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                The Range

Rover rolled along the interstates and side roads. Occasionally Maggie got out

and sniffed around. Nothing. After a day of fruitless searching the group

headed back to Verona's apartment.

                "I

think we need to move your things over from the hotel dear. There is no sense

in wasting the money when you're not going to be there."

                "Ok. We'll

grab it all and make sure the bill is paid up. I don't want to be there by

myself anyway."

                That went

smoothly, though as the manager pointed out, the suite was paid up for another

week. Maggie told him to keep it reserved until the time was up. If they didn't

come back by then, they wouldn't be coming back at all.

                They

were sitting together watching the news a few hours later. The television was

still screaming about the carnage left in the wake of the battle between Edward

and Albert. St Christopher's roof had collapsed, and other buildings were in

need of work to their facades.  The insurance

claims on the cars alone were massive. It hardly seemed like getting rid of one bad

werewolf was worth all this trouble.

                Maggie grew

tired of the same repetitious news. She tuned it out and looked at the news feed

on her telephone. She scrolled along totally bored until something made her

stop and scroll back. She clicked the link. It was from the Chicago Sun.

                "Guys..."

                Verona looked

over. "What is it?"

                "Uh,

how far away is Wisconsin?"

                "I don't

know. Maybe a thousand miles?"

                "What are

the chances that there might be two different werewolves in the news within

three days?"

                "What?!"

                She

angled the cell phone screen so that everyone could see. Animal Rampage leaves Seven Hospitalized in Wisconsin Free-for-all. She

clicked on the link.

                Witnesses say a large animal, perhaps a

grizzly bear, went on a rampage in a diner parking lot yesterday afternoon. When

asked where the animal might have come from, police say it appeared to have exited a

tractor-trailer rig that had just pulled into the lot. Nearly forty people were

injured during the attack, all of them members of the notorious Spyders

motorcycle club. Reports claim that all of the motorcycles belonging to the

club were destroyed in the skirmish.

                "If it's him, how did he get so far away?"

                "And

why Wisconsin? Wait, isn't he from Wisconsin?"

                "No.

His grandparents were from Wisconsin. I wonder if he is looking for some answers."

                "Like?" asked Reynaud. 

                Maggie was

feeling rude. "Duh! Who he is! We all already have a grip on who and what we are. He

got launched off the deep end during the middle of a battle! So now he needs to

figure out what his purpose in life is. Can you imagine waking up naked in the

woods finding you can talk to wolves?"

"Yes dear, I think we can." It was

Lupenia. "But where do we look?"

"We already know that. Verona

looked it up.  A place called Wolf Creek."

Reynaud choked. "You're joking! The

Wolf Creek settlement has been gone for decades."

Verona growled. "Daddy! What do you

know about this?"

"Dear, I know way too much. But

since I know we are going on a road trip, I can tell you on the way."

As they packed yet again, a knock

came at the door. It was the postman with a package. It was large and heavy and

he was more than happy to have it finally delivered it. Reynaud signed for it

and closed the door.

"Good. It came. Maggie, you'll have

some reading for the trip."

She sniffed the box like it was

fresh from a bakery as he fought with the tape keeping it closed. "It's our

ancestry book. Anything that has ever been accurately recorded about the

kind is in it, except for the more recent happenings. I think Brother Carcharoth

will have much writing to do after this is over."  

"Brother who?"

"Carcharoth. He is the present

keeper of the lines. He is, if you wish to think of him in this way, the one

who maintains the history of the kind."

"I see. This book is old!" she

exclaimed as Reynaud pulled it from the box.

"Ancient. It is not as old as the

kind, for before there were books there were scrolls, and before scrolls there

was papyrus. But all the information we have is in here."

"Including the Beast?"

"Including the Beast."

Across several states and a

thousand miles of roadway, Edward sat on a worn out couch drinking some sort of

herbal tea with an old couple that looked as ordinary as anyone could possibly appear. She was gray

haired, pleasant in her manners, and accommodating to the point of almost being

overbearing. Just to show him what kind of company he was in, she sprouted fur

and claws. He hardly needed the show. Her husband's minor display had been sufficient.

"So, Marcus tells me you're from

the Rougarou family line. We thought it was gone."

"Uh, well, I guess not. I mean, as

far as I know my parents are dead, and my grandparent too, but I'm here, for

what's it's worth."

"Sorry dear, I didn't mean to upset

you. You see, we knew your grands, and your mother for that matter. They grew

up right here."

