Theresa stood apart from the circle that had gathered around the campfire, her long auburn hair clinging to her face in the damp September rain. Her stony eyes surveyed the dense woodland that surrounded them, trying to pierce the darkness. She was entirely lost in her own thoughts, and if she heard the tall man walk up behind her, she gave him no notice.
"Reese," the large man spoke, "Please, come join us by the fire... you must be cold over here by yourself."
"My name is Theresa." Her voice was colder than the intermittent winds, betraying an underlying sense of anger. Reese was the name that only close friends called her. This man was not one of them. Behind her she could hear the group's laughter as someone else finished a joke or story, and the crackling of the fire as someone else threw on more wood. "And I'm not one of you. I just want to go home, okay?" She continued to look away from the man, out into the dark woods.
The man sighed quietly. "Theresa - please. I know you have a lot to sort through, but-"
"But what?? You guys are a bunch of crazies, and if what you believe is true, then you're a bunch of monsters! I don't want any part of it. All I want is to go home to my nice, warm bed, and get up tomorrow and go to school." She laughed inwardly, never realizing that she'd actually want to go to school. Perhaps her parents had been right - her parents. A lump caught in her throat as she thought of them. They were probably worried sick about her.
"Is that what you truly think we are, monsters?" The man's voice seemed quiet, and a little sad. He shook his head slightly. "We are so much more than that, Theresa. And you are too."
She whirled around, yelling. "I am not! I don't care what you say, I'm not one of you!!"
Someone by the fire looked over, a concerned expression on her face. The laughter stopped, and more people began to turn their heads. "Is she okay?" someone whispered. "What's wrong?" An older woman with feathers in her hair and a wool blanket across her shoulders motioned to people to turn back to the fire. "Don't worry... some have a harder time adjusting than others..."
Theresa didn't seem to notice, her brown eyes focused on the larger man before her. He didn't flinch as she yelled at him, but merely looked down at her calmly. "Theresa, please. You are only making this harder on yourself." Behind him, a young man with dusty blonde hair walked over from the fire.
"Reese, you gonna be okay?" His voice was a deep bass, and as he spoke, his dark eyebrows furrowed with concern.
She sighed a little, giving the boy a small smile. "I don't know Jeremy, I..." She trailed off. Jeremy was her older brother's friend, and she had known him for quite a few years. Normally, she could tell him anything. But this was different, and the worst part of it was that he seemed to accept readily what she would not. That he was siding with, from her viewpoint, the enemy. But then it seemed that Jeremy had always been more into fantasy and the supernatural than she ever was.
He seemed to nod. "Come on back to the fire, okay? I was talking with Anna, and she said - "
"I don't care what she said! I don't care about any of this!" She closed her eyes, her teeth clenched. Her voice came out low, and deliberate. "I don't want to be a part of it."
"Reese, please..." Jeremy's voice was quiet, pleading. "You're the only one I know here."
Damn him, she thought. If he weren't here, she wouldn't have to worry half as much about what was really happening. Could act any way she wanted, run off if she felt like it. But with Jeremy here, someone who knew her, and knew her well, she was more limited. Had to act more like she always had around him - which, unfortunately, meant acquiescing to his pressure. And the tone of his voice bothered her too. Like he wasn't entirely comfortable with all of this either. That maybe he wasn't assimilating as easily as it looked like he had been. A small nod found its way to her head, another quiet sigh escaping her lips. "Okay..."
She followed Jeremy, the taller man walking behind the two of them, and brushed the red hair out of her eyes as she sat down on one of the logs surrounding the fire. There were about a half-dozen other youths sitting in a rough circle around the flames, drinking cocoa and listening to an older woman, who sat across from Reese and Jeremy.
"Of course, that was only the first of many encounters that Gunnar had with Isaac - theirs is a feud that has lasted centuries." The old woman's voice cracked slightly as she spoke, her wool blanket slipping down off her shoulders.
"Centuries? Anna, I thought you said Gunnar died. And we aren't immortal, are we?" Someone to Theresa's left spoke the words, a bit of confusion laced with curiosity.
Anna shook her head. "No, we're not immortal Steven, and Isaac did kill Gunnar that evening, but Gunnar's link with Gaia is strong, and his spirit has lived on through other Garou, each of them seeking out Isaac and attempting to repay him his debt." She pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders, turning to look at Theresa. "Gunnar Brightfang's last battle with Isaac was nearly two decades ago, in New York. There Isaac slayed the noble Garou Jenna Windmane, who was acting under Gunnar's influence. It was a close battle, and one that..." Anna stopped herself, smiling somewhat. "But that is a tale for another time... Surely you must all have some more questions."
Yeah, I have a question, thought Theresa, a scowl forming on her lips. Why the hell do you freaks use words like Garou and Gaia? Why don't you just come out and say that you're monsters? Hiding behind false names won't change anything. Why not just say the word werewolf? She swallowed, staring into the fire, and suddenly realized that she had spoke the last two sentences out loud. The group had quieted to a hush, looking at her.
"Theresa," began Anna, "we use the word Garou because it is our name. It is no more false than to call you a person, or to call your brother a male. It is the name our people have known since before we were given the title of 'werewolves,' and so we still use it today."
Theresa frowned deeper. "That doesn't change the fact of what you are." She didn't like the patronizing tone of this old woman, didn't like how the matriarch seemed to know what Theresa was going to say before she herself did.
"Nor what you are." Anna's tone was quiet, and only served to anger Theresa more. "Theresa, dear, you are something very special. You have been chosen as one of Gaia's own, a warrior to protect Her against the Wyrm and all its manifestations. It is a sacred honor."
Theresa rose, her eyes flaring. "You've told me all that before. Told me how the 'great Wyrm corrupter' is going to destroy the earth unless we can stop it. Told me how every day we get closer to this 'Apocalypse' that's going to kill us all. Told me that's its my job to be some pagan beast of the night, and I don't have any choice in the matter!" She was almost screaming now, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Well, I don't buy it!"
Anna remained disturbingly calm, looking deep into Theresa's eyes. "You will, child."
That evening Theresa did not sleep well at all. A number of small tents had been put up around the campfire, one for each person present, and Theresa had slipped into hers thankful that she did not have to share it with anyone. It was her first night with these people, though, and her thoughts could do nothing but stray to the weird things they kept telling her, and how much she already missed her family. She tossed and turned, her sleeping bag twisting and bunching up around her. Sighing exasperatedly, she tossed the bag completely away from her, letting it hit the side of the small tent, shaking the frame. Curling up into a near fetal position, she wrapped her arms around herself, and finally cried herself to sleep.
Theresa found herself in a cold, dark hallway. It looked to be a castle, or a keep, like she had seen on those old Learning Channel shows. There were a few torches on the walls, but they only gave enough light to see the wall around them. The hallway disappeared before and after her, turning to the left about 20 feet up. A cold wind passed by, rustling through her hair slightly, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. She had no idea where she was.
She walked forward, to the turn in the passageway, towards the sound of a low chuckle, an eerie laughter that unsettled her, yet drew her just the same. The hallway led to a great chamber, with tapestries of ancient wars on either side. A worn, crimson carpet led across the hall to a dias upon which sat a throne. The throne held a gaunt man, with greying hair and a feral smile. It was he who was laughing.
"Welcome, Gunnar. I'm glad you found my trap." Gunnar. Theresa knew that name. It was the werewolf that Anna had told the story about. What had happened to him? He had died, but how? If only she had listened to the story... what was supposed to happen next?
