhaps I ought to have gone about it in a different manner. But I fully believe they would have ruined their mental health had you left them bound in place. You know how fragile mental stability is with your kind.”

“Indeed I do. I also know that you have a personal interest in this matter, Noctua. Erik knows as well, and I have decided to share it with Petra. So, honestly, tell me this �" did you act purely selflessly when making this decision?” Hartwig asked, and though there was no anger within his voice, Noctua still felt as though he’d been slapped across the face. Silence spread through the room then, heavy and oppressive, as Noctua looked away from the werewolves, contemplating his actions. Had he truly been as neutral with his actions as he wanted to believe? Subconscious thought process was not a thing to be underestimated, he knew. At the same time, he thought himself wise enough not to expose innocents to danger for his own personal benefit…

In the end, he looked back at Hartwig and loosened slightly, in a gesture of defeat partly admitted. “I could not tell you for certain. Regardless, my motivations do not change the nature of past events. Which, come to think on it, I will need some catching up on. How many were still alive when you arrived?”

“Three, though two only barely. You did them in well, I have to give you that, Czech. The moment Hartwig and Petra wrung their necks, they were barely standing and taken completely off guard. Not only did we not lose anyone in the fight, but the only blood I got on me was from carrying off the corpses” Erik commented, looking back at Noctua with something distantly approaching acknowledgment.

“What did you do with the bodies?” Noctua continued, trying to find where Huginn had gone off to. It was unusual for him not to show up just yet, and Noctua had a bad feeling about the raven’s absence.

“You didn’t help us with deflating the wheels on the truck, you know. That thing was ideally sized for us to take the corpses away and burn them at a secure location. We were forced to exchange the tires on the spot, and believe you me, that was not an easy thing to do” Petra snorted, though Noctua noticed her tone was not nearly as biting and irritable as when last the two had spoken. “We loaded all of them into the thing eventually, the hag and the bodyguard included, as well as any bones of their victims we managed to locate, and then unloaded and burned them some kilometres away from the city, on a secure location. Martin has decided to dispose of the truck and remove a few bits beforehand so that no one will ever know who it used to belong to. He assures me all the corpses have been destroyed and the remains dumped into a landfill. Unless they’re really determined, no one will ever find a trace of the pack.”

“Did you by chance retrieve the equipment I discarded during the fight?” Noctua asked, allowing a measure of hope to creep into his tone. He would really hate to have to return to the warehouse and search for his things there.

“We have your shotgun, if that’s what you’re asking, as well as your revolver and other pistols. Your sword I entrusted to Tanya, she demanded she’d return it to you personally. As for your clothes, your shirt and the vest beneath it have both been torn to shreds, though your jacket seems to be fine. We kept it, along with all your other possessions, in here when Hartwig bandaged you up. And just as we were leaving, I found this” Erik spoke, taking out a small, oval object from his pocket and throwing it to Noctua, who, for all his pain, managed to catch it in mid-air. It was his hihi'irokane, amazingly enough, although completely void of a charge. No matter, he’d begin recharging it soon enough. This at least meant he wouldn’t have to return to the warehouse for the time being.

“My gratitude, Erik” Noctua spoke in the werewolf’s direction, though Erik seemed to no longer pay him any mind, refocusing back on the streets below, his head lowered in unknowable contemplation. Noctua returned his attention to Hohenbach then.

“You need to double check your connections. You’ve had a leak, or at least have created the potential for one. The Euphoria don’t yet know whether you exist for certain, and my little stunt ought to draw attention away from you for now, but I’d plug those holes in the making, just to make certain.”

“I’ve already begun investigating how the leak might have occurred. I highly doubt we have a traitor amidst our acquaintances, but anything is possible. Perhaps we simply became too careless for a while, let it slip we’re acquiring too much blood at once. I’ll look into and, if need be, take sufficient measures to “plug those holes”, as you say. Either way, I am hoping your performance in the warehouse will buy us a bit of time to do that. It is, after all, what you wanted, isn’t it?” Hartwig frowned, caressing his beard as he contemplated.

“That was the idea,” Noctua affirmed, trying to stretch his back as best he could, wincing in pain immediately. “What of von Weide?” he asked, truthfully worried for the young man’s life. The Stuttgartrudel could not openly accept someone who’s identity had been leaked to the world, but Noctua knew that, sooner or later, if his condition went untreated, Kaspar would be a tragedy waiting to happen.

“I’ve thought long and hard on that one, truth be told. On the one hand, the enemy’s last information suggest that Kaspar did not actually know about our existence, nor was he connected to us in any way” Hartwig replied, his tone ominous. “That, of course, is no longer the case, but even so, our enemy doesn’t have a reason to suspect he’d learned anything new. Initially, therefore, I’d considered simply teaching the man all he needed to know and cutting all attachments. It would be the safest policy. But then, I realized-”.

“- that he is connected to Freuda. And now that Knuster is dead, the vampires are likely going to try and wipe away anything that might tie them to Stuttgart. They have been actively trying to frame Kaspar, so they’ll fear that whoever went after their operatives will be pointed in his direction” Noctua concluded, grimly.

“Quite so. Besides, he is a werewolf, a lone one at that. You know how vampires adore our kind, I’m sure. Therefore, I cannot afford to simply let him be, Noctua. He’s become a risk to our community once again, albeit of a different sort. Therefore, I’ve spoken with him and explained the situation as best I could. For appearances’ sake, so that it does not coincide too glaringly with Knuster’s death, he will continue on living in his house for a week or so, and make one or two appearances in public so that there can be no mistake about his presence within the city. Naturally, I’ll have someone guard him all the while, just in case, but I doubt they’ll be able to strike back at us so soon after losing their team. After that, we’ll take him into hiding, into one of my safehouses. He’ll spend there the better part of the next year, possibly more if the situation requires. Depending on how it progresses, I might be able to forge him a new identity, though I fear it’ll mean forfeiting much of his monetary assets and possessions. I made as much clear to him, and he agreed almost immediately.”

Hartwig paused in his speech then, looking from Noctua to Petra with a sad smile, albeit his words were still addressed to Alexander. “I have to say, I am very glad you did not kill him, Noctua. Despite his haggard appearance, he seems like a good-hearted person. His genuine relief at the realisation that he was not, in fact, alone in the world almost brought a tear to my eye, and he’s eager to learn and best his condition. To think he’d managed to go six months without a single drop of blood and not go insane… well, that’s quite something, I must admit.”

“Well, I simply try not to repeat the mistakes I’ve made in the past. If there’s anyone you ought to thank, thank von Weide for being a quick thinker despite his lack of understanding. Had he not guessed what had happened to him after the first transformation, you might have had a whole lot more corpses on the streets a lot sooner.”

“So, what happens now?” Petra chimed in, leaning forward in her seat.

“Now? Well, now our business is concluded, as far as I’m concerned. I owe you a favour for protecting me and finishing my job for me, a favour you can feel free to call in at any time, Hartwig. Apart from that, there is no further need for interaction between us. The moment I get dressed, I’ll go inform the mayor of successful termination of all threats, collect my reward and leave the city.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Is there anything else I forgot to do?”

“For starters, you could explain why you really decided to take us along?” Tanya’s voice echoed from behind him, accompanied by the creak of opening doors. Noctua looked straight at Hartwig in that moment, then to Erik, then to Petra, and finally he understood. That blow to the head must have really knocked all sense out of him so as to not have recognised such an obvious ploy. Sloppy.

He gave Hartwig a quizzing look at that. What possible reason might the Alpha have to try and reveal the truth right now? What good would it do to anyone? Was it a way of punishing Noctua for going behind his back? No, that was certainly not it, Hartwig was not petty enough to do that. Did Tanya force the confession out of him? Noctua could barely imagine her achieving such a feat, so he went ahead and discarded the possibility. What else could there have been behind this decision? Hartwig replied by looking away, as though refusing to give Noctua any hint of an answer. Sighing, Noctua turned around to look at his newest visitors.

Tanya was wearing a simple shirt with short sleeves, meaning the bandages wrapping around her right hand were clearly visible all the way up to her elbow. Clutched in her hands she carried Noctua’s blade, sheathed and cleaned of the bloody muck. Though walking seemed to give her no trouble, Noctua did notice she would step a lot softer with her left foot than with her right �" a consequence of the stab wounds in her torso, he suspected. Huginn was perched on her right shoulder, eliciting a relieved caw the moment he saw Noctua, something that made the sorcerer smile slightly, despite the situation.

The smile vanished the moment he saw Torsten enter behind Tanya. The boy was a mess, panting even after a handful of steps forward, thick layers of bandaging evident beneath his clothing. Tanya momentarily looked back to her brother with concern, but Torsten half-extended his right hand to pre-emptively dismiss her and pushed forward, heedless of his fatigue. His left arm, whilst not completely limp, was suspended around his neck by another string of cloth, and his steps were slow and unsteady all the while. That concerned Noctua, since it spoke of an injury which could well have been life-threatening. Werewolf bodies go through a near-total overhaul during each transformation, healing all minor wounds and growing brand new teeth, hair and nails during every single transformation. The fact that Torsten had retained his injury meant that his organism simply did not possess the strength for immediate regeneration. Both twins seated themselves opposite Noctua, Tanya with Petra and Torsten with Hartwig.

“I said you weren’t meant to enter until we’ve finished speaking” Hartwig reprimanded the twins. “You seem to have developed a habit of disobeying my orders as of late. Perhaps I ought to reassign you both to cleaning duties for the rest of the year?”

“I apologise and accept any punishment you deem fit for us, herr Hohenbach” Tanya said and struggled to perform something akin to a bow before sitting down, though in truth she seemed to pay her Alpha precious little attention. “Either way, I was under the impression you’d finished speaking already, and you have to admit, sir, that our matter is of great urgency. I could not risk herr Noctua walking out and leaving before we’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

“Good to see you can walk, Tanya” Noctua spoke up before Hartwig had a chance to reply, immediately dragging all the attention within the room towards himself. Instantly, he hated that feeling �" of everyone not only looking at him, but seeing him, stripped of his armour and defenceless, waiting to be exposed. He expected, at any moment, for Huginn to reach out to him and say something, but the raven merely leapt over to the couch where he remained seated and made no further sound. That disturbed Noctua more than anything else, but he was too weak to ask the raven anything telepathically at the present. “Torsten, are you going to be alright?”

“It seems so, though the b*****d got me good” Torsten gave a pained growl, rubbing against his chest with the healthy hand. “I made one false step and the f****r was upon me, my arm and all in his snout. I tried to fight back, but the pain was so paralyzing, and I could not reach the eye with my right hand… safe to say, were it not for Tanya, I wouldn’t have gotten off as lightly as this” he said, coughing slightly with sarcastic laughter. “And if it weren’t for you, herr Noctua, I hear Tanya wouldn’t have gotten off as lightly either. And both of us would have likely had our heads turned into scrambled eggs were it not for your chase after us, the way I see it.”

“That does bring up a question, however” Tanya stepped in, her tone noticeably cooler than her brothers, though not with animosity, more so in contemplation. “Why go so far for our sakes, herr Noctua? Why take us along and repeatedly risk life and limb for us? Did you not say that the success of the mission must necessarily supersede the well-being of the operatives? When I think about the entire situation tactically, as you have frequently advised us to do, there doesn’t seem to be much of a reason to make a dash after us and sacrifice advantageous positioning and mobility. All in all, when I look at it in retrospect, you must have known allowing us to enter that warehouse was an exceptionally risky idea. So, why did you do it?”

“I thought I’d made that clear enough, didn’t I? I believe you needed to experience what it is like to take your vengeance in order to give up pursuing it in the future. I felt it was the healthiest course of action in order to preserve your psychological equilibrium. And I think I made that abundantly clear when I first took you on.”

“But why us? Why care for us in particular?”

“What makes you believe I would have done it for nobody other than the two of you?” Noctua tried to deflect, but found he was moving on a slippery surface already. He had found, from a young age, he could lie and mislead without blinking an eye, no matter who the person he was talking happened to be, so long as he felt he was absolutely in the right. Not only did he work hard to supress that habit, however, but occasions during which he felt he was a hundred percent within the right seemed to be growing more and more scarce with every year that passed. Currently, he did not just feel like he was not within the right �" he knew he wasn’t.

“I am not saying you wouldn’t do it for anyone. But you wouldn’t do it for everyone. You said as much yourself �" you didn’t ask for help from the Stuttgartrudel, because you didn’t want to be responsible for their life should they be endangered. God knows every one of the werewolves within this room would have been of more use to you than the two of us. And yet, you did decide to take us on, and not only that, but you actively put yourself in harm’s way and threatened the success of the mission to protect us. Therefore, my question remains �" why? What makes us unique to you?” Tanya finished, and her tone became strained with the last word she spoke, a hint of desperation behind it.

“Sis’, I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. Herr Noctua, he… you know he said he didn’t want to see us self-destruct over this… And he was right! Don’t you feel it, Tanya?! That weight, that feeling of failure… I don’t know about you, but I can still feel it weighing me down. The psoglav’s death changed nothing…” Torsten spoke up, then quietly lowered his gaze as his words trailed off, growing unfocused and detached for a moment. Tanya cringed slightly at his words, but didn’t pay her brother anymore thought, her teal eyes locked firmly within Noctua. In that moment, Alexander really didn’t want to see those eyes.

“Tanya” Hartwig spoke up, quietly, his tone unusually cautious, “I told you… I told you to at least give the man some time to recoup from his injuries. You can’t just ambush a man when he is this weakened…”

“I need to know, herr Hohenbach. I need to understand” she spoke, turning briefly toward her warden before refocusing on Noctua. “I spoke with Huginn” she continued, as the raven gave a conciliatory caw to Noctua. He still wasn’t sure whether the raven didn’t reach out to him out of consideration for his pained psyche… or due to some other reason.

“At first he didn’t want to tell me much. He claimed that, the last time you were in Stuttgart, he was not yet your companion, and had no knowledge of what you had been doing the first time you met the pack. But I know better, thanks to you. I remember” she spoke, “I remember what you called him. The personification of the mind, is that correct? He truly is no ordinary raven, I understand that much. And if the two of you not only communicate telepathically, but also share each other’s thoughts… I found it hard to believe certain memories would not be likewise exchanged.”

The room remained dead silent in that moment, though Torsten’s eyes lit up with interest at that accusation as he looked towards his sibling with a new spark.

“So, I explained my reasoning and insisted he must know at least something of what you were doing the last time you came to the city. At that point, Huginn simply refused to answer. He ceased all communication. I’d wager he isn’t even talking to you now, is he?”

Noctua had to force himself to keep looking into Tanya’s eyes then, even as another migraine threatened to split his skull wide open.

“I only realised this once we were entering von Weide’s house and you mentioned how you knew you could trust herr Hohenbach �" it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know under what circumstances the two of you met, or how you came to earn each other’s trust. I didn’t really want to obsess over that at the moment, but the more I thought about it, the more I put it into a broader context, the stranger it became. What could you two, with your respective personalities and positions, have done to come to appreciate each other so?”

The girl took in a deep breath and shuddered suddenly, as though herself uncertain she wanted to speak the final sentence. Words visibly pressed against her mouth, her throat strained with unspoken words, and a hint of tears flashed within her eyes as she desperately tried to calm herself.

Noctua, on the other hand, suddenly found he was overflowing with a kind of serene, peaceful calm he only ever experienced when he knew he’d lost. It didn’t come often, but whenever it did, Noctua made it a point to accept it gracefully, no matter what it took. He nodded in Tanya’s direction and gave the girl a sad, soft smile. “Finish all that you begin” he said then, much to the surprise of both twins. “Even if what you have started is a colossal mistake.”

“Herr Noctua” Tanya gulped back a couple of tears, quickly looked to her brother hunched forward slightly, then straightened up and once again met Noctua’s eye with her only visible pupil as she asked “How did our mother die, herr Noctua?”

The silence between the room was somewhere between serene and deafening as Tanya spoke those seven simple words. Torsten looked as though he’d been slapped across the face, with the rest of the Pack and Huginn doing their best to pretend they were not present.

“Tanya… what are you… do you not recall… don’t you remember how… how it… how she… how…” Torsten began to stutter, his face shifting rapidly, from confusion, to frustration, to anger, and back to incomprehension all within a heartbeat, his eyes constantly flitting from his twin, to Noctua, to Hohenbach beside him.

“I remember, brother. She was riddled with holes last time we saw her, wasn’t she? She’d lost a lot of blood by then, and she had the most… terrible expression left forever on her face. You told us she’d gotten herself tangled up with dangerous people back then, didn’t you, sir?” Tanya’s eyes briefly flew over to Hartwig, who apparently found it too difficult to return her gaze. “Yes, she got involved with a gang, they got ahold of her identity and threatened to expose her, correct? So, she tried to take them all down and paid the price for doing so. She died a hero, you said. Back then… back then I was too little to properly understand what you were saying… I don’t think I was actually listening to you as you explained to us what happened… I don’t think you were either, Torsten… all I could hear was white noise, all I could see was her… was mom. But now that I think back on it, there are some holes within your story, aren’t there, herr Hohenbach?” she said, looking back to Noctua. “And though I didn’t perceive it at the time �" I don’t think I really understood death back then at all �" as I said before, I do have a very good memory. And I always wondered, whether all of mom’s wounds could have come from gunshots…”

Torsten’s eyes widened as the words hit home, likewise frowning as he tried to remember they day he’d last seen his mother. As his face became contorted with pain, he looked up, first to his sibling, then to Hartwig beside him, who was now clearly averting his gaze. “But if so, why? You told us she died at the hands of criminals, didn’t you, sir? If… if that was not so �" then why?”

