She knew. How could she not? It all added up. She’d had her suspicions, but now, with the target of said suspicions sitting in her sofa, struggling to keep himself in check with the onslaught of sounds and sensations bombarding him from all around, she knew.
What would she do about it? She didn’t know. Not yet at least. The ground shook again and Margret knew that while she’d found the werewolf, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
The old woman went over to her trembling shelves and started picking down the more fragile containers and objects. Rowan remained sitting while Margret put her fragile things in safer places.
Time passed like that, with Margret wandering about, restless, and Rowan meeting each tremble of the ground with a soft sound of discomfort. What both of them failed to notice in time was the way the continued tremor was slowly making the clay pot at the back of the room crack. It started as a small crack. Just the faintest of signs of the old clay giving way to the continued vibrations of the floor boards. Rowan might have heard it, given his sensitive senses and that, were it not for all the other sounds tugging at his attention already.
Only when the pot tipped over and the crack loudly spread from top to bottom did they react, but by that time it was too late. Things happened fast after the mandragora within realised it had a shot at freedom. First of all, Rowan jerked up and looked around the room when he heard the sound of the pot breaking. The werewolf didn’t know what to do about it though, so the fast reaction was pretty much wasted. Second to react was Margret, who swore in a way to make Rowan jerk around to stare at her instead of the pot and it’s escapee. Last to move was Herman, but only because he waited until Margret yelled before hurtling towards the rebelling herb.
The small lumpy root with it’s comically oversized flower bobbing above on the stem sprouting from it head spun, moving in a almost drunken manner before it noticed the flurry of feathered death coming towards it. Once it saw the roster it squeaked, a quiet sound that still made Margret’s ears ring and the had the artist double over clutching at his head. The rooster seemed unaffected, so Luhnan fixed that with some fast reacting involving a large shard from the pot, a somewhat clumsy swing.
Through luck or skill, Luhnan somehow made his swing connect with the bird’s head, abruptly stopping its attempt to stun him just as it tried to open it’s second pair of eyelids. Herman fell to the side with a indignant croak while Luhnan got enough of his balance back to make a run for it across the room. He had to make a sharp turn to avoid getting pounced on by the artist, who looked more rabid than artistic now. A small trickle of blood was running down from both of his ears, and his eyes glowed yellow in a way that promised pain, should he manage to catch the sentient shrub.
With another squeak that made the werewolf’s nose start bleeding, and somehow enraged him more, the small mandragora threw himself to the side, slid across the floor, then scrambled back to his feet to keep on moving. He made it about halfway towards the wall before Margret punted him.
The shutters of her one window fell open and partly snapped free from their hinges as Luhnan went crashing through them. Whatever sound he made after that was quickly drowned out by the chaos outside. Margret caught sight of a pine tree tall enough to hide its tip in the clouds slowly lurch forwards in the direction of the lake, followed by enough birds to blot out part of the sky. The guardians were still at it, and now Esbi had joined the fray it seemed. The tremors that shook the ground was gradually growing worse, and in the distance the sound of the ground breaking open could be heard.
A rumbling snarl from the back of the room made her reluctantly tear her eyes away from the window. Hunched in the middle of the room next to the sofa stood Rowan, one clawed hand gripping the back of the sofa hard enough to make the wooden frame groan. Margret took a unsteady step away from him, felt the wall at her back, then called out as calmly and quietly as she could.
“Herman…”
The werewolf’s head jerked up, eyes wide and no longer human. She could see sharp teeth gleaming with drool, the tips of them just barely touching down as Rowan worked his mouth, lips drawn back in a snarl of both struggle and hostility. The rooster was already staring the man down, but Rowan didn’t seem to have enough of his mind left to register the threat.
Margret’s heart hammered in her chest, and she had no doubt Rowan could hear it as well. The man’s dark skin moved, bones bending and angling themselves slowly beneath his skin with muted wet pops and crackles. She kept still, just staring. Rowan had his eyes locked on her, yellow with darkening edges and the skin around them already turning a leathery black.