"I've known about your trap, Isaac." Theresa found the words came from her mouth, deep and resonant. "Nothing can stop me from ending your terror."
Isaac grinned again. "Oh, but it can." And the tapestries fell, and a horde of men with swords and axes and clubs swarmed out of hidden alcoves to attack her. She raised a clawed hand in defense, managed to fight of a half dozen before she was overcome completely. The last thing she remembered before the darkness engulfed her completely was the conceited laughter coming from Isaac's mouth.
The next morning Theresa woke with a sore back, a crick in her neck. The only thing she remembered from the dreams she had were disappearing images of long hallways, and that frightening, echoing laughter. She dragged herself from the small tent, out into the morning mists of the woodland, and found herself face to face with Anna.
"Good morning, child." Around them, other young adults were rising for the day as well, a middle-aged man who she didn't remember seeing making something in a pan over the fire. "How did you sleep?"
Theresa frowned, a bit of a grunt escaping her lips. "Like someone who's been kidnapped, dragged to some cult campsite, and probably won't ever see their family again."
Anna sighed. "Theresa, please. If you truly wish to return to your family, knowing what you are... we can take you back. But things will never be the same. You know that. You were born different, Theresa. You were born Garou, with both the blood of man and wolf in your veins." She watched the young girl momentarily, a bit of wary sadness in her eyes.
"I never asked for this."
"No one ever does. But it is your path to follow, now."
Theresa frowned again, wondering how serious this old woman was, if they really would take her back, and if her parents would be able to tell if things were different. She didn't feel any different. She didn't look any different. Yet supposedly she was. She looked over to where Jeremy's tent stood, the boy within still asleep, and then back to Anna.
"Take me home."
Theresa's return to her house was less than she had expected. She had told her parents that she had spent the night a friends house, had forgot to call. She lied more out of respect to Jeremy's wishes than Anna's, though both had asked her not to tell what really had happened. She supposed she would have a hard time convincing any authorities that she had been abducted by werewolves, anyway, and so had let the matter drop. As a result, her parents were more upset with her than relieved, a mixture of concern overshadowed by disappointment. She was forced to spend the rest of the day listening to lectures of how her mother worried, when all she really wanted was to go and hide in her room, in the comfortable surroundings, crank her music up loud and try to figure out everything that had happened the previous two days.
She finally got the opportunity that evening, when the family retired for the night. She had to sacrifice the music, but she lay in her bed, the lights off, and mulled over the recent events. How she had been abducted after school, found herself in the back of a van and then in the middle of the woods. The strange assortment of youths already present there, the old woman, Anna, who told stories of half-man, half-wolf beasts that were supposedly noble and good, and fought for the good of nature. Like some kind of supernatural eco-warriors gone wrong. And how she, and every single other one of the teenagers there, were supposed to be one of these beasts. Had been since birth. Were going to soon undergo their 'First Change.' Or had already. Were going to be expected to fight along side each other, to protect the Earth Mother from some force of corruption called the Wyrm. She hadn't believed half of it, hadn't understood the other half. Couldn't accept the fact that she was supposed to be a were-wolf. Those things only existed in Lon Chaney B-grade horror flicks. They weren't supposed to be living, breathing people. And most of all, they weren't supposed to be her. She finally drifted to sleep, the thoughts running through her head having still reached no conclusions.
Theresa found herself on a rolling slope. The hill was dark green, only illuminated slightly by the full moon above her. All around her she could make out the shadows of a hilly terrain, with grassy knolls and small outcroppings of rock. A herd of dozing sheep lay to her left. She walked towards them, slowly, noticing as she got closer that a half-dozen of the sheep lay dead on the ground, their heads bent at awkward angles. Another one fell some six feet in ont of her, a slim man with hawkish features standing up from behind it as the body hit the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a feral grin spreading across his lips. Theresa recognized him. Isaac. From her dream. The man who had killed her. No, who had killed Gunnar. She had been Gunnar in her dream. But this wasn't a dream now, was it? She wasn't sure.
"Isaac." The word escaped her mouth before she knew she had spoke it, a deep, throaty Irish accent punctuating it. "Isaac, I've come te stop ye.Yuir gang te pay fir the crimes 'gainst me an' me ancestors."
Isaac laughed. "I've heard that speech before, boy. I had no fear of it then, and no fear of it now." He leapt at Theresa, a glint of claws flashing in the air, fangs protruding from his mouth.
Theresa woke with a start, beads of sweat rushing down her face. Isaac. He'd attacked her. Killed her. No... killed her in her dream. It had been a dream. She was awake now, after the dream. But it all seemed so real... She put a hand to her head, holding her hair away from her face. She'd never had such vivid dreams before, never. Not until she met Anna, and found out that she was... She shook her head. That had to be it. It was just her imagination. Her mind's way of dealing with that weird cult. Of making some sense of what they had told her. Not that any of it could actually be true. She hadn't 'changed' or whatever it was they called it. She wasn't one of them. They probably even weren't what they claimed to be. She never saw any of them change into a wolf, or do anything else out of the ordinary. Just sit around the fire and tell ghost stories. Ghost stories that had her dreaming strange nightmares. That had to be it.
The next day brought Theresa back to school, after having missed a day, and she was less than enthused about returning. She had woke up early, having been spared a second nightmare after she had went to sleep again, and all the thoughts that had raced through her mind the evening before were little more than distant clouds. She ate breakfast without much energy and slipped out to catch the bus, finding that the only available seat was near the front. Like she ever got to sit in the back anyway. She sighed as she sat down, staring out the window. The dull green of the trees passed by with increasing speed as the bus picked up again, and without intending to, Theresa began to doze off.
Theresa found herself in a dank, cold prison cell. She was seated on a rotting wood bench, the sour smell wafting up to hit her nose. She was dressed in stained grey cloth, could make out the hallway outside her cell by the torch that was mounted on the far wall. She stood up before she heard the resonant clacking of boot-clad feet on the stone floor, and saw the man she had come to know as Isaac walk into view outside her jail.
"Let me out of here," she spoke, her voice sounding remarkably like her own. Was she herself this time? Had this happened to her? Would it happen to her? "Let me out of here now, or I can guarantee Gaia's vengeance shall be long and tortuous." Her words were like a primal growl.
Isaac laughed with that dry, arrogant chuckle of his. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much." A conceited grin spread across his features, the expression not at all mirrored in his eyes.
"I'll show you protesting, you Wyrm-infested leech!" She spat the words out at him, and felt a gnawing at the back of her mind. Like she wanted to do something next, to follow through in some manner, but couldn't. She didn't know why.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will." His lip twitched. "Your people had such hopes for you, didn't they, Diana? Diana the WyrmScourge. Isn't that what they called you?" He shook his head delicately. "How very tragic."
Theresa leapt at the bars between them, grasping her hands around the cold steel. She growled at Isaac, pulling at the metal shafts.
"How very tragic indeed." He snapped his fingers unemotionally.. "Guards, take her."
The guards seemed to seep out of the shadows, opened the door to the cell. Theresa turned her fury on them, but to no avail. The four men grappled her into submission, and no matter how much she twisted, she couldn't break free. That same feeling came gnawing at the back of her mind, like there should be something else she could do. It hit her like a physical blow. Change. She should be able to shift forms. But she couldn't. Somehow, she couldn't change. At all. By the time she realized her inability to use her wolf-blood (use her wolf-blood? She didn't have wolf-blood. That was made-up, wasn't it?), she had been forced into a kneeling position in a room further down the hall, her head pushed into something that looked like stocks. Except she was looking down into a blood-stained basket. She heard the blade rumble down the framework above her seconds before it cleaved into her neck.
