Serial Saturday: "Red, The Wolf" Part 11

Part 11

Night descended over Queston, yet the Garrity household remained brightly lit.

"Deborah," Burch urged, "Come to bed."

The silver-haired woman sat by the fire, rocking back and forth with anxious energy, her eyes fixed on the front door. "But what if she's been killed? What if that wolf got her at last? It's been three days, Burch--she's never away that long!"

Henny lay curled on the sleeping mat behind the curtain that separated the "bedrooms" from the rest of the house. She had "gone to bed" a while ago, but sleep had eluded her ever since the encounter with Red in the alley, and the fight she'd had against Marc. He'd almost killed her--and it was all Henny's fault! How had she not seen his volatile temper before? How had he convinced her to trust him so blindly? Had Red, in her pursuit of the white wolf, accidentally encountered Marc in the mountains, and he'd taken his revenge?

The candles were lit, but no Wolf came... Where was the Guardian, and what would Queston do without her? >>>>>>>>>>>>>

Red slowly regained consciousness, still breathing deeply--though she smelled the scents of normal air--herbs, fresh dirt, morning dew, and the woody smell of rafters and floors and furniture.

She opened her eyes and saw Greta standing over her, as she lay on her side. Red shifted her gaze to her limbs extended before her--and saw, as she had for the past three mornings, a pair of wolf paws. She lifted her head and whined in confusion. Why had the potion not worked? Would she be a wolf forever?

Greta's eyes watched Red closely, as she gently stroked the wolf's side. "You are wounded," she remarked.

Red didn't flinch as the woman actually extended a finger toward the section of unmarked fur, touching what appeared to be a perfectly healthy limb. "Right there," she said.

What should have been a light touch was so precise that Red felt the thrust of a knife-blade right underneath it, clear to the bone. It felt like getting stabbed by Marc all over again--but why? Had his blade carried some kind of poison she didn't know about?

"That's why the potion didn't work," sighed the thaumaturge. "There is something about that wound you carry upon your human form that would kill you if you were to shift before it is dealt with. In this sense, the blockage is saving your life--but I'll bet you still want to be able to shift into human at some point, don't you?"

Red lay her head back down again and gave a grunt, flopping her tail on the table behind her for good measure. She did indeed wish to be human, by any means necessary.

"As I expected," Greta mused. "I'll have to go deeper to find the source of the injury, and it will hurt--but you can trust me."

Red lay still, and turned her mind to memories of Queston. She felt Greta's magic slicing into her like a handful of the sharpest knives imaginable, but she deliberately detached from that sensation, focusing intently on seeing Burch and Deborah again, feeling Deborah's warm embrace, and Burch's weathered, rough hands rubbing her shoulder proudly. She thought about seeing her old den again, and the pile of mixed furs, the feeling of bathing in the quiet mountain stream and washing Rascal's stench and filth off her body completely.

Rascal... There was still the matter of Justin stealing from Queston that Red wanted him to answer for--but he couldn't do that from the Callica prison, and she couldn't very well call him to account while still a wolf. She needed her human body back, and soon!

"All finished!" Greta announced, moving away to wash her bloody hands. Red looked down to see her side all stitched and bandaged closed, with a blood-soaked shard of metal resting on the table beside her. She sniffed at it. The blood gave off a coppery smell, but there was another scent underneath, one that gave the Red Wolf a sense of real danger.

"It's silver, all right," Greta confirmed, returning to her side. "I'm guessing you were fighting somebody, and a piece of their silver knife must have broken off in your shoulder. You didn't know it, and shifted shortly thereafter, and in the process, the shard slipped into the muscle very close to your heart, where I found it. The way it was situated, any attempt at shifting would have just rammed the shard deeper into your heart and killed you at once. You're lucky you found me when you did--a wound that bad sustained in another form would have slowly weakened you to death, anyway; not to mention the psychological dangers of spending too much time in one form." She stroked the top of Red's head. "Are you ready to try shifting again?"

In answer, Red the Wolf closed her eyes and recalled what it felt like to be human, the shape and balance of her human body, the feel of her clothes... A shiver ran the length of her spine, and she felt her bones twisting and stretching...

When she opened her eyes, Greta smiled.

"Welcome back, Miss Red," she said, reaching out to lift the human hand and support the human shoulder.

Red sighed with relief and spoke her first words in three days: "At last!" Her own voice had a strange timbre to it, after not hearing herself speak for so long.

Greta eyed the bloodstained tear in Red's sleeve, and noted the scar that now marked the skin beneath. "Aye, that looks like just the culprit," she mused.

Red nodded and shifted her cloak to cover it. "You were right, it was a fight," she mused. "But I won, so I don't think the person responsible will ever want to cross paths with me again." She stood on her own two legs, feeling relief at being able to change positions freely once more. She grasped the apothecary's hands. "Thank you so much for helping me. I might have been trapped for the rest of my life if it weren't for you."

Greta nodded. "It was whatever fate brought you to me, that you have to thank. Not many people know of my thaumaturgical skills--and certainly a wolf wouldn't need an apothecary to tend a wound that doesn't exist."

Red chuckled wryly. "It was a long road that brought me here," she replied, "and now I need to be getting back to my home." She pulled out the coin purse still in her pocket, and offered a few gold pieces to Greta. "Thank you for your remedy."

Greta's wrinkled hands pushed her own back. "No need, my dear; the work I have done is free of charge."

Red shrugged and headed for the door, her mind already trying to work out how she would manage to find Justin's wagon again.