A hiss from Herman had the werewolf slowly turn his gaze towards the bird. Herman waited until their eyes met, then quickly opened his second, transparent, pair of eyelids. The already intense yellow of the rooster’s eyes took on a almost painful sheen, bordering on green, and as they stared each other down Rowan’s body slowly froze. Margret could see his raging body struggling to push the change, but Herman’s stare held it and frozen enough to draw out a frustrated growl from the werewolf.
For a moment it looked like Rowan was gonna shake the effect. Dark fur was pushing out of the pores of his skin at an alarming rate, and the wet crackling sound of his bones snapping into new shapes made Marget feel nauseous. But she knew Herman could still keep up. Her familiar was nothing to frown upon, even if a werewolf might be testing his limits a bit.
Like the werewolf, the rooster’s body slowly started its own change. Herman raised his head, rearing it back like a snake, and as he did the feathers on his neck puffed up to the sides like the hood of a cobra. The bird’s body lengthened, as he pawed the ground restlessly, limbs growing longer and spreading out from its body. His wings spread to the sides, growing longer and wider, showing off a impressive wingspan. Dark scales glimmered in the gaps created where his body had stretched out, leaving patches on his neck, the base of his wings, and tail, bald of feathers. The rooster’s beak opened up to its fullest, then further yet, the skin where the upper and lower parts of the beak connected drawing back like the mouth of a dog, revealing needle like teeth crowding a mouth that reached a far bit down it’s neck.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Herman looked grotesque in his true form, a cockatrice in the prime of his life, a bird mixed with the traits of a snake. The scaled bald spots on his body made the bird look scabby, and its long and sinuous body held something alien and powerful to it. It moved slowly, with the grace of a predator waiting for its moment to strike.
His intense gaze held the werewolf like a physical thing, paralyzing and oppressing. But werewolves were known to be stronger than your average changeling, and Rowan demonstrated just that kind of strength and willpower by continuing his change, despite the cockatrice’s stare.
Dark fur covered his body, slowly sprouting, spreading, and thickening. His fur was of that kind where the undercoat of it looked brown, giving it a rich texture and a depth whenever he moved enough for the coarse outer layer to part. Rowan’s dreads lost their grip and fell out as the fur crawled across his head, landing on the floor like withering ropes. The werewolf’s skull looked like it was bursting apart but slowly, bone cracking open and pushing at his skin in a way no body should ever move. It was like something sluggish yet powerful was struggling to stretch its body out from within a stretchy sack of skin. Margret and Herman watched the creature grunt and snarl as the thing beneath replaced what used to be a man. The change went on for minutes, maybe even an hour, but the sight of it was enough to entrance both cockatrice and witch. It was like staring at a cadaver. It was grizzly and ugly, yet you couldn’t look away.
When the change finally ended the werewolf growled. Saliva dribbled down his chin, jaws parted and lips drawn back to show a wicked set of teeth. The cockatrice kept it still, but not entirely paralyzed. Margret realized that he couldn’t. The werewolf was too strong.
Thinking quickly, Margret slowly reached to open the door, then took a step to the side. Rowan’s eyes locked onto her almost immediately. Herman rumbled warningly, but the alchemist let the door hang open, then took another step. She hushed the bird and tried her best not to tremble. If she was to make it out of this alive she would have to stay calm. The werewolf would attack and give chase if she moved too fast. She kept moving, going anti-clockwise to try and circle the beast.
Four steps she got before the werewolf moved. It lifted one heavy paw, then slowly tried to move towards her, circling like she did, but in the wrong direction. Clockwise. Herman let out a short hiss and stepped in its way, his hood flaring up further in a way that made him look bigger and less inclined to let the beast past.
Margret held her breath as Rowan stared her familiar down, one paw still in the air. Then thankfully the beast recoiled, choosing to go the other direction instead. Herman allowed it to mirror Margret, both of them circling each other at a snail’s pace. Herman followed, always keeping himself between the werewolf and the witch.