Theresa gasped awake, her Åhands fly up and behind her. She heard some giggling behind her, saw she was sitting on the bus. She hadn't died, her head was still attached. And Isaac was... Where was Isaac? She turned around, saw the scattered junior high kids in the back of the bus that had been laughing at her, looked back a seat ahead of her to the bus driver. Isaac wasn't here. He was in her dream. Her dream that had seemed so lifelike... She shook her head again. Why did she keep having them?
The bus pulled to a stop sign, and Theresa noticed that they were a few miles from the high school, already on their way to the junior high. She had missed her stop! Dammit, she thought, I'm starting to have these dreams in the day, and now I've missed the stop for school... Her thoughts trailed off briefly into a whirlwind of cluttered frustration before she reminded herself to take a few deep breaths. They were already halfway to the Junior High.
"Excuse me?" She leaned up towards the bus driver, a seat away from her. "I, um, fell asleep and missed the High School... could you, um..." She grew a little red, embarrassed. Theuveniles in the back of the bus who still giggled weren't helping.
The driver nodded absently. "Sure, after the regular route. Bring you back there." God, she thought, I'll probably be at least fifteen minutes late to class. "Best I can do for you."
Theresa nodded. "Thanks," she whispered, leaning her back against the wall of the bus. This couldn't happen again. She had to do something about those dreams... But what? Go to the school nurse and say that she was suffering from hallucinations? It wasn't that easy to admit you were crazy. What would they do? Send her to a shrink? Maybe. She didn't know. They could just think she was trying to get out of a detention for being late. Perhaps. More than likely she'd end up in some mental health institution. Maybe she belonged there. The dreams - kept feeling more and more real. She couldn't tell she was dreaming, didn't know it wasn't reality. Maybe an institution was the best place for - no. No, she thought. I'm not going to let some damn dreams ruin my life. Wouldn't that be the picture? Escape from some crazy cult only to be labelled crazy herself? She shook her head. Yeah, well, not that she really escaped, anyway, but... A sigh escaped her lips. The bus was pulling away from the Junior high, the kids had gotten off while she was lost in thought. And it was another ten minutes back to the high school.
Theresa hopped out of the bus at five minutes to eight, and just noticed out of the corner of her eye the car that had followed the bus into the lot, pulling up into a nearby parking space. The large man driving the minivan seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place his face. He reminded her of... who? She could almost think of it, but decided not to waste the time. Jogging up to the doors, she entered the school building just in time to hear the class bell ring. Damn. A pair of kids flew past her into the shop room, and she was left alone in the hallway. Taking the necessary turns, she found her way to her locker, depositing her coat and bag inside. She took her time. Why should she rush? She was already late.
"Excuse me. Can I see your hall pass?" The voice startled her, echoed down the hallway. Theresa looked up to see Mr. Pachone, one of the hall monitors. As usual, he wore a very business-like expression.
"I don't have one," Theresa mumbled into her locker. This wasn't her day.
"And why are we out of class without a hall pass?" God, she hated that patronizing tone. Mr. Pachone walked closer, his black shoes rapping against the tile floor.
"Cause I missed the stop, and the driver had to come back around..." She sighed. "Look, I'm going right to class..."
The hall monitor shook his head. "Nope. Sorry. Office."
"What? I was just a little late!"
"Late enough. Now, report to office. Unless you'd care for a detention slip...?"
Theresa grabbed her first period book with a scowl, closing her locker. Oh, this was great. First day back after an entire unexcused day, and she was getting written up. She didn't need this. "That's bullshit." The words were out of her mouth before she knew she said them.
Pachone's eyebrows flashed. "Oh, so you want a detention? Care for more than just one?"
Theresa's anger flared. What the hell right did this guy have? She was all of five minutes late, and it's not like she didn't have enough other crap to deal with. It had felt good when she swore at him, she still wasn't sure what had prompted her in the first place, but she felt like doing it again. "Fuck you, Mr. P. I'm not taking any of your bullshit detention slips." Raw anger boiled inside her. Theresa fed it.
Pachone nodded again, jotting down a few more words on his notepad. "Well, that'll get you two. Three more, and you've got an in-house."
Right, like she was going to sit in the detention room all day while jerks like Pachone told her what useless assignments she needed to work on. The anger continued to seethe inside her, anger towards Pachone, towards the injustice of in-houses for being late, towards the damn dreams that she couldn't get rid of, towards the fact that she was probably going crazy. She hated Anna for kidnapping her. She hated Jeremy for staying with Anna. She hated her parents for not caring enough. She hated this bastard Pachone for putting the capper on an already abysmal week. Her anger turned to fury, her fury to pure rage. Something snapped, somewhere, in the back of her mind.
Some time later, Theresa woke up. She was on her back, on a mattress it felt like. Her joints were stiff, her muscles sore. A funny taste lingered in her mouth. She slowly opened her eyes, the lids fluttering against light that seemed too painfully bright. "She's awake, " she heard someone speak to her left. Soon she could make out Anna leaning over her, kneeling by her on the ground. Everything felt hazy.
"Where am I?" Her voice croaked slightly, her throat was dry and rough.
"Hush, child. You are back at the camp." It was Anna's voice, or sounded like it. Back at the camp? How had she gotten there? The last thing she could remember was... She was at the school. She had been late. Pachone had tried to give her a detention. And then...? Then everything went blurry. She remembered being angry, being filled with anger. Seeing Pachone grow smaller. Or had she gotten bigger? The look of utter surprise on Pachone's face. His scream of terror - raw, pure, terror. And she had revelled in it. She could remember seeing her arm -her huge, hairy arm - lashing out, the clawed hand on the end scraping across Pachone's face. Blood spraying everywhere. That hadn't been her, had it? But she could remember feeling his flesh give way under her fingers, his scream of terror turning to one of unbearable pain. The coppery smell of blood as it hit her nose. She bolted upright.
"oh my god." Her breath came in short rasps, her eyes wide with fear. The image of Pachone's mutilated body moored itself in her brain. She clenched her eyes shut, it wouldn't go away. What had she done?
"Shhh..." She heard Anna's voice somewhere around her, as if from the other side of a thick blanket. Someone reached out to hold her, held her against their chest. She gave a feeble effort to shrug them away, but ultimately curled into them, tears flowing freely from her shut eyes. Heavy sobs wracked her body. What kind of monster had she become? She continued to cry, her tears edging her back to sleep, the terrible visage of Pachone chasing her into the darkness.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, she heard voices. Dimly, they surrounded her in hushed tones. She didn't care. The only thing that seemed to matter was what she was. A monster? A killer? She didn't know. Didn't want to know. Had that been her first change? How was she supposed to live up to all that shit about protecting Gaia if she couldn't even control herself? Why the hell did they have to be right about what she was? Why did she have to deal with this at all? She stayed in her tent, wrapped in a wool blanket, until night came. Then, the voices drifted away. Whoever had been holding her smoothed her hair, and gently laid her down. The tent rustled, and all was quiet. Theresa still didn't open her eyes.
"It's always hard, you know. Your First Change. But it gets easier."