"What about your wolf?" Greta's words arrested her.

Red stopped in her tracks, just upon the threshold. Rascal... He might be able to lead her to the wagon... or perhaps she could use him as a bargaining chip to ensure Justin's cooperation. On the other hand, he might prove to be less compliant with her, considering their newly-developed familiarity, as much as it rankled her.

Haven't I had enough dealings with that mangy wolf? her inner voice moaned.

The soft clink of vials and jars behind her triggered an idea. She turned back to Greta, and placed the gold coins back on the counter.

"Tell me this," she mused. "Can you brew a potion that would temporarily turn a wolf into a human, even if they're not a shifter?"

Greta rolled her eyes up in thought for a long moment. "I suppose I could make it work--I don't know just how temporary it might be, if we're dealing with a non-shifter..."

Red nodded, pushing the coins toward her. "That is the potion I would like to buy."

Greta accepted the payment with the air of an experienced businesswoman. "Then we have a deal."

By the time the sun reached midday, Red departed from Greta's shop with a vial of fresh potion in her pocket and Rascal on a leash trotting beside her.

He whimpered when she came out to retrieve him, and pulled a lot on the leash, but Red used her wolfish sensibilities to establish her dominance over him, and for the most part, he didn't cause too much trouble. Every so often, he whimpered and pulled, but one subtle growl and a yank on the leash brought him back to heel.

"We need to see about breaking your master out of jail," she muttered under her breath. "And if we can do that while you're still a wolf, so much the better--but if I need another pair of hands to pull this off, I won't hesitate to use this potion on you!"

Her words seemed to have no effect. Rascal seemed only to understand that her tone and inflection meant business, without comprehending her exact words.

Red made her way to the squat stone structure that housed the city's prisoners. Tiny windows lined the top, and she was fairly certain, by the amount of debris lining the openings, that they had been deliberately placed to allow light into the otherwise dark space, but remain inaccessible as points of escape. She could hear the clanking of chains within. Red squared her shoulders, marched to the gate that was the only point of entry, and declared to the guard, "There was a prisoner just arrested this morning, and I require that he be released into my custody."

The guard raised his head a little and let his eyes wander up to her face. "You and whose authority?"

Red thought back to the name Justin had mentioned. "Lord Brennan wishes to make an example of him." She leaned in. "You will be rewarded handsomely," she murmured, with a wink.

The man's eyes glinted, but in that moment, Rascal tried to take advantage of Red's distraction and pull back again. This attracted the attention of the guard, who screwed up his face to squint at the white wolf.

"Say..." he drawled slowly, "I know that animal--" He scowled up at Red. "What did you say your name was?" Behind him, the other guards were beginning to straighten and take interest.

Alarm bells went off in Red's mind. Her instinct told her that the situation was no longer in her favor. She pulled her cloak close around her and hoped that the onlookers hadn't gotten a very clear view of her face. "That is not your concern. Good day, sir!" She turned heel and marched out of sight.

Ducking into an alleyway some distance down the road, Red leaned against the wall with a groan.

"Great," she grunted, as Rascal started pulling on the leash again. "My best chance of finding that wagon and getting the things back to Queston, ruined because you had to be so blasted unforgettable!"

Rascal, indeed! The white wolf sensed her anger, but his response was to fawn and cower at her feet.

Red stood there and watched the people of Callica walk by. The poorer classes tended to walk with their heads down, reserving acknowledgement for only the upper-class people walking by with their entourage of servants. She watched a high-bred lady pass by a string of market stalls. The people who saw her immediately bowed, while she indicated her wishes to her servant with a mere motion, and he paid out monies from her purse and carried the items she wanted. No one gave him a second glance.

She looked down at the wolf beside her.

"Rascal," she said, watching him pick up his head and tilt his ears forward at the sound of his name, "I think it's time I gave Justin a taste of his own medicine." If he wanted to use shapeshifting to control her--perhaps he needed to learn what would happen when someone used shape-shifting to exert control over him.

Red used wood scraps and a couple of discarded stones to start a small fire, upon which she placed the vial of potion. As before, the potion began to simmer and steam, and when she saw the smoke change color (as Greta had instructed her), she took it off the flame and pressed the mouth of the vial against the muzzle directly in front of Rascal's nose.

The white wolf reacted with fear and distaste, whimpering and pulling, flailing his paws to get away from the heavy smell, but Red held onto his collar, snarling at him just the way she might do as a wolf. Finally, the vial's contents finished evaporating, and Red could use both hands to hold Rascal in place as the wolf still thrashed and whined. As suddenly as the fit had begun, Rascal came to a dead stop, gave one long and terrible howl, and as he stretched his head back, Red could see patches of human skin appearing from under his fur. He howled again, and she saw his limbs stretching into arms and legs, fingers and toes forming at the ends of his paws. 

By this time, she also realized that, without being a shifter, Rascal wouldn't necessarily be clothed when he transformed, as she was. Quickly, Red removed her cloak and threw it over him, using the wide swath of fabric to hide his form from prying eyes attracted by the noise, and also to keep him under her control. At last, the thrashing stopped, and she could feel his human form under the cloak. She pulled back the hood to survey her work.

A man stood in her grasp, a bit younger than Marc, bare-faced, with bright-golden eyes, and a shock of hair as white as his fur had been. The collar still hung around his neck, if a bit looser, but the muzzle had fallen of completely.

"Um--um--um!" the man whimpered, pawing at her with his hands as his new human body quivered under the cloak.

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