"On this farm?"

"No dear. We've been here a long

time. Plays hell with the land recorder and the tax man, let me tell you. No

this used to be a bigger community. We settled out of the way of the normal

human population. We tried to make it work. It just didn't."

"Too much politics and infighting?"

"Oh heavens no dear. Not enough

food. It gets hard to hunt when you kill off all your neighbors. So the town disbanded

and people went their own ways. A few of us stayed, and we have been here ever

since."

"What about my grandparents. Did you

know their real name?"

The man looked at his wife. "What

say we take them down to the cemetery? It could probably use some attention by

now."

"That's a good idea Marcus. Son,

would you mind giving us a hand clearing the weeds. No one comes to visit it

anymore. We're all it's got anymore."

The three walked down the road,

turning into the woods about a mile from the house. Grey slabs of inscribed limestone

sprung up from the earth, in some cases tilted at dangerous angles thanks to disruptive

tree roots. They had brought no tools, but morphed their hands into wicked

instruments of death. Even the toughest weeds fell like straw.

After a while the woman called out

to him. "Here boy. This is where they are." He walked over and knelt beside the

graves. It almost seemed familiar. On the one stone it said Jacques Bourbon,

and the dates, and on the other Marie Bourbon. Jack and Mary Rougarou.  

"I think I was here before."

"You were. You mother and father

stayed away for the most part, so as not to attract attention to this place.

Like us, your grands stayed here. I'd show you the house, but it was destroyed with

them. Nothing left but charred wood and broken glass. It's too bad. They were

good people."

Edward turned. "How did they die?"

"You don't know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I did."

"Werewolf hunter."

"What?"

"Are you telling me you have no

idea what a werewolf hunter is?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"Let's go back to the house. I'll

find you some paper and charcoal and you can come back later and make a rubbing on their

tombstones."

I remembered doing something like that

as a kid for an art project, but I felt weird doing it now. But it did have an

appeal, so I didn't argue. When we got halfway back to the house, they stopped. "See

over there son? That's were their house sat. Do you remember it at all?"

I looked and strained to recall it.

I heard birds and felt a breeze and my mind jumped back all those years. I

suddenly could see it, and though the image had danced teasingly in my brain for years, I

knew now what it was."

Marcus broke into his reminiscence. "Come back tomorrow and look

around. Ma will fix us some food. Like I said, the freezer's full. No point in

hording all. It's good to be able to share." As disgusting as that should have sounded to

me, my stomach growled. I was so going to hell!

The food was good, and I will say

no more about it. The information was better. "Look son, there have been

werewolves around for a long time. I'm really rather surprised you haven't shown

up sooner. After we heard about your parents, we assume the worse about you. Of

course, we never heard about your first transformation. How did that go?"

"Oh, it was to kill for."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you about it

later."

We moved to the living room and sat

down again. "You see son, a werewolf hunter is a paid assassin. They're normally

part werewolf themselves, only they don't go through the changes. They're

insane yet cunning, mad yet charming. And they carry more silver than a treasury.

They travel around until they die, killing our kind. And when they die, someone

else takes up their arms."

"Great. Are you saying my

grandparents were killed; murdered by a trained assassin?"

"Yes. We don't take it personally son.

We kill too. But the difference is that we don't have much of a choice. We don't

kill people out of spite. We will do it for food and to protect ourselves,

pretty much like the whole human race does. A werewolf hunter follows some

twisted religious code. We werewolves don't normally follow a religion. Most of

them take no account of our existence, and those that do call us evil. We don't

choose to be what we are, only how we deal with it. As you can see, it causes a

lot of hardship and loneliness."

"I get that. I lost someone I loved

recently."

"Oh you poor dear. Who was it?"

"My daughter."

"Oh no! You poor thing! What

happened?"

"Do you follow the news?"

"Son, we don't even get the

newspaper out here. So no, we have no idea what goes on out there. We really

don't care."

"Well, let me just say that she

died helping to defeat one of the kind. A very bad werewolf."

"You killed one of the kind?" There

was horror in her voice.

"They called him a netherwalker."

Marcus looked pale. "Son, those are

only legend."

"Do you know the name Albert Fish?"

His face looked pained. "He's dead."

"Well he is now."

The tension in the room was

electric. "It seems we have a lot to discuss son. Hope you have plans on

staying a while."

"I have nowhere to be and very few

people to go back to. I can stay a lifetime if you like."