The voice sounded as if it was whispered in her ear, was soft and smooth. A female. Theresa didn't recognize it, curled up tighter under her blanket.
"I'm not going away, Theresa. You can't hide from you problems this way. You've got to come to terms with what you are. With who you are."
Theresa propped an eye open, pushing herself up slightly. She looked around her tent. It was empty. "Where are you?" she called out tentatively. Her voice was raw from her crying.
"I'm here, inside you. I'm part of you. You can't see me, not like you do other people."
Oh god, she thought, what's happening to me? Now she was starting to hear voices.
"Look, I'm not some figment of your imagination. I know this is all hard to accept, but you need to bear with me. My name is Jenna Windmane."
Jenna Windmane? She'd heard that name before. From Anna. From her story. But she had died, hadn't she?
"Yeah, I did. Good to know you're at least a little familiar with your history. Long line of heroes behind you. Gunnar, SoulDancer, Diana Wyrmscourge, Kevin Rockclaw, Fury-of-the-Storm... Ask Anna about them, if you want. She's a good storyteller."
Theresa sat upright, hugging herself. "I know some of those names," she whispered.
She felt almost a mental nod, and the voice continued to speak to her.
"Good. I was hoping as much. Get visions from them? It's one of the ways Gaia ties us to our past. Not all Garou are linked as strongly as you are, though. Consider yourself lucky."
Lucky? Theresa snorted, though not giving the action much effort. If this was lucky, she'd hate to deal with having been unlucky.
"Yeah, well you are lucky. Not everyone gets their own private tutor like you're getting. Many young Garou have to go through this blind."
Theresa shuddered briefly, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. She didn't want to go through this at all. She opened her mouth to speak to the voice, figured that if she was crazy there was no need to deny it. "How are you speaking to me?" The voice paused momentarily.
"Hm. Haven't been told yet about past lives, have you? Well... think of it as kind of reincarnation When I died, my soul was born again, in your body. 'Except it wasn't really me, was a clean slate. And it became you. But since it had originated from me, I've sort of been in the back of your mind all along. And now that you've Changed, we can talk to each other. Follow any of that?"
Theresa shook her head. Reincarnation? She couldn't believe that she had lived through previous lives, was talking to one of them now. Yet she was, wasn't she? Some kind of mental link that had carried over allowed them to. "Are... are you alive somewhere, talking to me? In Heaven or someplace?" Theresa knew the question sounded stupid when she asked it, but didn't know what else to think.
"No. I told you, I'm inside you. That's the only place that I am. "
"So I am crazy." The sentence came out as a whisper, and Theresa immediately felt the mental voice sigh almost, with disappointment. What was she supposed do? Celebrate the fact that she was talking to voices in her head? That she had brutally murdered a man earlier today? Or yesterday, or whenever the hell it was.
"It was today."
"Go to hell."
"Theresa...." The voice paused again, as if unsure of what to say next. "I can only help you so much. You've got to do the rest on your own."
Theresa remained silent after that, staring blankly at the wall of the canvas tent. She didn't want to think about it, about what kind of life lay ahead of her. About what kind of monster she had become. And the same thought kept running through her mind. Why me? The voice gave her no more explanations, though. Theresa didn't care. She hugged her blanket tight to her, and waited for sleep to come. When it finally did, she had no nightmares.
Theresa trudged through the next week, living at the camp in the woods. The other kids were there, including Jeremy, but she spoke to none of them. The voice hadn't spoken to her since the first time, and she had ceased having her nightmares. Still, she tried to draw completely into herself, only giving passing attention to the things that the adults were teaching them. Most of the lessons were about ideas and concepts that Theresa refused to believe in. The Wyrm, the great corrupter, the force of destruction and decay. The Apocalypse, the end of everything, the final battle between Gaia and her enemies. Spirits, rituals, rules, traditions. She always sat in the back of the gatherings, her head hung low, only giving passing attention to what was being said. Except for Anna's stories. Those, she listened to.
She wasn't sure why she found Anna's stories so appealing. Perhaps it had been the matronly woman's voice, so suited for storytelling. Perhaps it had been the atmosphere, of the large circle around the campfire. It could even have been that many of the Garou that Anna spoke about had begun like her - alone, and afraid. Unsure. And yet, they had all triumphed over it. Many died, in battle and glory. Others lived on, teaching younger Garou what they had had to learn for themselves. Still, there was the hope that Theresa herself could find the same strength that they had. She convinced herself it was none of these reasons, though, and preferred to think that Anna's stories were merely an escape from the simple existence that she had adopted.
For the next two weeks, the stories were all that Theresa spent any energy upon, all that she cared about. It was in the circle around the fire that she listened with rapt attention, and it was from Anna's voice that she heard the legends of the people that she did not want to belong to. At the end of the second week, the voice spoke to her again. Nothing special had proceeded it, that she knew of, but when she returned to her tent after the evening's story, she heard Jenna call out her name, softly.
"Theresa?"
Theresa fought the urge to look for the source of the voice, remembered that it was an internal one. "What do you want?"
"I haven't talked to you in a while, and wanted to make sure you doing okay."
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine." Her voice was unenthused, a touch angry if anything. Things had almost returned to normal, and now she was hearing voices again.
"Theresa, I don't want to make this hard for you. I'm trying to make it easier."
Theresa sighed. "Look, I never asked for this. I never wanted it. I wish none of it had happened. I wish I was home again..." She trailed off, knowing that she never could go home now. Not after what had happened at the school. How could she know she wouldn't get upset at her parents and do the same thing?
"You won't. The First Change is always like that. Where you don't have control. It gets easier. You need to trust me on that."
"Easier?" She brushed her hands away from her face. "I don't want it to get easier, I don't want it at all." She spoke through clenched teeth, the pace of her breath quickening.
"Well, you've got it. And you're not going to be able to get rid of it. So you're going to have to accept it."
Dammit, she didn't want to accept it.
"You think everyone else hasn't had a hard time adjusting as you? Ask Jeremy how he feels. I bet he's as scared as you are. Or any one of the other kids. Ask Anna what her first change was like. You'd be surprised."
Theresa looked up for a second, her green eyes steely. "What about you?" she asked, a bit more defiant than curious. "You're so proud to be a 'Garou', what was your first change like?" The voice paused, giving Theresa a moment's satisfaction, before it spoke with heavy tones.
"You really want to know? Close your eyes. I'll show you."
Theresa sat on a grassy slope, the sun was bright on her face and the breeze flowed gently through her long, full hair. The air carried with it the unmistakable scent of spring, and she could hear around her the sounds of children laughing and couples talking. She opened her eyes slowly, found herself in the middle of a park. A few other teen-agers sat next to her, and were talking in twos or threes. The boy nearest her, with long, tangled blond hair, passed her a joint.
Theresa looked at it, and him, before she realized what it was. She wanted to decline, but found herself taking it anyway, inhaling from it. She could feel it loosen the corners of her mind, and passed the wrapped cylinder on to the next person.
"The point is," another young man was saying across from her, "is that we shouldn't have to put up with this bullshit political agenda!" He looked around, trying to gather support for his cause. "We're the people right? Isn't government for us? By us? Why should we have to get dragged along by a crew of political time-servers?"
"Because stoners like you couldn't run a tape player, let a lone a country." A short, peevish looking teen had walked up behind him. He was wearing a blue suit, red tie and black slacks, and pushed a pair of thick glasses back up his nose as he spoke again. "So why don' t you leave politics to those who can deal with them?"