“Torsten, I didn’t want you to-” Hartwig slowly began, Petra’s hand placed around his shoulder, but Noctua silenced him with a raised hand. This was his mess to clean up, and truth be told, he felt a degree of relief that it had at last come to this. He stood up, straining himself as his head began to spin, then kneeled down and once again assumed his favoured meditation pose. He straightened his back, eased his breathing let his body relax all the while. Only then did he look back at the twins and began to recount.

“Ten years ago was when I made the decision to abandon the Order and strike out on my own, working freelance as I deemed fit. Back then, I was a lot younger, full of energy and very… well, not necessarily idealistic, but a lot stricter with my code of ethics than I am today. I fully believed that there ought not be exceptions to the rules one sets for himself, and seeing the Order repeatedly and flagrantly break the rules it had been founded and built upon enraged me to no end. That was why I quit and that was why I felt, even more so than I do now, an intense drive to confront and defeat the evils the world’s least fortunate face.

It was a hectic time for me. The Order has held, and still holds, a monopoly over occult work within this world. All the contacts are wired to the organisation, all the reliable information networks and informants are taught to turn to it for help whenever the need arises. As such, choosing the path of excommunicates transfuga meant I had to start from scratch in terms of resources. I’ve spent the last decade building up a more reliable information network and compiling a list of websites and news outlets I can count on, and yet my information-gathering system has holes the size of swiss cheese within it to this day. You can imagine just how much I blundered back when I first started out. Which is why I only arrived in Stuttgart after eight extraordinarily brutal and savage murders had been committed, murders the police could not hope to explain via regular investigation.”

All eyes were turned towards him as he spoke, but truthfully, Noctua was no longer within the room of the Heiligtum. He was back on the streets of Stuttgart, ten years younger and completely alone, erasing himself from the perception of two police officers as he covertly entered the house of the latest victim.

“I was hired by the father of one of the first victims, a young up-and-coming small-time businessman who’d set up shop in Stuttgart a couple of months before he’d been killed. Apparently, he wrote to his father that he’d run afoul of a gang of some kind within the city, who had tried to threaten and extort him. He wrote to his father he would not give in to their demands, and began to look into their members and assets, even going to the police to present his accusations and offer himself as a witness should legal action be taken against them. He was killed after a couple of months in Stuttgart, the first but by no means the last victim to come. His guts were ripped out in a savage fashion, his head had been screwed off of his torso and his ribs were literally pulled apart, evoking the Norse blood eagle practice.

I remember, I found it strange, even back then, for a city as quiet and relatively insignificant as Stuttgart to become centre stage for such violent crimes. Moreover, I knew of no criminal organisation which would stand to profit from a murder so violent and brazen. Most criminal syndicates, if they decide to eliminate someone, either do it covertly and hide all evidence, or set the death up to send a message to those in the know. This, however, was more than a message �" this was a statement, a declaration of supremacy boldly writ in the blood of the organisation’s enemies. What interested me, however, was that the way in which the man had been killed, and the way most of the victims after this had died, was far too brutal and over-the-top for a regular human to pull off. I suspected, therefore, that the reason for why the criminals were acting so boldly was because they had attained access to one or more supernatural powers. That, naturally, meant they fell under my jurisdiction.

I was fortunate. The last victim of the attacks, an elderly city council member, had miraculously managed to survive the attempt on his life, though he was left in a coma from which he never awoke. I infiltrated the hospital and, after spending some time digging through his memories, I was able to extract recollection of the attack from his mind. Though the entire event was somewhat garbled due to the man’s advanced age and unconsciousness I managed to peer one all-important thing from his mind �" the image of the attacker. She was a tall, lean woman with light-brown hair, sharp facial features and teal irises. What I did not notice, or perhaps I merely ignored it at the time, was that she had tears in her eyes as she attacked the old man.

From there on, I acted swiftly. I gained access to the CCTV footage from several nearby buildings next to which she would have had to park her car or pass by if going on foot. Sure enough, I found her in no time. She’d parked her car straight beneath a camera, very amateurish all around. To see her acting so sloppy should have ticked me off that something was not in sync with this case, but I was so focused on preventing more deaths I paid it no heed. I gained access to the police register and tracked her down using her license plate �" her name, address, and from that point onward, it was all smooth sailing. I initially planned to wait for her at home, but I suspected that she might have at least done the bare minimum of homework and rigged the house with an alarm to prevent an ambush by an intruder. So, I inquired about her daily routine and found that she would often visit the Friedhof cemetery, usually in the late hours of afternoon. The cemetery was run down and expansive, I doubted many people would come by in any case. Then I concealed my scent, erased my presence and bided my time.

She arrived right on que. She wore a dark-blue dress with a very old, formal-looking skirt. I recall her hair was loose, she was by no means expecting a fight here. She held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, lilies, tulips and roses. I approved of her choice of roses. Hybrid Tea Cajun Sunrise. I tried to plant them myself once, though they did not seem to appreciate the climate back home. They are possessed of a superior form of petal cohesion to most other forms of Hybrid Teas, in my opinion.”

Tanya and Torsten were now looking at him with wide disbelief, as if they could not quite comprehend what he was saying. Noctua was somewhat surprised by himself as well. He was not one to talk around the heart of the matter. Yet now, in this situation, he found it far easier to prolong saying the inevitable, to give to the urges of unveiling the whole of perfect recall, and he hated himself for it. That was a thing most cowardly, he was fully aware. Slightly biting at his lower lip, he thought through his words and continued.

“I followed her to the gravestone I knew she would be visiting, that of her deceased husband. He was a regular man, wasn’t he? She seemed to be very devoted to his memory. She had passed up on even the most mundane anti-surveillance measures, I didn’t even really need to hide my presence from her, I simply walked with her at a pace, holding myself a couple dozen feet behind her.

I decided to only speak up once she’d stopped and had a moment to have her conversation. Even back then, I would have still considered it disgraceful to deny an enemy a chance to make her peace, even if she was not aware her end would come.

When I revealed myself, I did actually consider giving her a chance to explain herself, to talk. But she recognized what I was instantly, she saw the sword and the ring and she was already quite paranoid by that point. She attacked me without hesitation. In retrospect, it’s not so much that I wouldn’t have been capable of subduing her, but rather that I didn’t want to do so. I saw no point in it. I’d be able to extract all the necessary information from her dying brain and other personal belongings after the fight was over. And I was the one getting attacked. There was not a single reason for me to hold back.

Honestly, I could have barely afforded to do so either way. I was at peak performance back then, at least in terms of purely physical strength and dexterity. I still barely managed to hold my own. It was a narrow fight, I still have a scar to show for it,” he paused, pointing to a now barely perceptible gash on his left shoulder, nearly fully healed but never quite as it was before. He took a moment to compose himself then, trying to find words most suitable for what was to come next. Immediately he admonished himself for trying to mince words and instead forced himself to speak plainly, no matter how unpleasant the consequences.

“I riddled her with twenty-five consecutive shots. She was good at keeping her guard up, and it was virtually impossible to hit her in the head. She even managed to shrug off many of my psychic assaults against her nervous system. True to her werewolf nature, she absorbed damage like a sponge and just kept going, knowing her life was on the line. For my part, I fought just as hard, but even back then, I had a massive advantage. My bullets damaged many of her internal organs and musculature, and when my sword came to play, I knew where to strike to do the most harm with the least amount of force. It was over in five minutes. I shoved the blade straight through her chest and spinal column. She had no chance of repairing damage like that in time, and certainly not when combined with all her other injuries. I knew she would die in a while, but I was not that cruel, even back then. The moment I extracted the information I needed from her brain, I wanted to end her suffering.

That is how Erik and Hartwig found us. They were after me by that point, but when they heard gunshots coming from the cemetery, Erik sped up and was the first to arrive on scene. He reached us just as I was preparing to use my powers, and almost managed to take me by surprise. I was half-expecting another werewolf to be close by, though it is considered a rarity today to find more than one specimen at a time. I prepared to kill him as well before anyone else could show up, but Hartwig intervened.”

Noctua looked to the Alpha then, though the werewolf refused to meet his gaze. “I’d say you ought to be the one to explain how you got to that point, eh?”

Hartwig took in a long, winded breath and refused to look at anyone except Erik, who was still standing by the window. The Gamma, for his part, gave him an encouraging nod, but Noctua could plainly see he too was in no mood for speaking. Eventually, Hartwig looked back to his wards, licked at his lips and continued his story.

“Ten years ago, a couple of ambitious upstarts from the Hamburg Albanian mafia, “Miks” their rank is named, calling themselves the Black Eagles were given the assignment to expand the syndicate’s criminal empire into south-western Germany. Quiet little Stuttgart was the ideal centre of operations for such a task. Out of mainstream politics and housing no comparatively major industries at this time, but still large enough to allow them a sizeable playground for their various operations. One thing you have to know about Albanians in organized crime is that they are showy �" and extremely violent. What few criminal syndicates existed here during that time were completely swept away when the Black Eagles began cleaning house and taking names. The media never overtly reported on this, but it was a fairly bloody time as far as the underworld was concerned.

Naturally, I and the rest of Stuttgartrudel command knew about the general movements within the underworld. With the way organized crime is largely linked to supernatural organisations these days, the Euforia in particular, it is vital for us to be aware of any potential threats we might face. I warned the Pack to stay safe and keep a low profile, and to by no means try and interact with the newcomers unless there was absolutely no other way. But your mother… well…

She… Kristina… always hated the way she was. She hated herself for bringing you two into the world the way you were. After the death of your father, she often confided her fears and troubles in me. I am, after all, Alpha, and she was the one who picked me as godfather to both of you. Kristina believed there was a cure, that there must be a cure for the werewolf state, the world was now so advanced and medically salient that there had to be a way to reverse the irreversible. Her heart was being ravaged every time she saw Torsten after his transformation, it was driving her into deep, crippling levels of depression. She wanted you two to have normal lives, to not have to expect an attack from every which direction, and to not have your development stained by the Time of Changes. She wanted it so much, so badly, that despite my commands and warnings, she became more brazen, more careless, and eventually attracted the attention of the wrong kind of people.

I don’t know how exactly the Black Eagles got ahold of her identity. She never told me exactly, and it didn’t really matter. All she said was she got sloppy and revealed her identity to the Albanians. They had her DNA and a recording in which she admitted her status as a werewolf. I still suspect I know what she way trying to do, but I will not give in to speculation here. All that mattered was that the Black Eagles now had proof of her status and all aspects of her identity at their disposal. I can only imagine how aroused they must have been when they first acquired it all.

In organized crime, only the top brass comes into negotiations with the supernatural criminal elements. A handful of low-level Miks tasked with establishing an outpost in a small part of a large country could never dream of being able to call upon an asset from the Euforia or any similar organization. But now, the Albanians had their own pet, one they knew more than a few ways of utilising effectively. They acted quickly and efficiently, copying the evidence and distributing it to most of the group’s members, so that if Kristina did try and kill them off to retrieve the evidence, she would have no chance of acquiring all the copies before one of them was sent off to the higher ups, and God only knows where they would have decided to pass the information along. It would be a death sentence to try and stand up to the mafia for Kristina, and she found it very difficult to contact me now that she was being observed and followed so frequently by the individual soldiers.

I promised I would help her, but honestly, I had no idea what to do myself. To act openly against the Albanians would have certainly given away our presence and thus doomed not only Kristina and you two, but all of our packmates. Besides, I had no way of finding out exactly how many members the Black Eagles had, how many copies of the evidence they produced and where they had it stashed. All in all, I had to do too much with too little. So, for the time being, all I could do was promise her I would find a solution and allow her to… to do whatever she was ordered to by the Albanians.

That evening, I had learned there was a knight in the city. Noctua had underestimated the extent of my security network when asking around about Kristina. At first, I thought it was all over, that now the Order would surely eradicate all of us, even if we did somehow manage to kill their scout. There would be no talking our way out of allowing one of ours to kill with such impunity. Not that I expected any member of the Order to be up for talks. Still, after carefully considering our situation, I opted for negotiation. I thought that, perhaps, despite how much it goes against my nature to prostrate myself before others, earnestly presenting our point of view and explaining the situation remained our best shot for survival. For my packmates, I am willing to bring any sacrifice, up to and including my personal pride. I set Erik to track the knight down for me and intended to confront him as soon as possible, before he would be able to move against us. Unfortunately, by the time we realised… we were too late.

Erik was always faster than me, and I was also slowed down by the realisation I had failed. I had failed to protect Kristina, and through that, I had failed as the Alpha. I was convinced there was nothing I could do about it now, and that there was a whole host of things I could have done to prevent it. But when I realised Erik was no longer by my side, when I heard him engage the knight on his own, I steeled myself and jumped in to intervene. I could have gone for Noctua’s throat. Who knows, perhaps the two of us might have even killed him. Instead, I tackled Erik to the ground, kicked him out of reach and raised my hands in submission before the knight with a blood-stained blade. It was the dumbest thing I could have done and I knew it. My father taught me never to expect mercy from our enemies. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, just before he fled Brandenburg to establish his home down south. He would remind me of it every single day he trained me, and here I was, flagrantly disobeying everything he’d taught me, throwing myself at the mercy of a person who ought to have had none to spare for the likes of us.

And yet, you halted. You paused and stood opposite of me, blade raised at my chest, but you made no further moves” Hartwig continued, now looking directly at Noctua. For his part, Alexander likewise recalled the scene in characteristically vivid detail. There was blood everywhere from his fight with Kristina, his injured shoulder was stinging and his sword suddenly felt very heavy in his hands. It was in that moment, the moment a fully-matured werewolf, of all creatures, threw himself and his family at his mercy did Noctua, for the first time, fully realise the power he could wield over others without even realising he would do so. It left him almost puzzled back then, so that when Hartwig began speaking, Noctua had to actively force himself to focus on what the werewolf was saying.

Hartwig paused in his story then, looking down on his shoes and scratching at his sore eyes. Noctua understood the Alpha expected him to pick up from this point onwards. He sighed, gathered his thoughts and continued, knowing full-well all eyes were once again upon him.

“I was taken aback by Hartwig’s action on that day. Doubly so after reading through his surface thoughts. I was curious. And probably just a bit fearful. Fear comes naturally hand-in-hand with what we don’t know. I became exceptionally worried there was something I didn’t know about the context of this situation. It turned out that was exactly what had happened. As Hartwig began explaining, Erik looked to Kristina, to see what could be done for her. It was too late. She died in his arms not a minute later.”

He took a pause to remind himself of that moment, as he often did whenever he felt particularly guilt-free. Her eyes were wide open with astonishment and desperate struggle, her tongue hanging open and bitten through, her hands twisted and curled with the final convulsions of pained death throes… It truly was a sight with which one ought to punish himself over and over again, remind himself this was his doing, his folly, a reminder of the most painful sort.

“When Hartwig was done with his story, I asked him for a few details on the matter that I would require, then left the two of them as they were, heading into the city. Looking back at it now, I should have helped with removing the body, but I was beyond livid at that point in time. I had only one goal in mind, only one objective. That night, the dens of Stuttgart’s mouldy underbelly were stained with blood of those I had judged guilty. Though in truth, thinking back on it, I judged them less for what they had actually done and made others do, and more for what I myself had wilfully failed to do, what I allowed them to do to me. I seem to recall it took me roundabout two days to finish, am I correct?” Of course, Noctua knew he was correct, but he found describing this part to be particularly painful and wanted Hartwig to take the wheel once again for a moment. All the while, Tanya and Torsten never ceased observing Noctua, their expressions slowly passing from anticipation, to disbelief, to horror, until, finally, they now wore blank, vacant expressions, save for the intense focus burning behind their eyes.

“I didn’t know what to think back then. If you recall, I sent Petra to guard the two of you, though I explicitly forbade her from informing you of what had transpired, precisely because I still wasn’t sure how things would turn out �" nor did I inform her and the rest of the Pack of what exactly had happened. I anticipated that Noctua would deal with the mafia first after what I had told him, but I didn’t know what I now know about him back then. I was unsure how he would proceed in regards to informing the Order, or whether he would even be successful in taking out the Black Eagles. It was the most intense day in my life, right up until yesterday. And then, early in the morning, he arrived on the doorstep of the Heiligtum and demanded entry. I was not all that surprised he had deduced our location. I invited him to my office, we agreed he would be allowed to take his sword as a precaution and we talked. We talked for a very long time that day, so that by the time Noctua left, it was almost midnight. We talked about all sorts of things as well, mostly pragmatic business talk, as well as plentiful negotiation. I offered my memories more than once for inspection on that day. Through that interaction, we came to �" at least essentially �" know and trust each other, and we reached an understanding of sorts. Especially after what he showed me to have done.”

“And what would that be?” Tanya finally spoke up, her tone deathly serious and uneven in its pitch, her voice cracking like a faulty radio.