They kept moving like that, predator and its would-be prey circling each other. Impatience and fear nagged at Margret, something small and afraid at the back of her mind telling her to run, run, and for gods’ sake don’t look back or it would eat her. The rational part of her brain told her that it would eat her regardless of if she ran or not, and that her old legs would be no match for its speed.
It felt like an eternity before she had Rowan’s back to the door. It hung open just a bit, enough to let the cold night air tug at the beast’s dark fur. The sun had set outside, but the sound of the woods moving and the ground groaning from the strain made it noisier than day. She could see Rowan’s ears twitch and angle back every now and then, attention splitting between its prey and the activity going on behind it.
Now came the tricky part…
Margret gathered her will and focused into a single desire. She hardened her gaze and straightened her back, then spoke in a low, authoritative voice.
“You should leave now Rowan. You are not welcome here. Get out.”
She saw the werewolf twitch at the sound of its name. A low growl followed.
“Leave,” she repeated, pouring more of her will into the command.
The familiar feeling of magic made her hair stand on end. It wasn’t something strong, just a tingle, a vague feeling of something unreal happening that left her mind feeling a sense of muted wonder. There she stood in her own home, the center of her domain. Within one’s home their will is law, that was one of the many rules the supernatural abided by in this place. People and creatures might be able to act against the host’s will still, but doing so would feel wrong. It wasn’t something obvious. Just a nudge of one’s instincts. One humans it would have little effect, unless they were naturally submissive or uncertain, but a werewolf was a creature of instinct, and right now Margret could tell, Rowan’s instincts was starting to tell him to obey.
The werewolf’s hackles rose and a unhappy growl bubbled up in its throat, but the beast did take a single step back. It might have wanted to charge at her instead, but Herman’s stare still made its movements too sluggish for that.
“Get out of my house. Leave, Rowan.”
Once again the sound of his name made the werewolf pause. It shook its head while looking disoriented for a moment, then turned its eyes back to her to snarl in defiance.
Margret raised her chin up, just enough to show confidence. She would have to act her part if the changeling was to accept her authority within her home. While pushing any panicking thoughts aside, Margret took a firm step forwards. The werewolf stepped back almost immediately before it noticed what it was doing. Another growl rose up from its throat, angrier this time, but Margret kept going. Herman stayed between them, aiding his witch by keeping his magical gaze on the intruder.
Their struggle of wills continued and Margret was gaining ground. Rowan kept snarling and growling, but the witch’s spell held, and slowly but surely he was being herded out of the house. Once he was outside they all stopped, Margret and Herman standing in front of the door’s threshold while Rowan crouched and snarled outside.
Herman put his all into paralyzing the werewolf, and when Margret was sure the beast couldn’t lunge at her she grabbed the door handle. Quick as a snake she flung the door shut, screaming the words of a spell as she did. The barely visible runs covering her door and the wall separating her home from the street lit up with a hiss, and at the same time the entire building shook as Rowan threw himself at the door.
Had it not been for her wards strengthening it, the door would have shattered beneath the beast’s weight. Instead it shook, wood groaning beneath the weight of the impact, but still intact. Margret took a staggering step back from it as it went quiet again, then leaned against the back of her couch as a second bang followed.
The werewolf flung itself against her door four times, too worked up to even notice the broken open window. It might not have been able to squeeze itself through that opening, but Margret was grateful that it hadn’t tried still.
Once it gave up on the door, it went down the street instead. Margret waited for several minutes after hearing it take off before she dared relax again. Her hands shook and her heart was going painfully fast. Seeing his companion slump back into the cough, Herman shook himself, reverting back to his usual appearance, then trotted over to hop up on her lap.
The rooster cooed soothingly after it had settled on her lap, and Margret welcome the distraction. They sat like that for a long time, Margret staring numbly at a wall while stroking Herman’s black feathers, and Herman cooing and croaking softly in an attempt to calm her down.
Once calm enough she went back up to check on her protections. She would need to make something werewolf resistant for the next time she saw Rowan.