The boy to Theresa's left spoke up, a mocking tone in his voice. "Well, it's Horse Fenton! How you doing Horse?"
"That's Horace." He scrunched his face up angrily, and another similarly dressed teen had walked up behind him.
"Oh, it's Hor-ace." The original speaker from Theresa's group had turned around, and stood up to face Horace directly. He jabbed his finger into Horace's chest. "Well, 'Hor-ace,' we were having a private discussion."
Theresa heard herself speak, a rushed whisper, almost a plea. "Reg, don't." Her voice was Jenna's.
Reg turned around briefly, a confident smile on his face. "Ease up, Jen. These slime ain't got the backbone to-" Horace slugged him evenly in the stomach. And then everything went to hell.
The half dozen people that Theresa was sitting with leapt up, including herself. Another half dozen ran from elsewhere across the grassy expanse to back up Horace and his friend. People began to hit and kick at random. Someone grabbed Theresa's hair. Two other people careened into her, toppling on top of her, pressing her into the ground. And then she felt that familiar pulling at the back of her mind, that little dot of red that grew to encompass everything. It seemed completely new, though, and it frightened her. What was happening? Her body began to tear at itself, she felt as if she was burning from the inside out. Her clothes ripped as she burst through them, her skin now covered with thick, coarse fur. She screamed, and it was a foreign howl. Her consciousness dimmed as primal instinct took over.
Theresa blinked, hugging herself. She had fallen over, was in a fetal position. She looked around, and found herself alone. Back in her tent. Memory slowly filtered back. The park, the brawl, her... No, not hers, it was...
"Mine. My first change. You asked for it."
Theresa sat up slowly. "I'm sorry... I didn't know..." She paused. "What happened? After that?" The words came slowly.
"I blacked out, like you did. I woke up the next day in a forest. I ran as fast as I could, away from anywhere I knew. Fortunately, some Garou found me and took me in. I found out a few days later that I had killed five people. Two of them had been my friends."
Theresa just sat there.
"So it's not easy. You might not have even killed anyone, had you stayed here. They were lucky enough to have found you before your first change."
And then I screwed it up by leaving, Theresa thought, still staring ahead at the blank wall of her tent. Is that how it's always going to be? If I take one wrong step, I'll end up killing somebody? How do I even know what is a wrong step?
"It's not always going to be like that. Theresa... " The voice paused, searching perhaps. "There's more to your life than listening to Anna. You have a responsibility to Gaia. You have a responsibility to Gunnar, and every other Garou that's went before you. But most of all you have a responsibility to yourself. Don't turn your back on it."
Theresa didn't say anything, tried not to think about anything. Wasn't there any way to just not deal with any of this? She found that she didn't care that Jenna had went through the same problems, or that most everyone probably had. That didn't make it any easier for her. She wasn't cut out for the responsibilities she had. She couldn't conceive of spending the rest of her life living this life, in this world of myths and spirits and nightmares come to life. She held her arms around herself, waiting for Jenna to speak to her again, and after an hour had passed, couldn't decide whether she was happy or disappointed that the voice had left. She covered herself with a blanket, and drifted to sleep.
In the morning, she woke up early, and filled a simple duffle bag with what few changes of clothes they had given her. Creeping from the still-sleeping campsite, she headed north. She didn't know where she was going, and hadn't yet figured out why. She just knew that she couldn't live there anymore, couldn't live up to the plans they had for her. She had learned enough in the past few weeks so that she could live off the land for a few days at the least, and could decide then what to do. The forest ground was not that hard to travel, and she made fairly good time hiking away from the camp. As she crested the large hill on the camp's outskirts, she turned back briefly for a final look before moving on. She didn't see that Anna's tent was open, and missed the old woman inside, looking back at her, shaking her head slowly.
She walked for most of the day, and managed to stave her hunger by taking berries that she had learned were safe to eat. Still, she knew that she wouldn't last more than another day or two completely by herself. She needed to find someplace were she could sleep, some food more than the berries, and most of all, a place where she could get these things without having to come into contact with anybody. She was trapped. Without the aid of someone else, there was no way that she was going to make it. But anyone she met would be put immediately at risk. She didn't care what Jenna said, she was going to hurt whoever got close to her. And she couldn't stand the thought of losing control like that. So, she continued to walk. When it became dark, she wrapped herself in a blanket, thankful that the sky was clear. She wasn't sure what she would have done had it been raining. The ground under her was hard, but free from rocks or roots, and would have to serve as her bed. It was early, and she knew she was barely out of the Garou's territory, but she was exhausted. She curled into herself, wrapping up tightly in the blanket, and let sleep come to her. It did, but not without a price. For the first time in nearly a month, Theresa fell asleep to nightmares.
It was dark. It was dark, and almost uncannily cold. Theresa wrapped her arms around herself, noticing almost immediately that she wore a man's body. It was lean, and hard, and totally foreign. She jerked her hands away, looking around. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the inky night, and a slow awareness dawned in her mind as to what was happening. It was a dream, like she had had before. A glimpse of some prior life, is what Jenna had said it was. The scene solidified into grays and shadows before her, revealing a sparse woodland. Something about it seemed familiar. She scanned the now partially visible landscape, trying to figure it out. A piercing, primal scream interrupted her.
Energy flowed through her, like the red spot, like the anger she felt from her first change, but different. Focused, in control. Her powerful legs were propelling her through the woodland, and she ducked low branches as she sped past them. She was in her man-wolf form now, she knew. Thick black fur covered her everywhere, thick arms with clawed hands rocked at her sides as she ran, equally massive legs pounded at the ground. A shock of thicker fur blew in the air behind her head, and her jaw protruded in a row of fangs like a wolf's. And most strange of all to her, it felt comfortable. Another scream cut through the night. This time she answered it with one of her own, deep and bellowing.
She felt as if she were being dragged along by the speeding body that she inhabited, wanted to stop it, but continued on running. After about five minutes, she saw ahead a small, wood cabin. A stack of chopped wood sat outside the door. She remembered cutting it, the axe against her hand, before she focused on the open doorway beyond. A single light glowed from the interior. And the screaming had stopped.
Theresa crept closer to the door, walking in a near-crouch. Without her conscious effort, she felt her body writhe under her, and she was walking on all fours. She was a wolf now, at once thrilled and repulsed by the idea. It felt both natural and abhorrent. She didn't know which was right, which should be right. She didn't have time to figure it out, was already slinking towards the door. A thousand different smells confronted her, and sorted themselves out as if they were choreographed. The rain still in the air from the morning. The split wood. The raccoon that had scrabbled at the door last night. Her own sweat. But there were two distinct scents that immediately fled to the front of her mind. The first was Katherine, her wife. (Her wife? No, it was the wife of whoever she was. She was somebody else.) Katherine's scent was ridden with fear. Fear and death. Anger riled up within her, stayed only by the second scent. It was not immediately recognizable, but was definitely alien in this place. It stunk of the Wyrm, of the decay of centuries. It exuded evil and arrogance. It mixed with the scent of blood, of Katherine's blood, and in the second that it took Theresa to figure all this out, she wanted it dead.