“I described what I’d been up to during my absence” Noctua continued, feeling it appropriate to describe this part in person. “I described how I dismantled the Black Eagles within a span of twenty-four hours. Through the knowing usage of supernatural powers or entities for malicious and dangerous purposes, they fell well within my jurisdiction. I had always suspected a larger group of sorts to be behind the murders, but had originally expected the Pack itself to be at the root of the problem. And though my rage is cooler these days than it used to be, I wouldn’t have approached the subject of their elimination in any other way should it reoccur tomorrow. I slaughtered them, systematically, safehouse after safehouse, outpost after outpost. I used the knife �" none of them were worthy of the sword proper �" in every single case, either directly to kill or to decapitate after the deed was done. I wanted to send a message their higher-ups in Hamburg would understand clearly enough. Twenty-four Albanians and their most valued city associates lost their heads on that day.

I didn’t give them a chance to organise. I extracted from the last survivor in every compound all the necessary information �" other associates, hideouts, numbers, and, most crucially, the location of evidence storage, evidence which had damned Kristina Eisenstein to become a slave to their wishes. I destroyed every single file, every single copy, irreversibly and before any one of them could so much as think of utilising it, let alone contact his surviving comrades to commit to their plan. The fact everyone would find out they were killed by a knight would also camouflage any further investigation by criminals or the Order’s agents into what had actually been going on in Stuttgart. The “Kryes” in Hamburg would get the hint that their underlings were using something way above their paygrade, likely in an attempt to increase their own power, and will be happier for me killing them before they drew unwanted attention. The Order, of course, monitored my activities, but I know how to avoid their agents and back then, they honestly put a lot less effort into it. No one else would become suspicious of the city. Which meant that the only one who now knew of Stuttgart’s werewolf community was me.

I thought long and hard about what would be the appropriate way of acting under these circumstances. I spoke extensively with Hartwig about all of that. As he mentioned, we spent most of the day locked in his office, discussing the future of you all who are present here. Eventually, Hartwig’s sensible approach to leading the Pack, combined with his strength of character and the memories I demanded from him convinced me to do what I would come to do more often as time went on �" I made an exception. Technically speaking, Hartwig and the entire Stuttgartrudel leadership were complicit in murder, a string of murders in fact, by failing to stop or prevent Kristina’s abuse. If I am to be completely honest, I still am unsure how I would have dealt with her, given I knew back then what I know now. However, the Stuttgartrudel did so on the grounds of saving and protecting lives �" the lives of their own, whom they knew would not be protected by anyone else. That was what changed my mind and what convinced me to stay my hand. Of course, by that point in time, it had already been stained.”

Silence spread through the room then, thick and oppressive, sticking to all those present like glue. Hartwig looked exhausted and melancholic, Petra tried to be supportive but her posture became half-hearted at best, and even Erik seemed strangely down-in-the-dumps remembering that time. Noctua and the Eisenstein siblings spoke not a word. They merely kept looking at each other, three people who had, over the course of a few days, interwoven their lives more than others changed them in lifetimes. To the surprise of all, it was Huginn, his “voice” sounding exceptionally guilty and uncharacteristically sad, who continued the conversation.

“Noctua gifted all the money he had made from the contract to the two of you, upon learning of your existence. Hohenbach has been using it to fund your education, amongst other things. Alexander shared with me how… appalled he was upon finding out whom exactly he had killed, and he asked about Kristina, extensively, when talking with Hartwig during their conversation. He promised he would help Hartwig honour Kristina’s dream of providing you with a healthy upbringing, as healthy as can be for werewolves anyways. He also swore to never harm anyone within the Stuttgartrudel unless they harmed another innocent human, but forewarned Hartwig not to abuse his trust. He feared, and fears, that should the situation with Kristina repeat itself, the people who would die would be dead because of his decisions, and decided to hold the Pack accountable even should they be pushed towards killing once again.

It was a tough decision. It was the reason why Noctua was in such a hurry getting into Stuttgart. I sensed fear and anticipation in him from the moment he had learned the news. He might not show it, the block of ice he is, but this city holds a lot of meaning for him. This place, and the two of you, hold a lot of meaning for him.”

Once again, no one tried to continue the discussion. Noctua was not sure how many people Huginn had contacted with his latest speech, but he doubted he would’ve left anyone out. For his part, Noctua was once again feeling deathly tired as a result of his telepathy. He appreciated Huginn’s addition, but it had convinced him he was really not yet in a state to use his powers, even if only passively.

“Is that why?” Torsten was the first to speak, and the tone in which he did so cut Noctua to the bone. It was unlike any he had heard from the twins up until this point �" there was neither anger, fear, pleading, curiosity, irritation, gratitude or relief present within it. Torsten sounded… hurt. He sounded injured, mentally far more so than physically, and deep within a part of himself Noctua had long considered strangled and dead, something began to chip away and crack as he heard that voice speak up at him once again. “Was that… was that your only… only reason? For this?”

“No,” Noctua answered firmly on this point. “I stand by everything I have said. I did try and help you by allowing you to stay. I never spoke a lie to you. Although… perhaps, it did influence me when weighing the final decision.”

“What for?” Torsten’s voice was quiet and calm, yet growing louder with every word he spoke. “What for, Alexander? How did you expect helping us would make things better for you? Relieving a guilty conscience? Granting yourself some kind of moral absolution? Well?!”

Even as her brother began to grow ever more restless, Tanya remained looking down at her hands, her expression blank and emotionless even as Noctua noticed tears beginning to form in the corners of her eye. He tried to conduct himself as best he could, not giving away too much emotion yet also making sure to not look completely detached from the surrounding situation.

“I always knew that, no matter how long Hartwig might try and stall the issue, you would get curious about what actually happened to your mother. Had Hartwig created the most air-tight story imaginable, as we say back home, “lies are runts, they don’t run the distance”. I knew that, once you’d learned what happened, there was a good chance you might try and come after me, one way or another. I accepted it. I didn’t want for it to happen, but I considered the matter to be beyond my control. It would, in the end, have to be your decision to make, one way or another. Only thing I could do was hope Hartwig might raise you to be wiser than to pursue vengeance. Though considering how long it took me to understand, I was less than certain of that” Noctua continued, his voice calm and tempered even as he did his best not to sound patronising. He could not say whether he was being successful.

“And then, after all these years, fate presented me with an opportunity to influence your decisions. Initially, I rejected it, as you well remember. I considered it utterly selfish to try and aid you in your foolishness for no other reason than to curry favour with the two of you. But then, when you revealed to me what happened to you two… when I understood… I thought I might be able to show you… to convince you… steer you away from pursuing vengeance in your lives. So that the confrontation, like the one you craved for with those who murdered your friends, would not have to occur with the one who murdered your mother.”

“Is that it? You were just scared we’d come after you one day? Didn’t want to have to look over your shoulder, is that right?” Torsten’s growl was growing lower with each word.

“Look at yourself, Torsten. Look at the state you’re in. That’s from going up against a single, wounded psoglav. Do you actually believe that, even if you and Tanya managed to take me by surprise, I wouldn’t be able to defeat you?” Noctua asked, sincerely, with not a hint of condescension, only harsh truth in his voice.

“We might have gotten stronger one day…”

“That doesn’t matter. None of that matters. I have a lot of people breathing down my throat, Torsten. I routinely put my life on the line. I’ve enemies in every nation in the world, I dare say. Or had, at some point. Two angry werewolves would be a measly addition to that list, one for which I wouldn’t spare too much thought,” Noctua sighed, leaning back against the couch as a sudden pain spread through his back.

“Then why? If not so that you didn’t have to fight us…” Tanya began, but even before Noctua could reply, he saw she knew the answer. Torsten did not, which prompted Noctua to answer Tanya’s question regardless.

“The right to live only extends to those who do not assault the society they live in. By attacking me, without direct provocation, you would have left me no choice but to end your lives. Make no mistake. I would understand your motives. I would certainly sympathise. But I couldn’t allow you to kill me, and I couldn’t allow myself to break my code. It would mean death for both of you. And that was an outcome I was desperate to prevent. It would, in a way, kill another part of me as well.”

“So, is that what you want then? Absolution? For a killing you yourself consider unjust? Is that it? You wish us to forgive you?” Tanya spoke, a sob undercutting her voice even as she tried to retain a firm tone.

Noctua gave her a sad smile at that. “Do you think I am worthy of that, Tanya?”

She hesitated at that, surprising Noctua. He was certain she’d rebuke him without a second thought. It was only then that Noctua sensed something had changed within Tanya Eisenstein. Something had cracked.

“I certainly don’t think I am. It is a man’s duty to carry his sins within his soul for all time. Even if you were to forgive me, right here and now, both of you, for me, little would change. The only change could come if I forgave myself. And that, I will never allow to come about. I don’t believe there can be a point in life where a man is good enough to forgive himself sincerely. Mayhaps that only accounts for me. I would like to believe it does.”

“So what is your motive then?” Torsten asked, for a moment growing slightly less irate than before, the sorcerer’s words taking him aback.

“Magic is a powerful thing, even nowadays. It can heal terrible injuries, allow you to read men like books and create flame from one’s soul. But the one thing it can’t do, and could never truly do, was bring someone back from the dead. The only thing we can do for the dead is honour them. Remember them, not speak ill of them, and carry out their desires if they were noble. Few desires could be more noble than those of your mother. All I want �" my primary reason for trying to help you and protect you, from enemies and from yourselves �" was to do what she no longer can because of me. That is it and that is all.”

The twins’ fingers were now twitching wildly, flicking and clawing every second as fiery emotion raged within their hearts and their teal eyes filled with tears, overflowing from them and staining their cheeks and lips as they slid from their faces. In that instant, Noctua realized what would happen in the following moments, considered his options and, summarising in his mind, gave the twins a warm, relieved smile. Hartwig realized the same thing one second too late. Before he could do anything, the twins leapt forward from their seats, the elder werewolves powerless to stop them.

Within the span of a second, Torsten had his healthy right hand wrapped around Noctua’s throat, squeezing hard, whilst Tanya pulled the sorcerer’s blade from its scabbard and pointed it square in his face, the tip of the blade barely an inch from Noctua’s right eye. Huginn gave a panicked caw at that, but Noctua slowly raised his right hand and gestured for the raven to calm down. He then turned it over to all three remaining werewolves, all of whom were startled and taken aback by this. Noctua met Hartwig’s eyes and, even as he didn’t use telepathy, knew that Hartwig would understand. They were not to interfere now.

“Aren’t you going to fight back? You said you wouldn’t allow us to kill you just now,” Torsten hissed through gritted teeth, his grip tight but not nearly enough for Noctua to begin choking. He knew that could change in any moment. The tip of the blade before his eye wavered as Tanya’s hand began to shake, almost immediately and quite uncontrollably.

“There’s nothing to allow. You have succeeded in confronting me in a state when I cannot fight back. I can barely use my powers, all my equipment is gone and you hold my finest weapon. There is no way I could fight back,” Noctua spoke, calmly, his voice only slightly strained due to the pressure against his windpipe.

“Good. How dare you?! How f*****g dare you?!” Torsten yelled right into Noctua’s ear, which certainly did not help with his headache. “The f*****g gall on you to try and replace her! As if you ever could! To think I actually almost looked up to you! F**k me, am I naïve! She was our mother, you understand?! Our! Mother! My mother! Do you know what that’s like?! Do you have any f*****g idea what that’s like? To have your mother taken away from you?! Huh?! Do you, you f**k?!”

“I do,” Noctua spoke, very quietly. That took the twins aback. Torsten began fuming and raging even harder than before, his squeeze tightening with every second, whilst Tanya began to shake and shiver more profoundly, the point of the blade descending lower and lower with every passing second.

“So, what would you do with the man responsible, huh? What would you do?!” Torsten demanded, his voice growing from demanding to almost hysterically desperate.

“If I were extremely selfish, I’d ask you to squeeze harder and get it over with. You’re looking at that man, Torsten. My mother died early due to decisions I made. But I’ve a duty to die doing something useful, not simply harming my killer. Therefore, to answer your question, I’d release him, and forgive him. Not for his sake, but for my own,” Noctua replied. With those words, a sudden clank rang across the room, as Tanya collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, tears flowing from her face in constant streams, Noctua’s sword now on the ground. Torsten grew red in the face at the answer, his hands too beginning to shake.

“Schweine,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes wild and unfocused even as he still addressed Alexander directly. “How dare you? How f*****g dare you, you of all people in the world…”

“That’s enough, Torsten,” Tanya spoke, her words barely intelligible, interrupted as they were by bouts of sobbing, but resolute nevertheless. Torsten instantly looked to her, disbelief written plain across his face in that moment, his grip loosening slightly.

“Sis’… Tanya… how can you… don’t you… I thought… why?”

“Look at yourself, Torsten. Look at us. Look at the mess we’ve made over the last few days. Look at what you’re doing, what you’re saying. This is wrong. All of this �" all of this is wrong. This is not what she would’ve wanted.”

Torsten’s eyes widened at that, his jaw clenched rigid all of a sudden. “We don’t know that. We’ll never know that, thanks to him!” he yelled, giving Noctua’s throat a good shake at that.

“You knew her as well as I, Torsten. You know she would’ve never approved of this. All she did, she did so that we could avoid this. She died so we could avoid this…”

“She died because of him!” Torsten screamed, the first time he screamed at his sister as far as Noctua could remember. He saw Tanya physically shake at that, but knew to remain silent nevertheless. This was out of his control now.

“And he did all he could to fulfil her life’s purpose. Would you wipe it all away? Render all her sacrifices, all her choices meaningless? Could you do it?” Tanya pressed, her voice strained and shaking yet propped from within by some unknowable, previously untapped source of strength.

“We’ll be eaten from inside out if we do nothing about her death. It’s just like Micha and Priska, just worse! So, so much worse! I �" no, we �" we have to do this. If not, then her death will truly be meaningless!”

“You said yourself that feeling did not go away after killing Gryga! You said it, you know it to be true! Noctua was right all along! That hunger can never be sated! If you give in to it now, you’ll become a husk! An empty shell! I’ll die before I let that come about!” Tanya was now screaming as well.

“Maybe that’s because we didn’t go deep enough! Maybe that’s because we’ve yet to quench the pain of mother’s murder! Maybe that’s what’s at the root of the issue!” Torsten roared, once again increasing the strength with which he squeezed at Noctua’s throat. Huginn tensed at that, but Noctua once again gestured for him not to react. It was not his place to interfere.

“Scheissdreck! You know it is! You know mother…”

“Shut the f**k up about mother!” Torsten roared back at Tanya, his voice almost hysterical now, his eyes wild with fury. “What the f**k would you know about her? Huh?! You never loved her as much as I did! You never needed her as much as I did! You were always the stronger one of us two. And you always will be! You never needed her as badly as I did. You could never understand how it felt to have her taken away when you needed her the most! You get it?! You could never have cared for her as much as I did! So, don’t pretend to understand what she would’ve wanted!”

Tanya looked as though someone had spit in her face at that. She looked utterly astonished, disbelieving, and, worst of all, completely and utterly broken by what she’d just heard. Then, some sort of realisation appeared in her gaze, she blinked and suddenly there was steel behind her irises. She grabbed the sword by the blade, cutting her fingers, and before anyone could act, pressed the tip of the blade against her jowl and leaned in against it. For a second, it looked as though the blade would pierce through her soft skin and into her brain, and Torsten’s hands began to shake uncontrollably as he saw his sister do so.

“I will die before I let you become like this. You hear me? I will drive this blade through my skull if you do not release Alexander Noctua right now and never come after him again! I will not see my brother become a monster! Do you understand?! I will either save you, or die f*****g trying! So, make your choice, quickly! Do it!” she yelled, a trickle of blood beginning to flow down the steel as she did so.

For a moment which seemed an age, the room fell, once again, into complete silence. Then, slowly, deliberately, Torsten, panting, wheezing and fuming with barely suppressed rage, slowly removed his hands from around Noctua’s throat. He took a step back then, looked to his sister, then to the sorcerer, and spoke.

“I’ll let you leave today. If you ever return to Stuttgart, I will kill you. Today, out of respect for my mother, and as gratitude for saving my sister’s life, I’ll let you go. But if our paths should ever cross, I will rip out your heart.” He then turned to Tanya, fires burning behind his eyes, as he said “You disgust me, Tanya. To the core.” And with that, he fled from the room, storming out before anyone had had the chance to respond to him.

Tanya began to shake uncontrollably, a new round of sobs and gasps wracking her body as she realised the full extent of what she’d brought about. Petra rushed over to her, enveloping her in her arms and beginning to quietly whisper in her ear. Noctua, meanwhile, pressed a hand against the spot where Torsten had been squeezing him, slowly massaging the place so that it did not become too cramped. Huginn and the male werewolves watched the scene unfold in grim silence.

Finally, Tanya beckoned for Petra to move away. Shaking and panting, she nevertheless stood on her own two feet and straightened herself as best she could, making Noctua refocus fully on her. He sensed the girl had yet more things to get off her chest, and the least he could to was pay attention when she did so. Tanya picked up the sword and, wiping off the few drops of blood present on it, sheathed it back into its scabbard.