She leapt through the doorway, her fangs bared, her claws glinting in the candle-light of the cabin. Prone on the floor lay Katherine, pale and lifeless. Crouched over her sat the Wyrm infested beast who had killed her. Theresa had a hard time recognizing him, but knew that it was Isaac. The face that had plagued her in so many dreams before. She was not surprised to see him here. Even so, she growled at him warily as she landed in front of him, part of her still unsure as to who he was. She couldn't bridge the gap, inform her active self what she was up against. Instead, she was forced to watch. Somehow, she knew she was going to die.
"Oh good," spoke Isaac, his thin voice calm. "I thought that might get your attention." A brief smile flashed across his face, disappearing as quickly as it arrived. "Now, I assume you can understand me like that? I just purchased this property recently, and am performing some... pest control. Everything north of the river is mine. I suggest you move south of the river, or I'll hunt down the rest of your kin. Then, I shall hunt down you. Is this clear?"
This isn't your property, she wanted to scream, it's Gaia's property. You can't take it! The feelings erupted in her, and she didn't know why. She flung herself at Isaac, intending to latch on to his throat. She only made it halfway there. From under his cloak, Isaac had drawn a revolver, fired it at her. Her stomach erupted in fire, and she landed in a sprawl of limbs. The next thing she felt was the cold barrel of the gun against her temple.
Theresa bolted awake, clutching at her stomach, a lingering pain still shooting through her head. She tried to shake the dream off, but the images stayed in her head. The memories. She looked around, the dense forest illuminated slightly by the gibbous moon overhead. Something about it seemed familiar. The copse of trees to her left. The rock outcropping just ahead. Her breath caught in her throat. This is where she was in her dream. When she heard the scream.
She stood up slowly, looking around again. She knew why the terrain had looked familiar in her dream. She had hiked it all day. And maybe a third of a mile ahead of her was where the cabin was. Or had been. From the looks of the forest, and how much it had grown since her dream, the cabin may not even be there anymore. She chewed her lip, not sure if she even wanted to find out. Why had she had the dream now? Was it trying to tell her something about this place? That it had killed her before, and would do so again? Her mouth turned into a frown. At the rate she was going, she wasn't going to last long anyway, and she'd rather find out more about what happened in her dream than hide her head in her sand.
It took her close to fifteen minutes before she reached the clearing where the cabin should have been. Instead, she saw the somewhat run-down shape of an abandoned factory. I loomed tall and black under the night sky, looking like an empty, dead husk. She walked closer slowly, noticing the boarded up or painted over windows, the piles of scrap metal that surrounded the building. And then movement, out of the corner of her eye. From a side door, someone was leaving the building, a sliver of light escaping the door before it closed. Theresa scurried to the corner of the building, watching the figure depart. He walked a short distance to a gravel parking lot that Theresa hadn't noticed, and entered a small, dark colored car. The engine roared to life, and the car drove away.
Theresa watched the car disappear behind a copse of trees, out of sight. Apparently the place wasn't as deserted as she had thought. But it certainly didn't look operational. Everything was boarded up, rain gutters hung by solitary screws, the main sign in the driveway hung at an odd angle...
"Shit."
Theresa jumped involuntarily before realizing who had spoke. "What?" she whispered, looking around.
"The sign. It says 'Pentex.' This is a Pentex factory. Or used to be." Jenna's voice was full of anger and wariness.
Theresa remembered the name from somewhere... from one of Anna's stories. Pentex was a megacorporation, but was really a front for the Wyrm. It worked directly against Gaia, and corrupted the environment as matter of practice. As she thought about it, it seemed an unlikely coincidence to be here, where Isaac had apparently set up shop a number of years ago.
"Right. You wouldn't know this, but Isaac has done some dealings with Pentex in the past. It's how I tracked him down in New York. Looks like you might not have as much work ahead of you."
Jenna's voice was lacking the humour that Theresa hoped would be there. Not much work ahead of her? Until what? She met Isaac? And had to fight him? Like she could pull that off.
"We'll be here to help you. I will, and so will the rest of your ancestors."
Shit, thought Theresa, you're not kidding are you?
"No, I'm not. If you run in to Isaac tonight, you must combat him. It's a matter of honor, and revenge. That's why I tracked him down, when I was your age. Because I knew of the crimes he had committed against my ancestors and the ancestors of other Garou I knew. He's an evil, foul agent of the Wyrm, Theresa. He must be stopped."
All by myself? Theresa shook her head. It was too much. She had ran away from the campsite to get away from all this. She couldn't deal with it.
"You'll have to. Open yourself, smell this place. It reeks of the Wyrm. If Isaac isn't here, it still needs to be taken down. And if he is, it's your job to kill him."
Her job? What about all the other Garou, back at the camp? Couldn't they do anything?
"Not only are they a day's hike away, but you seemed to think earlier today that you could do fine without them. Isn't that why you left? Well, Theresa, here's your chance to prove it."
Great, just great. She sniffed at the air warily, trying to smell for the Wyrm like Jenna had suggested. Nothing was there. Just the old oil of the factory, the smell of long-settled smoke, and of forgotten-about rubber. Nothing else. Except... She narrowed her eyes, and thought that there was something else. A peculiar smell... And suddenly, there it was. Blatant, obvious, completely unmistakable. It was the worst thing she had ever smelled, and it surrounded her. It was vaguely like rotting meat, but held with it a much greater miasma of evil. She gagged involuntarily.
"Shh! Be quiet, girl, lest you call them down on us."
Theresa blinked. That wasn't Jenna's voice. It was a man's, quiet and rasping.
"You are correct, I am not Jenna Windmane. I came twice before her. My name is Kevin Rockclaw. It is I who allow you to smell the Wyrm in this area. It is thick, isn't it?"
Theresa nodded dumbly. Kevin Rockclaw? Jenna had mentioned that name once. When she listed her ancestors. How many other people did she have in her head?
"Easy, girl. There's only one of us at a time. We'll be along to help you when you need it the most. I know this area well, as I know Isaac. He stole this land from me and mine." Then it was Kevin who she dreamt of earlier this evening. "That is true as well. But hurry, there is little time. Already the moon sits low in the horizon. When it disappears, so will our chance to vanquish Isaac this evening. He is here, I can smell him as clear as you feel the breeze on your neck."
Theresa tried to identify the scent as well, but could not. The stench of the Wyrm had dulled in its intensity, and relegated itself to become another of the many background smells. No other distinct scents were to be found.
She looked around briefly, and then crept to the door in the side wall. She listened briefly, and hearing no one immediately on the other side, tried it. It opened smoothly and quietly, and let a small glow of light out of the crack as it opened. Beyond sat towers of cardboard boxes, an expanse of concrete floor, and further in, assembly tables with workers on either side. Far enough away not to notice her as she slipped through the doorway, and she ducked behind a stack of boxes as soon as she was inside.
"Good. Now, see if you can find Isaac. He is nearby. In this room, perhaps."
Theresa shook her head briefly. She was going to find out what was in these boxes first. While she appreciated the notion of paying back Isaac for all he had done, there was something about the abandoned factory that struck her as odd. It kindled her curiosity, and she needed to know why the place was being used again. What was it a cover for? She received no complaints from her 'companions', and slowly crawled to a solitary box on her left. The flaps were partially open already, and a she gently opened them all the way. Inside lay popcorn styrofoam, and as she reached a hand down into the box, her hand hit a smooth, cool, plastic sack. It was full, yet pliable. Like it held sand, or sugar, or... She withdrew the sack. Its contents were white, and powdery, like flour. But she guessed it was cocaine.