“I…” she began, her voice shaking, the firmness which had allowed her to threaten suicide now as gone as the spring breeze. Noctua gave her all the time she’d need to say whatever she might need to.

“I can’t forgive you, herr Noctua. I don’t… I can’t find the strength to do so. I don’t have it in me…” she stated, averting her gaze as she did so. “But… I don’t… I don’t want to pursue vengeance against you. I don’t believe it’d make mother happy. I don’t believe it’d make me happy. I can never forgive you for killing her, I know that much. But I can also never forget you saving me and Torsten, or helping me open my eyes to the truth. Honestly… I don’t know what I’m to do now. I find I… I no longer trust my judgement as I once did. I only know that without you, I would be much happier than I am now… and I would be dead several times over, physically and mentally. I’ve no idea what to do with that. Therefore, I ask that you leave my city. I want you to leave Stuttgart and, if you ever have to come back, keep out of my sight and out of the Heiligtum. Your being drives me insane, and I wish to resolve what I feel and believe before that happens. Can you do that for me?” she asked, her plea stained with suppressed despair.

Noctua would not lie to her, not even when she might need to hear a lie for comfort. “I cannot make such a promise. All I can promise you is that I will never seek your company of my own volition, and will do all I can to never meet you again after this day. But I would never dare ask for your forgiveness. And I have no desire to cause you pain. After today, I will leave Stuttgart and do my utmost to never return, nor influence your life in any other way. Will such a promise suffice?”

Tanya gave a sad, weak sob at that. Noctua suddenly grew afraid that, despite the fact Tanya successfully chose to forsake vengeance, the victory might have come at too great a cost. He worried that the girl might now no longer have the strength to carry out the second, more important part of such victory �" to choose life.

Finally, however, she nodded and extended her hand, presenting Noctua with his longsword. The sorcerer bowed his head as he took it, and could almost hear as the gathered tension of all others present slowly dissipated from the room. 

“However,” Noctua added quietly, prompting Tanya’s only visible eye to once again refocus on him. “I do have one request as well.”

 

Klaus-Peter Stolz was not having a good day. For one thing, it was Monday. All Mondays were bad days, by default, as every single working man could attest. For another, he had allowed himself to hope. Hope that, after two consecutive nights devoid of an attack on the streets, breaking the pattern from the previous rows of attacks, peace might finally and permanently return to the streets of his city. Hope was a dangerous thing. That was one of the first things any politician learned very early on. Much healthier was to rid yourself of pleasant expectations. And Klaus worried he’d allowed it to lead him astray nevertheless.

It was the third day since he’d last seen the mysterious contractor calling himself Alexander Noctua, and in that time, he hadn’t heard a word of his whereabouts and hadn’t received any sort of message from the man himself. The last time anyone saw him was walking down the main streets of Stuttgart, and, if rumours were to be believed, he might have been carrying some kind of stick or another similar object with him as he did so. After that, he could find no word of what had become of the man. It was like he vanished into thin air.

And with him vanished the attacks upon his citizens. When on the first eve after Noctua’s departure no bodies turned up in the streets, Klaus grew cautiously optimistic. And when no attack came a day after that as well �" something which had never happened before during a streak �" Klaus began to hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been made a full of. Maybe, just maybe, this bizarre man actually knew what he was doing.

But the silence troubled him greatly. He had no idea how the situation could have been unfolding, what might have been going on behind the scenes, or whether Noctua had had any effect on the matter in truth. His worst fear was that, perhaps, the man was in league with whoever was causing the murders, and that all this had been an elaborate ploy to extort money from the city. Yes, that theory made a frightening amount of sense, and with every passing hour Klaus grew more and more tempted to simply contact the police commissioner and tell him all that had happened. But it seemed as though something always held him back just as he was about to reach for the phone.

And then there was, of course, the death of herr Knuster. Klaus had only learned of the event yesterday evening, and was greatly disquieted by it. It appeared as thought the man had been executed, a single bullet put directly in the centre of his head by whoever might have killed him. Klaus almost spit his drink when he saw the news. He immediately became suspicious, of course, but he could not believe. He would not believe it. To think that, even if indirectly, he might have sanctioned what amounted to a hit, the worst form of vigilante justice…

He had no proof of that, naturally. Maybe, just maybe, the event was unrelated. Maybe Knuster’s death was not the result of his own impulsive actions. But in his heart of hearts, Klaus did not believe it for a second, and it slowly began to eat away at him.

What did Noctua say? Unless he sends a report for three days straight, Klaus was to presume him deceased, was that correct? Yes, something like that. The mayor considered, briefly, whether he could have simply missed the message, overlooked it somehow, but dismissed the notion almost instantly. Noctua seemed far too experienced when it came to negotiations of this sort to send him a message he might overlook. If he didn’t see a message from the man, it would most likely be because there wasn’t one.

He tried to work, honest to God he did, but the work kept falling through the cracks in his concentration, his attention constantly slipping and basic facts and work protocols evading him for no discernible reason. Put simply, he could not focus at all. Words could not describe how much that vexed him. Klaus-Peter Stolz had always prided himself with a healthy work ethic, one that has apparently completely dissolved over the course of the last couple of days.

He was just rewriting a single sentence in a long-overdue formal letter for the seventh time, when a sudden knock on his door almost made him jump from his seat. He quickly tried to compose himself, straightened his suit, and only then called “Yes?”

“Herr Burgermeister? You have a visitor here, and he’s very insistent on seeing you at once…” Greta’s voice sounded from outside, with a tone Klaus had last heard her use when first informing him of Noctua’s presence. His heart skipped a beat and he swallowed hard, unsure what to expect.

“Send him in, Greta,” he called, leaning back in his chair and relaxing his hands on the armrests to seem more composed than he in truth was. Deep down, he suspected he wouldn’t actually be fooling anybody, least of all his visitor, but force of habit compelled him to do so nevertheless.

Sure enough, the man who came into his office was Alexander Noctua, same as before yet different in a way. His step had less of a spring to it, he carried himself with less grace and his expression, while still razor sharp, had a sort-of distracted underline to it, as though Noctua could not get out of the mayor’s office soon enough. With that sentiment, at least, Klaus concurred heartily.

“Contract complete,” Noctua simply stated, halting a couple of feet before the table, his tone just as composed and cold as the last time they’d spoken. “All perpetrators have been dispatched. The chance of renewal is exceptionally unlikely, although should it happen, I will personally dispatch it free of charge as soon as possible. For now, your citizens are safe from the supernatural, herr Stolz.”

Stolz was unsure what he expected. Maybe he should have expected something like this. Just as with everything else Noctua did �" short, concise, to the point, acting as though the person he was talking to knew full-well the other side of the picture. Still, he expected… something else.

Yet he did feel relief, of a sort. Relief that, although bad things might have befallen him, they were all about to pass. Yet he had to keep his guard up. It wasn’t all over just yet.

“Do you have any proof?” he asked Noctua, standing up in his seat though not moving forward just yet. In response, the “detective” reached back and pulled something out of one of his many pockets. He threw it on the table then, the small object landing right in front of Klaus. It was a fang. The mayor was no dentist, but he had few doubts that, should he take the tooth down to be tested in the criminal department, it would match with at least some of the marks found on the victims.

“You can have it tested to see if it matches. You must also know there hasn’t been an attack on your streets for two nights now, in a row. I believe that ought to be sufficient in terms of proof. Then, my payment?”

“And that’s it? Aren’t you going to tell me what happened? Aren’t you going to describe what happened? Who was behind the assault? What I can do to prevent it from happening in the future?” Klaus said incredulously, refusing the notion of being so dismissed by the stranger.

Noctua raised an eyebrow at that, giving the mayor a quizzing look. “Do you want to know, herr Burgermeister?”

“What do you mean if I want to know? I have to know, of course, I am your employer in this instance,” Klaus said, though he sounded anything but sure when saying those words. He kept his eyes fixed on the fang on his tables, proof not only of the existence of some mystical sort of man-eating beast, but quite possibly of the idea that Klaus did not understand how the world worked as well as he’d previously thought. Suddenly, Klaus’s entire life seemed queerly compressed into that tiny object, the proof of his dream.

“Good grief. No, you don’t have to know, and I don’t have to tell you, as per our agreement.”

“But…” Klaus began, but Noctua briskly cut him off.

“Do not misunderstand, herr Stolz. I would like to share the truth of what had happened with you. Part of me urges me to do so even now. But before you continue to insist upon me doing so, you ought to consider what that might mean. There are things which, once known to a man, cannot be unheard, cannot be unlearned. Some doors simply cannot be closed, herr Burgermeister. And, if you do decide to open them fully, I am compelled to advise you that you ought to dedicate a lot of time and effort towards understanding what you see once you do so. For your own good, and the good of those you care for. It’s not a thing for those faint of heart. That, after all, is one of the reasons for my existence.”

Silence spread after those words, as Stolz continued to look down at that unreal trinket, swallowing heavily as he took in just what its existence really meant.

“So, if you insist, I can share my memories with you. Just like when I did it to you, you will see what I have seen and know what I have known. If I’m being completely, selfishly honest, I have an interest in opening this particular door to as many people as possible. Yet that is not, and will never be, my choice to make. That choice, herr Stolz, is yours. Then my question is �" do you wish for it to open fully?”

Stolz finally looked up from the cursed item and met Noctua’s gaze straight on. He saw the question reflected in those two little ice shards, pressing, but not quite demanding. In that moment, Klaus knew he stood before a decision which had the potential to forever alter his destiny. He knew it, he felt it, and he had no idea how best to respond to it.

What to choose? Should one choose? Klaus felt he had to take responsibility for what was done. He ought to rise up to the occasion. That is what leaders do. That is what men do. And yet, no matter how much he tried to press his mouth to speak the words, he found he could not, as though some greater force ever tied his tongue into a knot.

Finally, he sighed, averted his gaze, and replied.

“No.”

Noctua nodded, his expression growing unreadable. “Then we have nothing more to discuss. I shall provide you with a way to contact me, and in case some problems of this sort arise in the future �" again, highly unlikely �" you just let me know, and, mayor or not, I will do my utmost to resolve them.”

“… Yes, quite right. So, your account number and ho...”

“I prefer cash, if you don’t mind, herr Stolz. It’s more practical for me, and I’m also more comfortable with it if I’m to be completely honest.”

“Oh… yes, let me check, I ought to have a sufficient amount stashed in a safe here… if you could just…”

In a matter of few minutes, all that needed to be said was said. Noctua counted his money, explained to Stolz which parts of his business card detailed contact information, then finally walked away from the mayor, pausing to take one last look at the Heroes of Katowice hanging from the opposite wall. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when we first practice to deceive,” he murmured in English, though not quietly enough for Klaus not to notice.

“What was that?” the mayor asked, despite himself.

“Oh, nothing, I just got lost in thought. That painting really is quite evocative, I have to admit. It’s been an honour, herr Burgermeister. I wish you the best of luck in your future. God knows we’d all need more of it.”

“…Likewise, herr Noctua,” Klaus replied, after a brief pause, unsure what else to say. Then he suddenly added “Are you planning on… returning… in the foreseeable future?”

“No,” Noctua replied, turning towards the mayor and giving him a curt bow. “If all goes well, you’ll never have need of seeing me again. Auf wiedersehen, herr Stolz.” With that, Noctua turned around and walked out of the door.

Klaus-Peter Stolz suddenly found he was feeling… strange. It was as though he only now understood the full meaning, the full impact of what he’d just been party to, of the decision he’d just made. He refused to take responsibility. He declined knowing what exactly he’d sanctioned. He might have… he might have…

No, thought the mayor, turning away from the now closed doors. It was in the past now. There was no changing that past. No point in dwelling on it. He simply wasn’t strong enough to handle the truth, he knew that in his heart. He’d do more good for his city unburdened, being able to say he knew nothing of the true nature of its recent crimes. Yes, even if Noctua came back right here, right now, he wouldn’t…

The door to his office suddenly opened and Noctua’s face peered in, startling the mayor more than it ought to have. “Oh, I almost forgot, herr Burgermeister. One final question. What is the best flower shop you have in the city?”

 

Noctua found the place easily enough, although the ride to reach it had taken him some time. As he made his way to the location, he tried to hand Huginn a handful of meaty treats, but the raven remained uncharacteristically grim and sombre all the while, only partaking in the food piecemeal. Alexander had tried to explain he wasn’t angry at him, and that under the given circumstance slip-ups concerning private matters were not an unreasonable mistake, but Huginn took his encouragements laxly at best.

They had parked the car by the side of an empty road, out of sight as best Noctua could. He wasn’t expecting anyone to try and steal his vehicle, no, but force of habit nevertheless compelled him to make it as inconspicuous as possible. After parking, he pulled the small map Hartwig had marked for him and began to follow the path highlighted on it, hoping he had not misread the scale on the amateurishly made navigation piece. In his right hand he held a bucket of freshly-cut roses, Hybrid Tea Cajun Sunrise, their pink and white shining in contrast with the dour browns and dark yellows of the fading forest.

Huginn was flying above his head now, soaring in the afternoon sky one last time before he would once again be confined to the tight spaces of the car, their next ride likely to be a long one. Noctua knew the raven hated the idea, and was glad to see him get as much time to stretch its wings as possible, especially once they were mostly clear of the city smog.

He walked along the scarcely-trodden forest path, leaves rustling and crunching beneath his boots as he went. His side still hurt from the injuries he’d taken. The psoglav had cut him good. He hoped the injury would fully heal before he needed to exert that much physical effort again. Though he operated globally, even then new cases did not pop up constantly. Most of the time. He hoped this break would not prove an exception to that trend.

Noctua briefly considered he ought to return home. Yes, spending Christmas in Liptov was certainly a luxury he hadn’t enjoyed in some years. He thought of how pristine the peaks of the Tatras would look once covered in snow from top to bottom. He hadn’t seen that sight in several years now. And, if he was visiting graves, there were a couple up there he ought to have visited a long time ago by now.

Yes, that might just be what he’d do once all this was over. It wouldn’t be long now.

He slowly began to notice the gravestones popping up here and there amidst the trees. There were only a few, placed far from each other and half-hidden by the fallen leaves, but visible nevertheless. Of course, if the werewolves had no wish of having the unauthorised graveyard discovered by the authorities, they could not make it too decorative or obvious, but Noctua did nevertheless notice the headstones were lovingly crafted, the writing on them clear and concise, and some of the graves still had dried remains of bouquets lying on or around them.

Noctua began to read through the various names inscribed on the stones, as Huginn soared lower and beneath the trees. Jan Velder. Karolina Fasst. Berthold Spatz. Names of the deceased Stuttgartrudel members. The werewolves could not hope to surrender their dead for an autopsy, so burial on official graveyards was usually not an option. Some of them did so regardless of the risk, those whom the changes had left less marked towards the end of their lives. M0st, however, chose the serenity of the Schwarzwald over human graveyards. Noctua certainly knew that, after what he’d caused to Kristina Eisenstein, she could never hope to have her body surrendered to the authorities.

“Found it,” Huginn announced, perching himself on a tree a couple meters away from Noctua.

Kristina Eisenstein. There she was. Her gravestone lay in the lap of one of the large, sprawling beech trees, now unfortunately devoid of its jade crown. It was made of dark stone, and though it was not nearly as delicate or well-made as gravestones one finds in more artificial graveyards, someone clearly took a lot of care designing it.

Noctua knelt towards the spot then, bowing his head and placing the bouquet of roses onto the leaf-covered grave, adding some much-needed colour to the sea of monotony covering the entire area. For all his grief, regret and shame, he found he had naught to say now that he was here. Kristina Eisenstein. Though he’d come to know so much about the woman, he knew he didn’t actually know her, not in a way that mattered. He feared that, whatever he might say, he would later look upon his words as most inappropriate and misplaced, an act of self-pity rather than respect. And so, he simply remained mute, a long monologue only within the confines of his skull, both he and Huginn completely silent on the outside.

Finally, Noctua found the strength to say at least something. It wouldn’t be much, good grief, it wouldn’t really count for anything, but he suddenly felt it would be right to say it out loud, for better or worse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quietly, beginning to hear the approaching footsteps from behind him. “I tried to help them. I don’t think I succeeded. Perhaps I only made it worse. And you know the worst part about it all? I don’t even know what else I could have done to change the outcome. I have no experience in this regard. We spend decades training and perfecting ourselves… and yet we still fail at something as supposedly basic as being human. I’m sorry. For that, and all else.”

“We should never be sorry for the things we have done,” Tanya’s voice came from behind him, subdued and sad, but now even and tempered as well, melancholy taking the place of grief within it.

Noctua turned around to her, standing up from the grave. “And yet we so often are. Fate can be cruel with its little ironies, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tanya was, for the first time, all in black, with a black dress and skirt sharply in contrast with the more masculine clothing Noctua had seen her in up until now. She too carried a bouquet of flowers, hyacinths of many different colours. Hartwig walked to her left, likewise dressed in black, his expression sombre and tired like no other. He carried a handful of bright-red tulips. Finally, to Tanya’s right, Noctua saw someone he didn’t expect to see. Kaspar von Weide, though still gaunt and with immense bags under his eyes, walked with a spry step unlike anything Noctua had seen the man display before. He wore a well-maintained, tailored black suit, which, though it seemed slightly too large for his somewhat shrivelled form, Noctua had to admit suited the young man well. Most importantly, however, Alexander noticed the man’s eyes were more lively and displayed interest in his surroundings, in stark contrast to the mostly resigned, nihilistic expression he wore the last time Noctua had seen him.

“Good to see you, herr von Weide. I’m very happy to see that you seem to have gotten through your last night in a remarkably better disposition,” Noctua called. Kaspar gave him a smile at that, and Noctua realised it was the first time he’d really seen the man display any positive emotions.

“I believe that is, first and foremost, your achievement, herr Noctua. Had you not taken an interest in my plight and stayed your hand, I daresay I’d have spent these hours cleaning up fur,” von Weide replied, not quite smiling but with a far more uplifted tone than the last time the two had spoken. “I am indebted to you, sir, now and always. And though the name of von Weide might not have as much power behind it as it used to, know that our word is as good as it always was. Should you ever need assistance, all you need to do is ask, and I will do all in my power to aid you. And, of course, I have something for you right now,” he said, reaching into his suit and pulling out a noticeably thick envelope, handing it over to the sorcerer as the two parties met.

Noctua accepted the envelope, already suspecting what lay inside, but after opening it and briefly sifting through the bush of purple and yellow banknotes, he frowned and closed it immediately. “I cannot accept this,” he said, trying to make the reply seem as resolute as possible to prevent further discussion. He was unsuccessful.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Kaspar gave him a wry smile at that, holding up his hand.

“Well I never asked for a choice in this regard. This is too much for…”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up at once!” Huginn’s voice sounded through his mind, demanding as only king can be, as the raven flew down from the branch it was perched on and onto Noctua’s arm, giving him a squeeze so tight Alexander could feel the tips of the bird’s talons even through his jacket.

“This isn’t your decision to make, Huginn, I’m…” Noctua tried to respond, but never got the chance.

“Shut up and listen for once already, you bunker-dwelling excuse for a human! I’m sick and tired of your constant need to make things unnecessarily complicated for yourself. If you’re, despite everything, still under the impression you’re too privileged as is and don’t deserve things like this to happen to you, so be it, I can’t cure chronic stupidity. But,” the raven said, locking its eyes on Noctua with an almost comedically dangerous expression, “you’ve got me to care about as well. And I, good sir, won’t let an opportunity to finally dine on something juicier than beef-bloody-jerky once in a while pass up just because of your buffoonery. I deserve a steak. A large, juicy one to boot. Actually, make that five. And so do you. A bit fewer than I do, but so do you. So now, you’re going to shut up, take the money, thank the gentleman for rewarding you fairly for a service you didn’t need to provide, and buy us a nice dinner at a renowned restaurant, or a car which is more spacious than a coffin. Is that clear?”

“But how can I shut up and thank him at the same time?” Noctua asked, dead serious, prompting Huginn to snap at his ear, pecking away at the soft, sensitive skin.

“That joke falls flat with a telepath you absolute fruit basket!” Huginn’s voice sounded exceptionally irate, but Noctua did not let the bird’s antics bother him overmuch. He grew accustomed to Huginn’s brusque mannerisms very quickly after meeting the raven, and by now almost always knew what to expect.

“Your raven speaks true, herr Noctua. Besides, it’ll help me if you take the money as well. I’ve withdrawn a lot of it today, you know. What with preparing for a new life under a new name and so. Who knows if I will ever be able to resume living under my family name. I suppose this is the age when the name of von Weide will finally be forgotten,” he added, saddening somewhat at the implication. “Regardless, I intend to keep as much of my assets as possible, both for my own sake and for the Stuttgartrudel. Herr Hohenbach has made it clear that new means to help maintain the covert nature of the… pack are always going to be welcome. But without you… well, without you I wouldn’t have a “pack” of my own at all. I’m sorry money is the only way in which I can express a fraction of my gratitude �" God knows it’s cliché �" but as I said, I will still owe you, and for now this is the only thing you might want which comes to mind.”

Noctua’s expression became less firm for a moment. Finally, he decided it would be acceptable to take the proffered gift. After all, it might be more vulgar to refuse and leave von Weide feeling he didn’t appreciate his gratitude. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t have need of money. But it was such a large sum…

“Thank you,” he said, folding the envelope sealed and grasping Kaspar’s hand, giving it a firm shake. He noticed the werewolf had become noticeably stronger in the short span of time, his grip now far more reminiscent of the iron vice that was Hohenbach’s handshake. “I simply hope this won’t inconvenience you…”

“Nonsense, herr Noctua. I may have spent my youth wasting the family fortune willy-nilly, but my parents were always careful not to grant me access to any considerable amount of money, bless their hearts. And let’s just say that once I returned after my… change had taken place, I didn’t really think much about spending what I had inherited. Besides, my family helped build this city into what it is today. Even though we lost most of what we once held, I still have more than enough money to provide for my new acquaintances.”

“Truth be told, I never expected you to take to the Stuttgartrudel this warmly,” Noctua said, smiling slightly as he did so. He suspected, though he made sure not to mention it, that the main reason behind this was that, even as he was not natural-born, Klaus’s werewolf sense of familial bonds was eagerly latching onto any group that would have him. Months of isolation and existential terror probably only added to this process.

“Well, I never expected there were others like me. I suspected what happened to me was a singular event, a curse from ancient times which had targeted me and me alone, for some figurative sins of my,” Kaspar almost laughed saying that. “I have to learn to be less egocentric. Nevertheless, without you, I would never have found out I was not alone. A feeling like that… the knowledge you no longer have to hide from everyone else… it’s indescribable, herr Noctua. Almost rejuvenating. No amount of money can ever pay for that.”

“It certainly is,” Noctua smiled, though sadness enveloped him once again as he considered his own situation. He turned to Tanya, who had used the conversation between the two to kneel beside the grave and begin quietly whispering in a dialogue of her own.

“Isn’t it risky? Marking their graves like this?” Noctua asked Hartwig at that, thought the Alpha shook his head. His glasses were somewhat filthy from the windblown dirt, and he took them off momentarily to wipe them clean.

“Not really. Few people venture into this part of the forest, and fewer give a pause to this place when passing through. Even if some do stumble upon it, most people have better things to do than investigate small-scale graveyards in the woods. So long as the city management doesn’t get involved, we’re allowed this small sentimentality.”

“That is, after all, one of the things which makes us human, isn’t it?” Tanya said, though she did not rise from where she knelt. “Being able to take the harder path for the sake of others. For our own inner peace. One of those things which make us human, which give us our right to live. Empathy. Sentimentality. Grief. Isn’t that so, herr Noctua?”

“I like to think so,” Noctua replied, squatting besides the grave to be of height with Tanya. She refused to look at him, and he made no great effort to compel her to do so either.

“Mother wanted to be buried with father, originally. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“She rarely talked about it, certainly not with us. I once overheard her talking to Petra about the topic. They argued quite a bit, but mother was insistent. What you two said �" about her rejecting her bestial side? And ours? When you said it, a lot more things began to make sense. I’d even say I originally didn’t want them to make sense, because then I’d realise, I didn’t have the full picture about her life… or her death.”

Noctua said nothing at that, content to listen to the wind blowing.

“I don’t even know how she met father, or how they fell in love, or how he accepted what she was, and what me and Torsten would be. I know I really wanted to ask her that. I asked herr Hohenbach, but not even he knows.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Is that it? That’s all you have to say?” Tanya asked, though she didn’t at all sound bitter when asking the question. There was a simple, melancholic curiosity, the kind which came when one contemplated the would-be’s and maybes of the past.

“What else can I say? I know no spell which can bring the dead back to life. I know no name of a person who might be able to do that. If I did, I’d speak it instead. But I don’t, so I can’t. Anything else would be empty platitudes, and the dead are best spared of those. I know they appreciate honesty.”

Tanya remained silent at that, in fact solemn silence spread through the entire clearing at Noctua’s proclamation. No one interrupted them. Only a moment later, Hartwig squatted besides the two as well, whilst Huginn and Kaspar, both realizing this was a moment reserved for those who had a connection to the gravestone before them, both withdrew into the background.

“Herr Noctua?” Tanya asked quietly, finally looking to him then.

“Yes, Tanya?” he asked, though he wasn’t exactly paying her his full attention. In his mind’s eye, he was back at the graveyard, the roses lying on the ground stained with blood.

“You said you… you made decisions which resulted in your mother’s death. Was that… was that true?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Tanya?”

“Then how… if I may know…”

“How did it happen?”

“Not that, no… I wouldn’t ask that of any person, unless they themselves wanted to tell me… but how do you… how do you go on after that? How do you move past that?”

“Hmmm…” Noctua mused at that, unsure how to respond. The thing he was most ashamed of in life, though not the one he regretted the most, was that he did not quit the Order right then and there, when they told him of what had happened to his mother. Back then, the idiot he was, he still believed there was hope of reforming the organisation, to ensure that the sacrifices he made would never have to be made again. He was ashamed it took more than the death of his own mother to open his eyes to the fact the opposite was the case. “I suppose I didn’t. Not wholly, not with enough conviction. I’m not sure I ever knew a man who could simply “move past” an event like that. Especially if it resulted from his own decisions. Then, on top of a loss, you have to shoulder responsibility. I wouldn’t… I don’t think I can advise you in this.”

“But I… I think about her… so often… and I’m so tired of it. I sometimes… God forgive me, but sometimes I wish I never knew her. When I’m at my worst, I wish I didn’t know whom I’d lost… and then I really hate myself for it.”

Noctua felt an obligation to tell the girl something, anything, to give her any piece of advice, no matter how shaky, no matter how unreliable, just to make her feel better. He wanted it, desperately, just to make her feel a little less pain. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t know what advice he ought to give in a matter like this, and so he wouldn’t. He himself never successfully resolved his own internal problems. In a way, he simply substituted them for external problems of others. It was cowardly, and he knew it, and that more than anything made him hate himself. For all his knowledge, power, experience and skill, he couldn’t so much as console a grieving girl after hurting her. It was utterly pathetic.

Hartwig put one hand on each of their shoulders. Noctua was surprised by how soft and gentle the Alpha’s touch was at that. The same hands which seemed to only ever grip things in a vice now could have belonged to a man trice Hohenbach’s age, and Noctua wouldn’t know the difference.

“When my father fled from Brandenburg, he left behind him everything he ever knew. Due to their status, our family was not very rich at the time, in fact his house only had three rooms, of which one was a bathroom. Yet he loved that place with all his heart. He’d spent much of his life inside of it. For him, it personified everything that was right and stable within the world, all he could rely on. When he eventually, now all alone, was forced to abandon it, it almost broke him. That happened before I was born, but to his dying day, I saw him perusing stores and markets which sold pieces of old furniture, desperately trying to find pieces of his one-time belongings. He never did.

It’s not comparable to losing family �" his parents had by then died of natural causes �" but he still had to find a way to move past that loss. He used to say that we ought to remember the past, but never dwell on it for its own sake. The past is the past, and not even gods can alter it. Instead, he would say, we ought to look to the past to mould our future. Turn tragedy into fuel, as he put it. He was a mechanic, after all. As far as that goes, I believe both of you are already living by that advice. But maybe focusing on it more could do you both a bit of good.”

Noctua almost laughed when he came to a sudden, stark realisation. It was so impromptu and unexpected, he immediately drew everybody’s attention to himself. Instantly, he disliked the feeling and strived to compose himself, but it was too late.

“What’s the matter, Alexander?” Hartwig asked then, confusion marring his expression.

“It’s just that I’ve realised - I’ve spent so much of my life trying to persuade people there are questions which aren’t worth asking. But I feel that, and more so with every year, I should have focused far more on the questions which one has to ask, even if there are no good answers. If there is something that’ll do me in one day, I expect it to be trying to answer such a question.”

He stood up then, preparing to leave. He walked over to where Kaspar stood, quietly eyeing the entire scene from afar. He took off his glove at that and shook the man’s hand, as firmly as he could, though still not nearly powerfully enough to match the werewolf’s own strength.

“Stay safe, Kaspar von Weide. Or whatever your name will be in a few days. After what you’ve gone through, you deserve to have good things happen to you.”

“Same could be said of you, Alexander Noctua. Make sure not to forget I owe you a favour now. I’d hate if I never got a chance to repay it,” he said, smiling as he shook Noctua’s hand. Noctua had to admire the man’s naked optimism, despite everything he’d been through. Of course, from a werewolf who can retain his sanity after six months without blood, freshly made no less, certain amount of resilience ought to be expected.

“Just make sure to improve your list of favoured dishes the next time around. Because I can guarantee you, I am not going to be available as the main course by that point,” Huginn’s mind-voice sounded, as the raven flew down from its branch.

“Duly noted,” Kaspar laughed.

Noctua turned, letting Huginn seat himself back on his shoulder. He walked over to Hartwig, who had likewise stood up and looked at Noctua with a mix of relief and grief, so characteristic of the last couple of days. Noctua gripped his hand as well, and seeing as his fingers were still somewhat numbed from Kaspar’s grasp, Hartwig’s certainly did not help.

“Once again, I find myself thanking a man I never expected to converse with on friendly terms. Life can be full of surprises,” Hartwig smiled, softly, releasing Noctua’s hand and putting his own behind his back.

“Can I be so bold as to ask for a favour?” Noctua asked, the words slightly choking up in his throat.

“Do you have to ask, Alexander? Out with it.”

“Could you look out for Torsten? I know he must be punished for his insubordination, and Tanya as well, but try not to be too harsh. The worst thing you can let happen to him is to make him grow bitter. Bitterness is a poison even more corrosive than rage. I can attest. The way he’s in now is my responsibility, and if I could I would try and change it in time, but…” he said, looking to the sky as though seeking approval for his words.

Hartwig sighed at that, smacking his lips in discontent. “To be honest, I have no idea what to do with the boy as he is right now. I’ll have him watched closely and I’ll try to talk to him as often as possible. But his fate is in his own hands. The best we can do, as you well know, is steer him away from trouble. But a boy his age, once lit on fire… a pyre such as his burns long and bright, I’m sure you know. I’ll do my best to keep him safe and sane. That’s the best I can promise with a clear conscience.”

“Thank you, Hartwig. For everything,” Noctua said, finally turning to Tanya. The small mountain that had welled up in his throat seemed to increase in size tenfold, and Noctua suddenly found he could not utter a word he wouldn’t later curse himself for. Then, everything he might have said vanished in a blur as Tanya swiftly crossed the distance between the two of them, and hugged Noctua.

She barely reached up to Alexander’s chin, and so her face rested on his breast when she held him close, using just enough of her strength to render Noctua completely unable to resist. Hesitantly, Noctua laid his own arms around the girl’s shoulders as well, and in that moment, there wasn’t a man in the world who would have guessed that the small, weeping creature holding on to him was in reality one of the deadliest beings ever unleashed upon the land.

“Crushing is a crude form of assassinati…” Huginn began, his tone bemused and touched at the same time.

“Shut up,” Noctua simply told him, mentally, not speaking a word out loud.

They remained like that for about a minute, the warm tears from Tanya’s only visible eyes overflowing so much Noctua could feel them soaking through his shirt. Finally, he gave the girl the much-needed question, though he made no move to escape her embrace.

“What’s this for?”

“For everything. For being honest. For mom,” Tanya replied, very quietly, then, slowly, let go and stepped back from the sorcerer. “Farewell, Huginn. It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m convinced I won’t ever get to see another one like you.”

“On that, we can agree,” Huginn confirmed, though Tanya had no idea what a sore spot she’d inadvertently stumbled upon. Nevertheless, the raven answered in his typical cheery tone “Farewell to you too, girly. I wish silly here followed my advice half as well as you do. I’ll miss you, truth be told. Stay safe, especially these days.”

“Farewell, Alexander Noctua. May…”

“Hájny,” Noctua interrupted her.

“What?” she asked, thrown out of rhythm.

“Alexander Hájny. My birthname. Noctua is an honorific. It’s who I am now. But on occasions like this, I think Alexander Hájny would do a much better job than me.”

“Very well. Farewell then, Alexander Hájny. May you never return to this city. Stay safe. And thank you. For everything you told us. And for everything you taught me” she finished, momentarily lifting her wayward strand of hair to reveal her other eye. Teal sea, just like the other one. Noctua found he now could think of the colour with far less discomfort than before.

“Farewell to you too, Tanya Eisenstein. May you find your peace. And thank you too. For hearing me out. And for everything you reminded me of,” Noctua said, turning around and pulling up his collar. In that moment, despite the biting cold, he found the leafless maze that was autumn Schwarzwald quite otherworldly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

As my first serious attempt at writing, in a language which is not my primary, I welcome and encourage any and all criticism levelled against me in the hopes of improvement.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask, and I thought you would want to know, so… Just bear in mind that this is not about talent, good or bad writing, or the story. It’s about a misunderstanding you share with pretty much everyone else—one you need to fix. But before I label it, look at what leads to it:

In all your years of schooling did any teacher explain what the elements of a scene on the page are, their management and necessity, and how they differ from a scene on the screen? If you’re like most the answer is no. But if we don’t know what a scene is, how can we write one that a publisher—or a reader in the bookstore will see as one?