"You're probably right. Damn." It was Jenna. "Well, that does it. Not only has this guy been killing us for centuries, he has the gall to run a drug outfit in our back yard. Theresa - if this doesn't make you want to - "
Theresa nodded. She knew of the already increasing drug problem in her school, had seen it in the ruined lives of people she had known since elementary school. It had been labelled as a cancer, a disease, and no one had known how to stop it. Now, Theresa did. That, and the deaths of her ancestors, images which flashed briefly through her mind. The guillotine, the ambush at the castle, the cabin, the attack in the field, others she didn't recognize - another fight in the wilderness, one in a construction yard. Each of them held the face of Isaac, arrogant and evil. Theresa set her jaw. She wondered briefly if killing Isaac would free her from her nightmares, and knew that it would. But not for the reasons that she had always wishes. Killing Isaac wouldn't change who she was, she knew now that nothing could. But if she killed Isaac, if she brought him to justice, she would be at peace with herself, with her warring emotions. It wouldn't change the fact that she was Garou, but it would change her perceptions of that fact. She would accept it, embrace it, and know her place. She peered around the corner of the boxes again, scanning the open room for signs of him. Kevin had said he was nearby, but she had no idea how to find him.
"Allow me." It was another voice, a female voice that she had heard before, somewhere. But it wasn't Jenna. "You may know me as Diana Wyrmscourge. I may have a gift that can draw out Isaac." Theresa swallowed. Apparently Kevin and Jenna had been right. Her ancestors all were there, inside her. She wondered what gift Diana had that could help her, and then wondered if she would talk with Gunnar. She had heard more than one story about Gunnar Brightfang, but until now they had been only stories. If he was really there, alive, inside her, what would he say to her?
"Gunnar will make his presence when he is needed. But for now, I am, as are you." Theresa nodded, still amazed at how much Diana's voice sounded like her own, as it had in her dream. "Now, move closer to the center of the room. There, I will Call the Wyrm. It is a howl the likes of which those of the Wyrm cannot refuse. Isaac is the only true creature of the Wyrm here, and as such will be twicefold affected. Now."
Theresa paused. One of the things she had learned in the past two weeks was that, as Garou, she wasn't supposed to do anything out of the ordinary in front of regular people - anything that would give away what she really was. She hadn't argued the point - especially in her state of denial it seemed a logical practice to follow - and now she couldn't help but remember it. Surely the workers were not all as knowing as Isaac of the Garou. And what if they escaped, told people about her....?
"Daughter, you do worry... They are Iscaac's minions. While they no doubt do not know the particulars of our kind, they do know others than their master exists. And they will be wise not to question further. They are all alike, I have seen their kind before. Rest your mind. At the sound of my Call, they will flee, leaving Isaac to fend for himself. And word of the even will not escape their lips, for they have already seen in their master that which cannot be explained by mortals."
Theresa nodded, satisfied but still wary. She swallowed, glancing back towards the open box of cocaine, and the surrounding towers of boxes around it. She remembered the scenes of death that had plagued her sleep. And then she stood up fully, and walked into the center of the room.
"Hey, who the hell are you...?" Someone called out ahead of her. The shout was echoed by a chorus of others, but they all broke off abruptly. Theresa's mouth had opened without her conscious effort, and a shriek of a howl escaped her lips. She didn't know it was possible for her to make such a sound, it hurt her ears and vibrated her teeth. But the wailing continued, she couldn't stop it. The workers covered their ears and fled, leaving partially packaged cocaine on the tables behind them. When all were gone, the shriek stopped, and Theresa was once again in control of herself. She reached up and rubbed her jaw. The room was empty save for herself.
"That was a damn annoying sound, girl. And to shout it in my own home...." Theresa whirled around at the sound of the voice, the all to familiar voice, filled with conceit and control. She saw Isaac as she turned around, standing before her, dressed archaically, in a cape and suit. His thin face stared at her, the lines at the bridge of his hawk-like nose the only sign of his displeasure. "Well. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" The narrow line of his mouth curled upwards into a grin, a sneer, conceited and loathsome.
Theresa swallowed, and froze momentarily in fear. She hadn't really expected this, to meet Isaac like this, for real. This face, this man who had plagued her in nightmares, who had singlehandedly destroyed her ancestors. Who she knew was responsible for the corruption of her classmates and who knew what other crimes. She clenched her fists, unclenched them, and focused on that hateful, hateful sneer. "My name," she began, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "My name is Theresa Gates. And you, Isaac, are going to die." She stared hard at him, trying hard not to laugh, or to cry. She felt like part of some poorly scripted melodrama, and at the same time knew that she very well may lose her life in the next few minutes.
Isaac continued to grin at her, his features solid. "Theresa. Theresa Gates. I don't think I'm familiar with that name. Should I be?"
"No. But you may remember the names of my ancestors." Theresa listed them off like a litany, a roll call of the honored. "Gunnar Brightfang, Diana WyrmScourge, Kevin Rockclaw, Jenna Windmane." She knew there was more, but couldn't remember them. She hoped Jenna would forgive her. Somehow, it seemed important that Isaac knew who all she represented. "You killed them. I've come to repay the favor."
Isaac's grin widened. "Have you now? You can't possibly understand how many times I have heard those words. And they have never come to fruition." His smile faded slightly. "Do you think you can change that, child?"
"You will die for what you've done to them, Isaac. And for what you're doing here, with these drugs. Your crimes are unpardonable." Theresa spat the words out, ready to fling herself at him, but she held back. She didn't know why. He just stood there, smiling obnoxiously at her, goading her. And she couldn't bring herself to attack him. Something about the way he looked at her. His eyes. His deep, penetrating, ancient eyes. There was something about the dark orbs as he stared at her, something she couldn't place her finger on...
"Dammit, Theresa! Snap out of it!!"
The sound of Jenna's voice in her head jerked Theresa awake, causing her stumble backwards. Isaac had already sped across the distance between them, and would have had his clawed hands at her throat had Jenna not spoke, breaking the spell he had over her. Theresa flung her hands up to flail at him, relying on blind instinct and fear to motivate her. Sharp nails raked across her arms, through her clothes to draw blood. How the hell am I supposed to do this? she thought. She tried to ward off his blows, but was too scared, and too inexperienced. Isaac scored another series of slices on her arm, and slipped his arm in to scrape across her stomach. Then everything flashed red in her mind. Nothing gradual, nothing for Theresa to watch and make note of, just sudden and pure rage. And she was in her man-wolf form, towering over Isaac, her arms strong and hairy, her jaw powerful with fangs, her hands ending in sharp, long claws. Her wounds were all but faded, her clothes tattered to ground beneath her in rags. And to her pleasure, Isaac skipped a beat.
"Well. Apparently we're not all the child we seem, eh?" His voice was as controlled as ever, but his features were less so. He had taken a couple steps back, and dark lines slanted over his eyebrows, the muscles at his temples tightening and releasing. "And here I thought the wolf in sheep's clothing went out with Aesop's Fables." He growled low in his throat, leaping towards Theresa again, arms stretched out before him. Theresa tried to sidestep the lunge, but forgot how large she had become. The attack caught her full in the midsection, and Isaac tore away a layer of fur and flesh. It stung with pain, and she brought her own clawed hands down to his back, latching on and flinging his body away from her. She watched as he shot across the room, landing against the wall with a dull thud. And then watched as he picked himself up from the floor, undamaged. The only thing that had changed was the fire of anger in his eyes. What had been a slow smoulder now burned bright and powerful.
Theresa panicked at his unfazed reaction. If throwing him into a wall didn't even slow him down, what could she do? She backed up slightly, looking around the factory desperately. The only weapons she had were her teeth and claws. He had the same. There had to be some advantage she could find. Her size, perhaps, but apparently simple strength was under Isaac's league. A few mediocre knifes lay on the work tables. A pile of scrap wood to her left. Old wire behind Isaac. Other than that, nothing.
Jenna! Diana! She called the names out in her mind, desperate, still searching the room, moving her head jerkily. Gunnar! she shouted again. Damn them, they said they'd be there to help her. She needed the help, kept calling the names, shouting to them. She couldn't defeat him alone. Isaac circled her, and she kept her front towards him. He began to test her reflexes, feinting, jabbing within her reach and then darting out again. She was barely able to look like she knew what she was doing. She called out Jenna's name one more time before giving up entirely. No answer had come.
Isaac moved slowly around her still, his grin gone, replaced by a thin line of concentration. He feinted to the left, and then lunged towards Theresa's right. She moved to block, realizing too late it, too, had been a feint. Her entire left side was open. And Isaac was already there, his clawed hand cutting deep into her flesh. She roared in pain, bringing her arm down to slash back at him, but missed. He pivoted, dragging his other arm across her chest. More blood spilled out onto the floor. She tried to grab his arm, to kick her leg out at him, but he was already out of her reach, circling her again. Her left side was cut raggedly open, and a trio of blood-welling gashes slanted across her front. She had no idea how she could defeat this monster, was beginning to realize how he had killed so many of her forbears. She tried to think of the lectures she had done little more than attend, the ones of the Wyrm, of Wyrm creatures. How they could be beat. She knew Isaac was a vampire, one of the most blatant breaches of Gaia's cycle there could be. And vampires could only be killed... She frowned. They could only be killed by cutting their heads off. But they could be immobilized by a stake through their heart. That had to be wrong - it was straight out of 1950's Hollywood. And she knew that movies certainly hadn't done the Garou any justice. Yet, she remembered one of the gatherings, that that is what had been said. Immobilization by a stake. Death by removing the head. Which didn't leave her very many choices. Damn, but if Gunnar would only take over for her. But he, like Jenna and the others, had still not appeared.
She scanned the room again, still warily circling with Isaac. She knew his style better now, could tell the feints from the real attacks, had blocked a few as she reasoned out how to defeat him. She had even made a swipe or two herself, if only to ensure it wasn't a one-sided battle. But now, she had a plan. She waited until they had edged over to the coil of metal wire she had seen earlier. She backed up to it, and dropped suddenly, placing one hand on it, keeping the coil and her hand on the ground. She tried to make it looks as if her knee gave out, and apparently she was close enough. As soon as she went down, Isaac leapt at her.
She waited a split-second, trying to time her response exactly, then took the coil, threw it up and at Isaac. The metal filament unfurled smoothly, lashing out towards Isaac. Theresa had wanted it to maybe wrap around his neck or head, or even his trunk, but Isaac twisted as he saw her move. It caught him on the arm, but tangled upon itself as he tried to jerk his wrist away. Theresa still held on to the other end, and pulled hard. The slack disappeared as she pulled back, and instead of landing as he had intended, Isaac fell to the ground on his back with a loud slap. The coil was still snarled tightly around his wrist, and Theresa pulled it tighter. She jumped up and grabbed as his other hand, ensnaring it with the other end of the coil, tying Isaac's wrists together as he flailed against her. He lodged his teeth briefly in her calf before she kicked him in the head with her other foot, and his own feet were attempting to find the same purchase on her. After she finished tying his hands, she dashed across the room to the pile of scrap wood. A splintered two by four lay unassumingly in the pile, the end ragged but ending in a definite point. She grabbed it and turned back around. Isaac had already hoisted himself to his knees, straining at the wire around his wrists. Theresa could hear the thin metal strain at the pressure he was exerting on it.
Taking a deep breath, she leapt at him, knocking him back to the ground. They skidded to the wall, and Theresa hoisted the wood in her hand, thrusting it into Isaac's chest. He tried to put his arms out in defense, but couldn't orient them correctly. The splintered board punctured his body with a horrible sound a baseball bat hitting wet cement. It sank some six inches into his chest, and he lay still.
Theresa sat back, panting. Isaac's eyes riveted on her, alive with fury and hate, but his body made no motion. It sat there, twisted against the wall, hands tied together with metal wire, a broken board projecting from his chest at an odd angle. He was dead. No, she shook her head. He wasn't dead yet. She still needed... She swallowed. She still needed to cut of his head. She doubted the meager knifes on the table behind her would work. But what else would?
"Use your claws. They are strong enough. They will do the duty."
Theresa staggered back, sitting down involuntarily. The strange voice had come unexpectedly, had echoed in deep tones in her head. She had heard it only once before, but knew from then who it was. It was Gunnar. From her first dream she knew the voice, and from Anna's stories she knew the hero. It hit her then, as she heard his voice speaking to her. It hit all at once. It really had all happened. The still body before her had killed Gunnar centuries ago, had killed Jenna twenty years ago. She really had been Gunnar in a previous life. And Jenna. And Diana... Until now, she still hadn't fully realized it all.
"You are right to take pause. Your history is distinguished. But you still must kill Isaac. He is not yet dead."
Theresa nodded, still amazed at the power in Gunnar's voice. She reached out, grabbed Isaac's hair in one massive hand, and tilted his head back, exposing his throat. Her other hand poised above his neck, ready to swipe. She took one last look at his still-living eyes, which could almost burn holes with their intensity, and struck her arm violently down, digging her claws across his flesh. It tore with ease, and she felt decayed bone splinter and crack as she pulled her hand through it, her fingers emerging from the opposite side of his neck covered in dark, foul blood. His head was suspended from the hair in her other hand, his eyes now lifeless, dead like the rest of him. She dropped it immediately.
Gunnar spoke to her once more. "You have done well." And then, he was quiet.
"Gunnar?" Theresa asked aloud. Her voice was strangely deep and guttural, and she remembered she was in her man-wolf form of war. She had forgotten. Had it become that comfortable to her? She consciously made the shift back to her human form, her clothes hanging off her in rags. "Gunnar?" she asked again. The word echoed in the empty building.
"You don't need his guidance anymore, Theresa. But you did good. I'm proud of you. You did what none of us could do before."
Theresa nodded in response to Jenna. Somehow, it seemed a little less climactic than she had expected. "Why didn't you help me?"
"We couldn't. You had do defeat him yourself. Otherwise, you'd never have been able to face another conflict again, without running to me or Gunnar or Diana or any one of your past lives for assistance. It had to be you, and only you. And you did it! You did it, all by yourself."
Theresa, got up, and moved over to the work table. Partially filled bags were strewn across it in random disarray, measuring knifes and tally sheets. She found a lighter nearby a pack of cigarettes. After searching elsewhere, she found a can of gasoline. Even though Isaac was dead, she still needed to destroy this place, the drugs it was storing, the potential for even more drugs to be transferred. The gasoline lasted to drench the bases of the cardboard boxes, the work table and Isaac's body. She lit them all with the lighter and walked outside.
Theresa walked away from the factory, turning back to watch the walls catch fire. The sky was just beginning to show signs of light, dark blues fading to purples and deep reds near the horizon as the sun neared. "Jenna, I know who I am." she said, meaning it.