Shouldn’t we know why a scene on the page ends in disaster for the protagonist, and why; what the inciting incident is; what the short-term scene-goal does for you; the difference between POV and viewpoint?

Think about your writing assignments over the years, and the ratio of reports and essays to fiction. If you’re like most people, you’re pretty good at the writing skills that employers need, like reports and essays, but know damn little of the skills required to write fiction.

So there you have it. The misunderstanding is that we think the writing skills we were given are universal, and apply to all forms of writing. They don’t. All professions are acquired in addition to those general skills traditionally called, "The Three R’s."

Since the day you learned to read you’ve chosen professionally written fiction, as has everyone else. So you expect to see the result of the skills of the fiction-writer in what you pick up—just as people expect to see it in yours. Given that, doesn’t it make sense to pick up a few of the professional skills?

Your bio says you feel you have a knack for stories. If so, that’s great. But it’s not the story that will make the reader turn to page two and onward. Readers, on average, decide in three pages or less if they will purchase a given book. And that’s damn little story. So what makes them say yes, or even turn to page two? It’s the writing. It’s that the author has made them care, not just know. It’s that the character seems to be living the story as we read, in real time, not as the focus character of a historical overview.

In this, like about half of the hopeful writers, you’re transcribing your performance of the story before an audience. But when you personally tell a story, be it in first or third person, you’re alone on stage, so how you perform the story is where the emotional part of it comes from. Vocal tricks like changes in intensity, volume, tone, and cadence, combined with such things as meaningful pauses for breath are critical. And the visual aspect of the performance: facial expression changes, visual punctuation, and body language carry large part of the load. But… Can the reader see or hear you? Can they guess how to read a sentence they’ve not yet read? No. Have your computer read the story aloud to hear what a reader gets. It's a useful editing technique.

But in your mind’s eye you see your performance as you read, along with your visualization of the scene. As you read it’s your voice you hear, all filled with emotion. So-you-never-see-the-problem. How can you fix the problem you don’t recognize as being one? How can you use the tools you’re not aware exist?

See the problem? It’s not your fault, and you share the problem with pretty much all hopeful writers. In fact, of the stories I see posted here, virtually all suffer from the effect of our forgetting that professions are learned IN ADDITION to our school-day skills. And Fiction Writing, of course, is a profession.

So…you’re working hard. You’ve demonstrated the needed perseverance and desire. And, you have the stories. To that you need to add the specialized knowledge of the writing professional. At the moment, true to your training, your style is fact-based and author-centric. You’re focused on the progression of the plot events. But the goal of fiction is to move the reader emotionally. Horror stories make us shiver, not know the protagonist feels terror. Stories make US feel the emotions the protagonist IS FEELING in the moment the protagonist calls “now.” And reading fiction no more teaches us how to do that than eating teaches us to cook. For fiction we need a set of skills that are character-centric and emotion-based. A critical point that we miss is related to why we read fiction. And I think E. L. Doctorow put it brilliantly when he said, “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

For a better feel for the many differences between fiction and nonfiction’s approach I’d suggest you dig around in the writing articles in my blog. Then, hit the books, because if you want the best advice always go to the pro. The library’s fiction section is loaded with books by pros in writing, publishing, and teaching, so time spent there is time wisely invested.

My personal favorite is Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s an older book, one that talks of your typewriter. But that aside, it was, and still is the best book I’ve found to impart the nuts-and-bolts issues of writing scenes that sing to the reader. He won’t make a pro of you. That’s your job. But he will give you the tools and the knowledge of how to use them.

So jump in. You’ll find yourself saying, “But that’s so simple… Why didn’t I see that?” You’ll say it a lot.

It’s not going to be either quick or easy because you’ll be learning the skills of a profession. But once mastered, you’ll wonder why you thought it hard. And you’ll love how much more fun writing is when the protagonist begins warning advice into your ear, and becomes your co-writer.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Samuel Šafin]

I apologise if I might have misunderstood the intent behind this review, but I would like to ask whether you have actually read the story I have written? Your review, to me at least, feels far too detached and vague for me to find it of any real value. You do not bring up any specific examples of where I could have made improvements, in fact you do not even mention my story or the its various specific components once during your review. The advice you have listed here, whilst undoubtedly helpful, I have already read many, many times before on various writing sites and guides for junior authors, and to my story specifically, it has no value whatsoever.
People like me ask for reviews not of stories published by newer authors, but of stories published by them specifically. How can one hope to grow and improve if no one tells him specifically where he went wrong? You do not provide a single example of specifically my writing and its weaknesses. Make no mistake, I appreciate if someone writes as much as you, regardless of the subject, but if I am to be completely honest, your review does not require for my story to exist at all, that is how detached it is from it. I would respectfully ask that you point out at least a few examples of what you found to be insufficiencies within my writing, and I will happily take note and strive to improve in the future. If you have managed to find the time to pen all this, I am sure at least a couple lines which actually address my story and its various elements would be of no issue to you. I would very much appreciate it.

[JayG]

Why does it matter if I read more than a paragraph? If the reader (or the editor who gets your submission) stops reading before page three who cares what the plot is? No one will ever see it.

Story is only appreciated in retrospect. In the first three pages there's damn little, yet that's when most people decide to buy or put the book back.

In fact, any writer can spark off story ideas faster than you can record them. In the end there are only seven basic plots, so who cares what the plot details are, except as to how they motivate the protagonist to respond? People aren't reading because of what you have happen. They read because you involve them emotionally, on every page. They read because the protagonist seems real, is worthy of their attention, and because you've made them care about the protagonist and his/her goals. No on falls in love with the dispassionate words of an external narrator who's talking about the protagonist. They want to be made to BECOME the protagonist. And the skills you were given in school are not designed to do that.

I know how hard you've been working, and how much of yourself you've invested. But through no fault of your own you ended up using the techniques of verbal storytelling in a medium that reproduces neither sound nor vision. Fully half of the hopeful writers do that. So you have lots of company. The other half write as a chronicle of events. Neither work for fiction on the page.

I truly wish my news was better, but since it's the approach that's the problem, and not a matter of talent, or even the story, I thought you'd want to know.

If I gave you, or any hopeful writer, the greatest plot ever conceived it would be rejected before the end of page one because you're writing without knowledge of the profession. But a skilled writer can make you weep with a tale of taking out the garbage.

I know this is unexpected and unwanted. I know the story works perfectly when you read it. But you cheat. You know the characters, their history and motivation, and the purpose of the scene, before you read the first word. The reader has only what the words suggest to them, based on THEIR background.

You fill in missing detail and context as you read, so it works. The reader can't.

As someone who owned a manuscript critiquing service, and who has been through the submission/publication process more than a time or two, I'm not giving my own opinions, I'm pointing out the realities of the world we work in.

[Samuel Šafin]

Apologies, but all that you have written is objectively not true. There have been a plenty of great novels, fiction first and foremost, written in the style which I have chosen as my method of choice. Most novels I have read, and that is not a small amount mind you, begin with a slower burn and do not feel the need to explain everything at once, or even for much of the story, since most of those stories operate on the assumption that the reader Is intelligent enough to not have to be spoon-fed information straight away, nor do they demand a slavish, obligatory explanation of every single element of every single scene straight away. There is, in my experience and the experiences of many others, a great deal of joy in discovery and unravelling the story as it goes along, and that goes double for stories involving a mystery, such as my own.
You further claim that the story has failed to grab you from the get-go, and that therefore, it is objectively weak and uninteresting and no one will ever want to read it of their own volition. The second part I can attest is objectively wrong itself, as you are not the first reader I am not personally acquainted with who has been exposed to this story, and none of them seemed to ever mention the beginning being nearly as off-putting for them. Likewise, you have once again failed to demonstrate to me how exactly it is uninteresting, how exactly I have failed in this regard. Which is probably the biggest flaw with your review itself – it is not, in fact, a review.
Even if your principle claim is that the way the beginning is written is uninteresting or fails to tug at a heartstring, that is a perfectly legitimate criticism I would be more than happy to address… if it were actually a criticism. But it is not, at least not the way you put it. In the sea of empty platitudes that is both your reviews, I have failed to see a single example of where I actually went wrong in your opinion, or how I might actually grow to become better. If my approach is the problem, why not take the first paragraph and actually demonstrate what you claim, show me what you dislike and how you might want to change it up? It would certainly be of far more value to me then than it is now, because like this, both your messages can hardly be considered any more than your own personal preferences and opinions. And whilst there is nothing wrong with ascertaining the quality of art with only ones personal preferences in mind, the resulting product, to the best of my understanding, is not a critique in such a case, as critiques deal in concrete facts, comparisons and examples. Unless at least a semblance of those is presented, I have no choice but to chalk this down to your subjective preferences and move on, since it tells me precisely nothing about what I did wrong, what I ought to have done or what I still can do.
As an aside, I took a look at one of your own stories you have posted, Linda specifically. I cannot say I became overly interested with the premise within the first paragraph, but as I have not actually finished reading it, I am not going to try and present you with a review, since I still know nothing about the story and therefore cannot state my opinion or give advice as to how I think it might be better. On the other hand, there have been stories with a much slower burn than your opening paragraph which had kept me interested for far longer, and in this, I know for a fact I am far from alone. Either way, I appreciate your input, but until it becomes and actual review, I do not think there is much I can do with it other than keep it in mind for future consideration. Nevertheless, I do appreciate the contribution.

[JayG]

• There have been a plenty of great novels, fiction first and foremost, written in the style which I have chosen as my method of choice

Your method of choice is to write a report, where fact follows fact and it’s presented not as if happens, but in overview, in the voice of a dispassionate, and verbose, observer. We call that methodology reporting, an approach used for nonfiction.

As for being verbose, you use 472 words before the first word of dialog and character interaction. On what? Lots of it on weather that's irre4levant to the scene and the story. Some of it telling the reader that the protagonist sometimes felt uneasy and didn’t know why. You talk about “murders,” but give not a hint of what you mean. Was someone shooting people? Knifing them? Mangled bodies, or just spots of blood on the sidewalk? Draining their blood? Hanging them in a house or dragging them into an alley? This matters, but there's no way to know because you’re droning on about unexciting things. For example:

• The night was chilly and dark, even by the standards of the ever-windy Stuttgart autumns. It was so cold Micha would not have been surprised if the water flowing in the shallow gutter beside him began to freeze over with an icy cap.

The night was dark? Seriously? Dark is hardly a surprise at night. And since you say that he wouldn’t be surprised were the water to freeze, it’s cold, not chilly. But who cares, if he’s dressed for it? And if he's not he's a fool. She apparently is such a fool.

In fact, you can replace all 43 words with, “He shivered and pulled his jacket more closely around him.” Or, have him turn to his companion and say, “Must be close to freezing.” That would be story, and relevant conversation. Your opinion of the night is irrelevant because you’re neither there on the scene nor in the story. In fact, everything that happens in the opening scene, and all their conversation is irrelevant because they die. And while you report on their action and conversation you never make the reader care if they live or die.

You’re focusing on the cinematic detail the reader can’t see, which is a waste of words. We have two people we know nothing about, of unknown age and situation, coming from somewhere unknown to the reader, and heading somewhere unspecified. Why should a reader care? More than that, were you to make them care, then throw them away as you do, readers will close the cover because you killed someone they wasted the time to get to know.

• Despite being as introverted a person as they come, Micha liked people. He liked company. And, in this case specifically, he really liked Priska.

If he likes company, and people, by definition, he's not an introvert. But that aside, why does the reader care what you think about him. That's hearsay. It's how he behaves that matters.

Again, you're providing a report, dispassionate and meaningless to the reader, who has been given more information about the weather than the ones who supposedly matter. In fact, the weather is irrelevant to the story, which would be unchanged were it raining, or summer, so why spend so much time on it? Because you’re talking about what you visualize as being on the screen of the film version. And in this case, you demonstrated his concern by having him walk more slowly so she can catch up. But now, after the reader sees that he's considerate, you spell it out as if the reader is too stupid to have noticed. Instead of allowing the reader to notice and conclude, which would connect them emotionally, you’re lecturing a reader who cannot hear the emotion in your voice .

And as an aside, she’s presented as walking at a crawl, but a few paragraphs later you literally have them slow down for plot purposes.

• I have failed to see a single example of where I actually went wrong in your opinion,

You failed to see them because you're in the position that Mark Twain was talking about when he said, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

I don’t give my own opinion. I present that of the professionals in publishing and teaching. You’re thinking of plot point and wording of sentences. But your methodology, that of explaining and reporting, is a nonfiction approach and cannot work for fiction because it’s fact-based and author-centric, meant to provide an informational experience. Plus, you waste words talking about visual detail that can’t be seen and is irrelevant to the story. Fiction, as it has been written since the advent of film forced the change, is designed to provide an emotional experience, and make the reader care, and is written with specialized techniques that are character-centric and emotion-based. Use the nonfiction skills we’re given in school, and any story you write, as this one does, will read like a report. You either learn the skills of the fiction-writing profession or readers will turn away, quickly.

• “The second part I can attest is objectively wrong itself, as you are not the first reader I am not personally acquainted with who has been exposed to this story, and none of them seemed to ever mention the beginning being nearly as off-putting for them.”

Prove me wrong, then. Submit it to an acquiring editor as it is and sell it. Should be easy enough…if you’re right.

You asked for comment. Someone you don’t know granted that wish by taking time they didn’t have to, in order to help you become a better writer. In this case, the “someone” owned a manuscript critiquing service, has taught at workshops, and has managed to convince more than one or two publishers to offer a contract. I’m published in nonfiction, poetry, and both short and long-form fiction, with a total of 28 novels and novellas. That doesn’t make me either a great writer or an expert. It does, however make me someone who knows that if you don’t take steps to learn what publishers and readers of today are buying you're writing for yourself.

Obviously, I’m telling you something you don’t want to hear. So with a wish for your success as a writer, and a suggestion that you take the time to acquire your professional skills, I’ll bow out of this thread.

[Samuel Šafin]

Thank you for the review, I very much appreciate you giving me a some very interesting pointers. Had you begun your review with something like this, instead of what you had originally written, I don’t think I would have had the same issues which have presented within my responses. I do believe I still have a lot to learn, and thus, I don’t think I will be publishing anything in the near future. If I understand your critique correctly, I do believe it could best be summed up as being "overly descriptive" or simply too wordy, which I admit I am prone to do at times. However, I still believe it is important to set a scene, to make sure the reader can imagine himself within that situation to the tiniest detail. I am sure there is a finer balance I could strike between immersion and conciseness, and I thank you for pointing out a few genuinely silly examples of that.
Then there is the point you bring up about the murders, and the mystery of the characters. I believe, upon rereading myself, almost every part of the initial exposition comes into play later down the line during the story, though I am sure there might have been a more elegant way of incorporating those. If you could suggest a way for me to do so organically, I would appreciate it. Yet, just for one example, A Song of Ice and Fire has its entire prologues and epilogues written from the point-of-view of disposable characters, who are there to exposit information which become relevant later on in the story. My prologue, if you could call it that, is written in a simmilar manner, and if you believe that is bad thing, I am open to alternatives of how to translate essential clues to the audience without sabotaging the story.
This also ties into making the audience care for the point-of-view character. I tried to exposit the bulk of their character through the conversation they share and the incidents they reference, so I would like to get your opinion on that if at all possible. As for the weather, it actually does come into the plot, in a fairly important way in fact. Perhaps I have spent too much time emphasizing it, yet I do believe it merits establishing for the sake of events further down the line.
One thing I found interesting was that you suggest I deliver the thoughts of the character dispassionately and remotely, yet when I try to go deeper in what the character thinks and what his thoughts on given things are, you see that as me demeaning a reader’s intelligence, which is not my intent. I would like to know what exactly you mean by saying there is no passion behind the voices of the characters, if it is not describing their inner monologue and subjective positions on the various things they perceive around themselves.
"And as an aside, she’s presented as walking at a crawl, but a few paragraphs later you literally have them slow down for plot purposes."
I have reread the entire opening just to make sure, but I do not know which part of it you are referring to. The two halt when Micha feels something is off, meaning Priska walks a few steps ahead of him while he is standing in place, but other than that, I am unsure what you could be referring to.
"You failed to see them because you're in the position that Mark Twain was talking about when he said, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”" But up until your last review, you have not provided a single specific example of where I actually went in either of your former two reviews. You can go and read through them yourself, but you spoke abstractly in both of them, which was my principle issue with both in turn.
"Prove me wrong, then. Submit it to an acquiring editor as it is and sell it. Should be easy enough…if you’re right." I don’t see how proving that no one would ever care about a story like mine automatically means it would be met with publishing success as it currently stands. I am perfectly willing to admit there are still many flaws within my writing style, some of which you yourself have just pointed out in your final review. There is still a long way for me to go, which is one of the reasons why I post stories like these on a public forum to begin with. However, I simply took issue with your categorical dismissal of everything I have written without actually providing examples or alternatives - something which you have done in your final update, and which I appreciate - as it was provably untrue.
"Obviously, I’m telling you something you don’t want to hear." Not at all, in fact, you have just told me exactly the kinds of things I do want to hear - what to trim, what to change, what i ought to put more focus upon. If you were to read through the entire work and judge it in just such a manner, I would be most grateful to you. And I cannot say whether I do or do not want to hear the contents of your previous two reviews, because there is nothing in them of use to me. If you do not wish to further engage, that is your choice and I respect it, and thank you for the time you have taken to write the review.

[JayG]

• I do believe it could best be summed up as being "overly descriptive" or simply too wordy,

No. It’s overly wordy because you’re using nonfiction writing techniques in an attempt to write fiction. So from start to finish you’re alone on stage talking TO the reader about plot events and what you visualize as being on the screen, with added comment to clarify—as YOU think necessary.

In our school days they teach us to explain, dispassionately, because that’s how reports and essays are written. The purpose of our education, as it has been since public education began at the beginning of the Industrial revolution, is to provide employers with a pool of potential employees who have a useful, and predictable, set of general skills: “The three R’s.” What kind of writing do most employers require? Reports and essays. What kind of writing did we spend the most time on? Reports and essays. But readers of fiction are NOT seeking to know what happens. That’s history, not story. They want you to make them feel as if they are experiencing the events in real-time as-the-protagonist. They want to be made to care what happens to your protagonist. And cheer for them. No way in hell can the recorded words of a narrator talking about plot events do that. It takes the skills of Fiction-Writing. But you, and me, and everyone else, leave our general education years no more trained to write fiction than we are to remove an appendix—though we do realize we’re not ready to perform surgery.

You are trying hard to get an answer that allows you to “do this instead of that,” to create in publication-ready prose. But the only shortcut I know of is not to look for a shortcut. It’s a profession. No way around that. You have to assume that at least some of what those taking a degree in writing fiction must learn is necessary. You can bypass getting a degree but not acquiring the professional knowledge.

If you submit a query to a publisher, the current rejection rate is greater than 99.9%. Your competition—the other 999 people submitting contains somewho have been studying and honing their skill for years. There are previously published authors in the desk with your story, competing for that same publication slot. And they cut you no slack for being a new author. So…assume that ten pages of your work are on the desk, along with the submissions of ten people who have a book in the booksellers store right now. You’re all hoping for a yes from that publisher. But if one reading those submissions can tell which submission came from an unpublished author you lose. Are you ready for that competition? Do you think you can, simply by writing what comes to mind, eventually match the skills of those who worked to learn what the publisher is seeking, and what causes rejection?

But let’s assume that the editor somehow sees all the submissions as being professionally written. You STILL have to be deemed the best of the ten to get a yes. So,,,I don’t know about you, I’d not depend on magic or luck, because knowledge is a really good working substitute for genius. I’d work to gain a few professional skills.

For example: Assume that you get to the point where the characters and the situation in the opening scene are so real that the reader likes your characters. Assume a book very like yours: What reaction will you have if after 2,212 words— or roughly nine standard manuscript pages of reading, the two people you’ve been made to care about, and cheer for, abruptly die in an unknown manner. So after about a half-hour of reading, you have to, in effect, start over. In other words, you wasted the time to get to know them.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’d throw the book against the wall. And any acquiring editor who hits that point will reject the work for the same reason they reject works in which the first few pages turn out to have been a dream.

• I believe, upon rereading myself, almost every part of the initial exposition comes into play later down the line during the story,

You demonstrate what I’ve been saying. You know it’s coming, so you don’t see a problem. The reader knows only what the words suggest to them, as-they-read-them, based on THEIR background. So they will not be forgiving, and they will NOT continue reading in the hope that you didn’t just forget to give clarity.

And while you may say that you can always self-publish, nothing changes. The editor who rejects your work does so because the reader in a bookseller’s will reject it, and thus, make the money invested in bring it to market, wasted.

You’re trying to explain away the problems I mentioned and convince me that I should have liked the story. But you’re NOT there when the story is read so you can’t explain it to the reader. What you should be doing is trying to figure out why I didn’t get what you intended me to get, and how to fix that.

At the moment you’re telling your story from the outside in, as an external observer. You really need to read this article, on writing from the inside out:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2015/05/13/inside-out-the-grumpy-writing-coach.

[Samuel Šafin]

Could you perhaps go more deeply into why you believe what I have written seems dispassionate to you? It is interesting to me, since it is something I find difficult to really quantify and would like to know why you found it so. I tried to humanise my characters through their dialogue and the POV character’s inner thoughts, not to mention the main characters later on, so I wonder whether you think there could be some improvement in that regard. I will admit to not being a very passionate or emotional person, whereas you clearly are, so perhaps that is where my inadequacy lies, however after thinking about what you said I could not think of a way to make the segment more emotional or heavy hitting within the same, not to mention as you recommend, shorter span of time.
As for your recommendations on writing, I have read some of your own work to see what you mean, and have noticed you have written your stories in the present tense for the most part. is that what you are referring to when saying I ought to take the reader along with me, to experience events in real time. For one, that is the stated purpose behind much of the description I use, to make it evocative and allow the reader to paint a full picture, but also, there have been aplenty of books written in the past tense which feel just as, if not more so dynamic than books written in the present tense. Perhaps I am not understanding what you are saying once again, but personally, I actually don’t find the present tense preferable to past tense when writing and know from experience when reading that past tense can be made to feel just as dynamic, which is also something I attempt to do during the action scenes.
Finally, as for the claim that the opening to my story would never get published or the reader might feel cheated, because I kill the POV character after ten pages, A Game of Thrones and The Eye of the World start out exactly like that - aGoT prologue takes ten pages, tEtW prologue takes four and a half pages, we never see the characters present within them physically again (except for Gared, who dies immediately after we see him again) and we are not only given little context for their actions and deaths, but both also feature a lot of description and indirect exposition, which all becomes relevant later down the line. While it is true both these books came from already established authors, they are each the first part of their respective series and I personally don’t really see readers being all that discouraged by their respective openings. Likewise, for another example, the Wizard of Earth-Sea and the name of the wind both have their very first page without any spoken dialogue, focused entirely upon setting the scene, and remain description-heavy throughout. Seeing as books like these not only got me and millions of others to read them, but also served as my primary inspiration when it comes to my style of writing, I dont think my approach is categorically bad. Nor do I believe it is necessarily healthy to sacrifice pacing and tone simply to grab the reader by the eyeballs. Then again, perhaps I am wrong and perhaps the success of these books could have been even greater had they dispensed with descriptive prologues with soon-to-be-dead characters, or if they had been written in the present tense, but I, as a consumer sample, enjoyed them more for that and personally saw nothing wrong with them in that way.
Either way, the most interesting thing you mention is your emphasis on the passion within the words, but again, I simply find that hard to quantify, so if you could elaborate on why you found it to be dispassionate, I would be much obliged.

[JayG]

• Could you perhaps go more deeply into why you believe what I have written seems dispassionate to you?

It must be dispassionate, because of the nonfiction methodology used. Have you listened to your computer reading the story aloud? That’s what a reader “hears” as they read.

100% of the story is presented in the words of the narrator, who is talking about things within the story. So it’s not happening, it’s being talked about. Remember, you can tell the reader the emotion with which a character in a story speaks a line. You can also make the reader know how the character feels by making them know the situation as the protagonist does, which tells them how THEY would speak the line. But you cannot, cannot, cannot tell the reader how YOU would be speaking the narrator’s words, if only they could hear you.

I’m not telling you anything I haven’t said before. I’ve already said that to hear what the reader gets you need to have the computer read it aloud. Obviously, you’ve neither done that nor read the article I suggested.

• It is interesting to me, since it is something I find difficult to really quantify and would like to know why you found it so.

Of course you find it difficult. You spent over a decade perfecting your nonfiction writing techniques and know no others. So you have nothing to compare them to. You haven’t taken the time to learn what the publisher you hope will say yes sees as good writing. How many articles like this one have you read:
http://writersinfo.info/For_All_Genres.pdf

• I tried to humanise my characters through their dialogue and the POV character’s inner thoughts

You REPORT a thought second hand. When you say, “Good, he, thought, now to just keep the conversation going…” and forgetting that the quote marks are in the wrong place and extra comma, that is NOT him thinking it. It’s you explaining that he did. And when you say, “She laughed again, and the sound warmed at Micha’s heart.” That is NOT him feeling it because we are not on the scene or in his viewpoint. It’s that the storyteller is reporting—and doing so in words that are emotion free because only you can hear the emotion in the narrator’s voice.

Your characters use only sight and hearing—two of the five senses. How can that seem real? You open with cold weather that YOU talk about but which the protagonist does not respond to. He doesn’t put his hands in his pockets. Instead, you report that it has been done at some time before the story began. So we’re with you, not him, which means that you’re standing between the reader and the character, blocking their view of the action.

Your characters don’t hesitate to think before responding. They don’t rephrase, blink in thought, hesitate, evaluate, or do any of the things a real person does. They just read the lines you give them.

You say you “try to humanize.” But you can only do that if you take advantage of the skills that have been developed for doing that, none of which were taught in your schooldays classes. As Sol Stein put it:

“Each Friday afternoon at three, while other students decamped for their homes, the lights were on in the Magpie tower high above the rectangle of the school. There Wilmer Stone met with Richard Avedon, then a poet, who became one of the most famous photographers in the world, the editor Emile Capouya, Jimmy Baldwin, myself, and a few others whose names hide behind the scrim of time. What went on in that tower was excruciatingly painful. Wilmer Stone read our stories to us in a monotone as if he were reading from the pages of a phone directory. What we learned with each stab of pain was that the words themselves and not the inflections supplied by the reader had to carry the emotion of the story.

Today I still hear the metronome of Wilmer Stone’s voice, and counsel my students to have their drafts read to them by the friend who has the least talent for acting and is capable of reading words as if they had no meaning.”

• I have read some of your own work to see what you mean, and have noticed you have written your stories in the present tense for the most part.

You confuse tense and viewpoint. Tense and person are irrelevant, and no more than authorial preference. Look at tense. Is there any difference between:
- - - -
He went to the garage to get his car and bring it out front to pick up Susan.
Or
He goes to the garage to get his car and bring it out front to pick up Susan.
- - - -
None at all. The same person goes to the same garage to get the same for the same purpose. So look at what changes of person do:
- - - -
He went to the garage to get his car and bring it out front to pick up Susan.
Or
I went to the garage to get my car and bring it out front to pick up Susan.
- - - -
There is not the smallest change in the flow of story if you change either the tense or the person you use because only the narrator uses them, and only as talking about someone.

In fiction, since nothing happens other than moving the car to where its needed, the trip to and from the garage would be replaced by, “I’ll being the car around front, Sue.” Or, it it’s story related that the protagonist needs to do some analysis in preparation for a plot-point, the author might use the trip for that, as a background activity: “As he walked to the garage, Jack thought about what Susan said. Was she right? Did the signals they’d been picking up signify…”

The people in your story, like you and I, experience life in first person present tense. Life comes at them in real-time. You can take a break in the middle of the most critical moment of a story you’re writing to go to the store for groceries. Then, when you return, you resume, and nothing is lost from your chronicle of events and dialog, because you’re talking ABOUT the story. You’re not in it and not on the scene, and, the reader has no way of detecting emotion in your words, so of course it’s dispassionate. How is what you’re presenting any different from a detailed history lesson? YOU tell the reader what happens. YOU tell the reader what was said. YOU tell the reader how the character feels.

Would you sit through a film in which there were no actors, just a narrator talking about what the viewer would see, were there actors? No. Why then do you expect those same people to accept it on the page, where you have as many actors as in the film?

People read fiction to be made to feel what the protagonist IS FEELING in their moment of “now.” History books are written in exactly the style you’re using. And how many history books have you heard referred to as “page-turners?”

• is that what you are referring to when saying I ought to take the reader along with me, to experience events in real time.

Not “with you.” The moment you talk TO the reader about the story you kill all sense of realism. Look at the weather in your opening. The supposedly worst book opening began, It was a dark and stormy night.” Why is it bad? Because the weather has no role in the story. You use lots ands lots of words to place two characters on the street and say it’s 5°C or less. But not one of those words relates to the characters other than in the abstract. You say he wouldn’t be surprised if the water froze. How do you know? Did you ask him? Is he wondering what the temperature is? No. Of more importance, does it freeze? No. Ther are millions of things that don’t happen. Why are you wasting a reader’s time with this one?

In any case, he notes that Priska is cold, but is unconcerned, and never offers to help. He might offer his handkerchief to be used as a mask, or headband to restrain her hair. But he doesn’t. Suppose you’d begun with something like:
- - - -
Micha couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Priska walking backward in the growing dusk to protect her face from late autumn’s icy wind, her hair whipping around her face in streamers.
- - - -
In 33 words the reader knows it’s dusk, that it’s autumn, that it’s cold, that he’s more amused than concerned, and that she has long, unrestrained hair. 33 words and we can move on to what matters to the story.

Instead of reporting, place yourself into his persona and ask what someone with the temperament, in that situation, would do in response to noticing her problem. Might it not be something like:
- - - -
“It’s going to take all night for us to get you home with you walking like that, and we both have classes in the morning. So walk close and I’ll shield you from the wind.
- - - -
So…after only 67 words the reader knows everything I’ve already mentioned, plus: They’re students; he’s thinking in terms of taking her home, not them getting home, which says they’re not married or living together, which partly defines their relationship; he’s smart enough to solve the problem, but sees it as saving time, not it not as making her more comfortable, which further defines their relationship and acts as character development for him. And not a word of that came from someone not on that street with them. Instead, the narrator works in service of the protagonist.

I cannot stress this too strongly. You are NOT telling the reader a story. You can’t because our medium doesn’t reproduce a storyteller’s performance. Added to that, and unlike life, ours is a serial medium. Every word that does not directly support the action in moving the plot, setting the scene, or developing character slows the story and lowers the impact of the action. If you take more time to describe someone walking across the room, for example, than it takes to walk it in a film, the story is sloooow.

You talk about Micha doing this…you talk about Priska doing that. Why don’t they ask you who you are, why you’re there with them, and who you’re talking to. They obviously can see you because they stop doing whatever it is you interrupted, and wait for you to finish. So why don’t they talk to you?

My point is they you need to decide the reader’s viewpoint. Are they on the scene, or are they with you? You can’t alternate and have the story feel real.

And as for the murders, mentioning them told the reader that in this scene the characters will be involved, somehow, in them. In other words, you just shot yourself in the foot. Where’s the fun in reading when-you-know-what’s-coming? Won’t the mayor, on hearing, “I hear you’ve got some kind of a murder spree going on down there, Klaus. How many people has it claimed so far?” know the same thing without you lecturing them?

• Finally, as for the claim that the opening to my story would never get published or the reader might feel cheated, because I kill the POV character after ten pages, A Game of Thrones and The Eye of the World start out exactly like that - aGoT

Nonsense. In the first chapter of Game of Thrones. Someone whose name we never learn is beheaded in the first scene. But they aren’t someone the reader has been introduced to as a sympathetic character. Had Bean been killed on page five, then you could point at it as an example. But Martin is a pro, and uses professional skills you’re missing. Instead of trying to convince me that you write so well you need not change not a word, take the time to learn the skills that Martin takes for granted.

In The Eye of the World we begin with a character who is clearly insane. And unlike your story we don't spend lots of time talking about subjects unrelated to the plot, and reading irrelevant conversations, only to have them chopped dead without our knowing what happened. And in any czse, per the wording, he's not dead. So whatever point you were trying to make, you didn't.

You're trying to find a way to either leave the story as it as is or make minor fixes. But there is no law that says you have to follow my advice and study the professional skills that people Martin take for granted. He graduated as a journalist Do you really think Martin never read a book on fiction-writing technique?

Of course you think you’re doing well and that your stories are very readable. We ALL think that of our writing. But unless you can convince an acquiring editor to say yes it’s just wishful thinking—and the reason that the rejection-rate is 99.9%

[Samuel Šafin]

Thank you for you input, I appreciate it very much. You have given me a lot to think about, most certainly, though I cannot say I agree with everything or necessarily understand every part of your advice, but I’ll be sure to think more on it now that you have mentioned it. However, the final few things I would like to address:
1. The dialogue you proposed with which I ought to supplement Micha’s lines, to me feels horribly clunky and outright expository. It is exactly the kind of dialogue which tells me I am reading a story, not actually inside one. It’s not something I think a real person would say unprompted, since if they both know each other, there’s no need to mention they’ve classes on the morrow. Likewise, Micha’s personality would not have him simply offer something like what you propose to a girl he clearly has a crush on and is unsure how to handle. Now, whether I managed to get his personality across well enough for you to understand that is another matter, and I am willing to acknowledge perhaps that was not the case. But I’d rather have my characters feel like characters instead of exposition machines to save space, at least that is the type of characters I like to read.
2. "Where’s the fun in reading when-you-know-what’s-coming?" Well, do you know what’s coming? You know murders have been occurring, and that they’re likely of a supernatural sort based on the brief eyewitness of the initial POV characters. So, can you solve the case by that point? Did you know, when beginning to read the scene, that the characters will become victims themselves? Could they not have become witnesses? Could they not have begun investigating on their own? I don’t think merely mentioning the premise of the story is enough to spoil the surprise, at least in my experience as a reader.
3. "Nonsense. In the first chapter of Game of Thrones. Someone whose name we never learn is beheaded in the first scene." Except all that is objectively wrong. In the prologue, our POV character is Will, the Nightswatchman, who dies by the end of the prologue, and is accompanied by ser Waymar Royce, who also dies by the end of the prologue, and Gared, who dies in Chapter I, executed by Ned Stark (meaning we do actually know the name and some of the backstory of the character who dies within the first chapter, as it has been exposited in the prologue). So my statement still stands, and it is wholly unrelated to my inexperience when compared to someone like Martin. I did, on a technical level, the same thing Martin regularly does in his books, and I’ve never heard anyone complain about the nature of his prologues and epilogues, even if almost all of them are from the POV of unimportant minor characters who might well be making their first appearance only to die.
"In The Eye of the World we begin with a character who is clearly insane. And unlike your story we don't spend lots of time talking about subjects unrelated to the plot, and reading irrelevant conversations...." How do you know they are irrelevant to the plot if you have not bothered to read through to the ending? You keep saying that I cheat when I insist upon that, since I know the plot of the story, that the reader has to be able to understand everything from the get-go, but how do you know by the start of the EotW that every single piece of dialogue spoken is going to become relevant later on? You don’t, or at least I certainly didn’t when I read it for the first time. I was counting on the writer to bring answers to my questions later down the line. Again, almost every line spoken by the two serves as a clue of some kind later on, and those which don’t are things I would people might say organically if put in their respective situation and positions. As for Lews not being dead, reincarnation means one has to die first, and Lews never physically never reappears within the series after this. He has a big impact in terms of his legacy and later as Rand’s alter-ego, but he is now simply a part of the Dragon Reborn, and serves more like a mechanic than a character within his own right. Be that as it may, showing his death has a purpose and again, I’ve not once heard anyone complain about it.
"You're trying to find a way to either leave the story as it as is or make minor fixes." Not at all. I fully expect that, if I ever do decide to try and publish the story, which i would very much like, major revisions will have to be made. Perhaps even rewriting the entire story from the get-go. However, that means I have to look for criticism which earnestly points out the flaws I make and convinces me just as well that these are flaws, and not merely opinions, since it's no good trying to alter the story based merely on the opinions of readers. Which is why I objected to your first two messages and why I still don't completely agree with everything you have decided to ascertain, but you have also given me some very good pointers and that I very much appreciate. So thank you for taking the time to type in all of your responses, I can assure you i has not been wasted, and if you do ever decide to read through the rest of the story, I am eager to hear more from you.

[JayG]

• "Where’s the fun in reading when-you-know-what’s-coming?" Well, do you know what’s coming?

Let me see... The story opens, and before any characters are on stage—before the director calls, “Action!” the author talks about “murders” happening. Forgetting that it's WAY to generic, if the author feels it necessary to tell the reader about the, they're a plot detail we don't experience, we're told about. And if the author feels it's necessary to mention this early, it's obviously going to happen early.

You tell the reader that on many nights he’s felt uneasy, But the murders are recent, so saying that he MIGHT feel that way because of the murders, now, makes no sense unless he can foretell his own future death.

But that aside, you think the reader isn’t going to know that murder-related things are about to happen after your disembodied voice talks about HIM maybe concerned about those undefined murders? Seriously? And what happens next? We read nine pages detailing the irrelevant-to-the-story doings and conversations of two people we don’t know or care about, as they discuss trivial things like, “Anyways, you remember what happened last chemistry class?” She talks about spending extra hours at a job doing unknown things. This is literally no more meaningful to the reader than an overheard conversation on a bus.

For a scene that would take three minutes or less on screen the reader must plow though nine standard manuscript pages worth of prose, close to twenty minutes of reading. And for what? To place them by some trees so the one-eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater can eat them?

If the goal was to give a feeling of menace it failed because we know, at the start, what’s going to happen at the end of the scene, and we’ve not been made to care that people we know nothing about are killed by a something with one eye. And look at your description of the monster: “In that eye, hunger and anger were clearly recognizable.” Recognizable by whom? You’re not there. And the people being threatened aren't studying its eye.

And: you can tell, by looking INTO a creature’s eye—one you’ve never seen before—that it’s hungry, and, angry?

• Except all that is objectively wrong. In the prologue, our POV character is Will, the Nightswatchman, who dies by the end of the prologue, and is accompanied by ser Waymar Royce, who also dies by the end of the prologue,

Ooops…I did a lookup and pulled the first chapter by mistake. But that changes nothing. First, it’s not nine pages of trivia followed by “Okay, they’re dead.” We get to know Will as-a-person. We know his aims and his necessities. We learn the setting, which will be of use later. Everything that happens or is said is relevant to the story as it continues in further chapters. We learn of their culture, relationships and beliefs. There is foreshadowing and context delivered in great tubfuls, so it’s purposeful. And when he dies, it’s after a battle that we watch, and are made to feel is happening around us in real-time. You may believe that you’re doing the same thing as Martin did, but that’s only because, as they say, “Art conceals art.” Everything he did had a purpose within the scene and the story as a whole. Throughout, he shaped the reader’s perception of the scene by showing that scene as-Will-perceived-it in real-time. Martin, as does so many professionals, used M/RU’s to generate a feeling of time passing for reader and character, in lockstep. He calibrated the reader’s viewpoint to Will’s, so that we are just as shocked as he is when the slain man rises to kill him. Doing it that way the READER is shocked into saying, “What in the hell…” as someone they have been made to care about dies in a way that makes that reader want to know more about what’s going on. Contrast that to your opening, which talks about people we know nothing about, in overview, as if the narrator is watching the film and reporting on it. We learn nothing about the situation, the society, or anything relating to the rest of the story other than that they walked, talked, died, and were eaten.

It was a scene of horror, reported dispassionately. But presented as a report it won’t/can't make the reader shiver. Unfortunately, being made to feel an emotional response, and to care and worry about the characters is why people read fiction.

• How do you know they are irrelevant to the plot if you have not bothered to read through to the ending?

How do I know? In Eye of the World they talk of shared events, and of future events. In your story they talk of trivia, like chemistry class. In EotW the conversation has purpose, and the reader clearly sees that. But in your story people we know nothing about, in a mundane situation, are making conversation to pass the time.

Look, I know you think you’re doing the same thing as those authors are, but forgetting everything else, you are, from start to finish, talking TO the reader in the way we all learned in school, and you’re using none of the skills unique the profession.

In the end, and boiled down, what have I been saying, again and again but: If you want to write fiction you must acquire the skills of the profession to become a fiction-writer.

And have you been saying? “I already know what I need to know.”

You’re not exploring and debating concepts you’re trying to justify making no changes. But no one says you have to, least of all me. My task, were you one of my clients, is to point out problems, and guide you toward professional sources of the information you need. There is no requirement that you change a word of your story.

But.... I cannot help but comment that if you aren't willing to spend some time, and some coins on acquiring your professional education, nothing will change.

Some relevant quotes:

“It’s none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.”
~Ernest Hemingway

“There are far too many would-be works of fiction in which plot and character are not revealed, but explained.”
~ Peter Miller

“In sum, if you want to improve your chances of publication, keep your story visible on stage and yourself mum.”
~ Sol Stein

[Samuel Šafin]

"The story opens, and before any characters are on stage—before the director calls, “Action!” the author talks about “murders” happening." Thank you for this, this is actually something I have been wondering about for the longest time, so I very happy to finally get some feedback on it, that is whether I ought to mention the murders directly at all within the opening pages or merely hint at it. It certainly is an attention grabber, but as you have pointed out, it might come across as being too predictable for the rest of the scene. I will consider revising it going into the future, if it does indeed become a bit more interesting.
"plow though nine standard manuscript pages worth of prose, close to twenty minutes of reading" Not sure in what format you are reading this, but it is 2,75 pages as I have written it down and was personally able to read through it within a much shorter span of time. Nevertheless, time consumption notwithstanding, I do believe it is a worthwhile sacrifice due to my next point.
"Everything that happens or is said is relevant to the story as it continues in further chapters... n Eye of the World they talk of shared events, and of future events. In your story they talk of trivia, like chemistry class. In EotW the conversation has purpose, and the reader clearly sees that. But in your story people we know nothing about, in a mundane situation, are making conversation to pass the time" - I would firstly like to remind you that your original claim was that you would throw any book which made you sit through the opening pages just to see the POV characters die by the end of the prologue out the window, but nevertheless, my more important question is - how do you know that? Really, how do you know that? How do you know anything about what relevance this conversation might have for things which happen later on? How would you have known the opening conversation within the EotW has any impact upon the story unless you have read it? Ishamael makes some claims and promises there which ultimately ring hollow, but you cannot know whether that ends up being the case in the end after reading through the prologue. Unless you have actually gone and read through my story, in which case only exceptionally poor writing on my part would hinder this, you would have realised almost every single line these two share is either foreshadowing, a clue, or ties into one of the themes running throughout the story. I took a lot of effort weaving all those in, and the fact I don't make them blatant does not mean they aren't there. I'm pretty certain that in a murder mystery, the mystery is one of the key components, and best mystery novels I have read are those which reward observant readers for noticing clues early on, or, more commonly, upon a reread. Likewise, if you ever do decide to read through and then return to the beginning, I'd wager some clues would strike you as blindingly obvious. So, with all respect, I don't believe claiming all of what I write in the beginning to be meaningless exposition without actually reading the story to be a valid criticism. My story is not set in a fantasy world, it is set in the real world, so it has to, at least in mundane matters, conform to the rules of such. Likewise, it is a novel centered around a mystery, so revealing crucial information blatantly within the first few pages is rather counter-productive, I would say. Just as well, many detective and mystery novels I have read open either with the murder itself or in a mundane situation which slowly transitions into the main story. Finally, one of the big motives within the story is the transition between the ordinary and the extraordinary, therefore I do believe having some characters (not all) talk about ordinary things, only to be hit with an extraordinary event later on, to be appropriate, especially if that ordinary dialogue still has a lot of clues for the cautious reader to take not of and use later down the line.
I would not have my characters talk in a way which is clunky and unbelievable simply to pass along valuable clues and plot points faster than they do. Had you tried reading further, you might discover that mundane, everyday talk is not standard for all characters within all situations of the story. You might also get a good feeling about yourself, as I frequently know I do, when you notice some of the clues which had been interwoven within the opening dialogue, or you might find they reinforce the overall theme. Regardless, none of that is worth discussing with you as it stands, since you have not read through the whole story and therefore cannot actually say what does and does not become relevant later down the line.
"And: you can tell, by looking INTO a creature’s eye—one you’ve never seen before—that it’s hungry, and, angry?" I would say most of us have had an experience with at least angry dogs a few times in our lives. Now, maybe I speak for myself, but as a person who has owned and cared for several dogs during my life, and has interacted frequently with dozens of others, I’m sure I’m not the only one who can say that even the way an animal looks at you can speak volumes about its current disposition towards you. Not to mention the creature in question is not in fact an animal, and I fail to see how that line is all that incongruous with basic logic. Likewise "And the people being threatened aren't studying its eye" - except that, until it fully emerges, its eye is the only visible part of it. Therefore it is the only thing they can perceive and evaluate.
"and we’ve not been made to care that people we know nothing about are killed... We get to know Will as-a-person. We know his aims and his necessities... as someone they have been made to care about that makes that reader want to know more about what’s going on". See, I didn’t feel a whole lot when Will died. I generally feel very little whenever a character whose life I am not invested in dies, and I certainly could have cared less when he died, speaking completely honestly. Perhaps that is one of my flaws - I simply cannot find characters relatable enough within a short span of time, since I cannot find any characters all that relatable within a short span of time. I was very interested in the way how he died, and I can’t rightly say why my method of killing off my prologue characters is necessarily less or more intriguing than if I were to place it within a different situation.
And have you been saying? “I already know what I need to know.” Feel free to try and quote me on that, because I went back through all our conversations and never saw myself ascertain anything of the sort. On multiple occasions, I have conceded you have point in your critique whenever I have deemed it supported by evidence and examples, along with suggestions on how to do it otherwise. But I see precisely no reason why I should take anyone simply on their word. You are not the first person to have reviewed this story, although you are the first to have felt comfortable enough doing so after bothering to read no further than the prologue, and not everyone has found my method of writing so singularly objectionable. If I am to do something so drastic as to start everything over from page one, as well as spend more money than I already have on books of advice I have never previously heard of, I do appreciate if the critique which recommends me to do so is well supported and thorough, which many of your blanket claims have not been and thus remain exactly that, claims, whose worth I have no hope of gauging accurately due to the diversity found amongst the readers of stories., and thus worthless to me on a critical level.
Likewise, since I have mentioned making claims, I wonder where you have the confidence to make so many unsupported claims about my person. How do you know how much money I have spent trying to learn to write and craft stories, how do you know how much experience I have, how do you know how I learned to write? Especially since we’re not even from the same country, and thus your frequent claims of how and what I was taught to write by whom seem exceptionally unsupported. I have actually looked at your brief bio when reading through some of your stories to try and understand some of the points you are making, yet I wouldn’t claim actually know anything about you, certainly not concerning topics which were not even mentioned within it.
In summary, I will try and look into the frequent critique you have against me when it comes to talking to the reader, as I still am not sure I understand it from your descriptions and remain obliged to you once I gain more insight into the topic for steering me in that direction. However, unless you decide to actually read through the story in full and judge it accordingly, I don’t believe you can realistically make judgements of value to me concerning the story, characters, mystery or setting. I do not intend for this story to be sent to a publisher’s office within the foreseeable future. I am trying to gauge my worth as a writer in a foreign language, and would thus appreciate if elements other than my writing were considered by those willing to review. Thank you for your contributions and for the motivation you have provided me with.

[JayG]

• I would firstly like to remind you that your original claim was that you would throw any book which made you sit through the opening pages just to see the POV characters die by the end of the prologue out the window,

What I actually said was, “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’d throw the book against the wall. And any acquiring editor who hits that point will reject the work for the same reason they reject works in which the first few pages turn out to have been a dream.”

You obviously disagree, But you' can easily prove me wrong by submitting it to an acquiring editor and selling it.

Again, you're treating this as if you have professional knowledge of the subject and are explaining to me how it should be done. But I’m not expressing my opinion. I'm giving you information you would learn early in any course, or book on commercial fiction-writing. Information like this snippet from Dwight Swain:
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So, change is the thing you need to start a story.

Next question: How do you build the beginning of a story around change?

You need four things:

(1) An existing situation.
(2) A change in that situation.
(3) An affected character.
(4) Consequences.

These four items are listed here only as ingredients of the beginning, you understand; necessary elements; components. No order of presentation is implied.

Now, what’s there to say about each one?

By the existing situation, we mean the state of affairs in which your focal character functions.

In a suburban home on a quiet weekday morning, that state of affairs may be placid. On a battlefield, it may be violent. At a high-level business conference, every word may crackle with tension. Along a shady creek-bank, the mood may be one of peace and relaxation.

But whatever the situation, your focal character accepts it. It follows an anticipated routine.

Enter change.

Change is some new element or relationship injected into the existing state of affairs. Something happens that makes the original situation different. Perhaps the temperature drops, or the sun comes up, or a stranger enters, or a girl says yes.

In the quiet household, change may be a leaky pipe or a visiting neighbor or a backfiring truck that wakes the baby. On the battlefield, it may be a machine gun that jams, or a sniper’s bullet that kills the squad leader, or an enemy rush that cuts off a unit.

Not that changes necessarily appear to be disastrous. Good news—new information received on anything from health to weather—may upset a situation every bit as much as bad.

So: Change impinges on an existing situation. And someone is affected by it.

This affected character is one whose state of mind is somehow altered by the modification in state of affairs.

This, of course, presupposes that the character has a state of mind to alter. That is, he can’t be a blank when you introduce him. His behavior must reveal already-existing attitudes, principles, prejudices, direction.

So, faced with a change in his state of affairs, this character reacts in characteristic fashion.
- - - -
Apply that advice to your opening. The initial situation, when you finally get to it, is that two people whose background we know nothing about are walking at night. They talk about trivialities. Then, after NINE pages of that, change is finally introduced: they die and the scene ends. Nothing you can say can justify nine pages to get there. Over 2000 words of movement followed by 312 words of action. Nine pages in which you ignore Papa Hemingway’s sound advice: “Never confuse movement with action.”

Look, I have nothing against you, and I wish you success with your writing. But at the moment you are literally making all the expected new writer mistakes. I’ve seen it over and over, beginning before the Internet appeared and wiring sites were called message boards. The words of the story change. The plot changes. But the approach is 100% reporting and explaining. In other words, people who never learned that there are other methodologies are trying to use the fact-based and author-centric report-writing skills their teachers gave them to write fiction, which requires character-centric and emotion based techniques.

No one says you have to change, to listen to me, or any of the pros who will pass judegement on your work when you try to sell it. My job is to point out the problems, explain why they are problems, and give you the information needed to make an informed search for the needed writing techniques.

I’ve done that…and done that. Your response is to try to convince me that your writing is everything it must be, except perhaps for a trace of polishing here and there. Perhaps it is. But if it is it will sell in spite of what I say. So go for it. But before you do, you might want to take a look at that PDF file I linked to.

As for me, I’m obviously too dumb to see that you’re right. So since I don’t want to waste your time, I’ll focus on tasks I’m better suited to.