Blood Moon (6 page)

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll see you at dinner then. It’s in the living room at seven.’ I heard the unspoken word ‘promptly’. ‘And breakfast is at 6 a.m. in the kitchen.’

‘6 a.m.!’

She laughed. ‘You can’t keep the cubs in bed once it’s light! I’d like to say politely, do sleep as long as you like. But the cubs make so much noise…’ She shrugged that not-quite-human shrug. ‘You know what children are like. Or perhaps you don’t. Well, you will by tomorrow lunch time.’

Her smile was really very charming. ‘I’ll see you soon. Perhaps you’d like a nap too. You’ll find we werewolves have the most comfortable beds.’

T
he curving staircase had been shaped as the Tree grew. Each stair was wide but almost imperceptibly uneven. I could see the veins of the Tree on either side, the grain of the wood, the striations that said this wood was still alive.

The Tree narrowed as I climbed. What had Eleanor said? The second branch…the first was a rounded hollow on my right, the low, brown corridor leading to three or four gaping shadows that must be rooms. Werewolves, I remembered, didn’t like doors.

The second branch seemed to be the last of the Engineered living space, as the stairs stopped there. I imagined the great height of the Tree above me, swaying above the valley.

I stepped along the corridor. No attempt had been made here to do more than make the floor roughly even. I had to be careful I didn’t trip on gnarls and twists of wood.

The first room…and yes, as Eleanor promised, it did have a door. It even had a doorhandle. Doors and handles for those with hands, I thought, and the floor below for paws…

Something—someone scurried behind me. I turned to see one of the cubs, Bonnie? No, Connie, scrambling up the stairs on all fours with her ball in her mouth. She stood up hurriedly and removed it. ‘Mummy said I was to show you to your room! But you found it!’

She grinned at me. I had to resist scratching her ears. Cubs were cuter than kids. ‘I found it,’ I agreed. ‘But thanks anyway.’

She raced down the stairs again, this time on two legs, throwing the ball into the air as she went. I wondered if she caught it with paws or mouth or both…

As I opened the door, I could hear the happy yelps of cubs playing catch below.

W
e ate in the cavernous living room, at the low table by the unnecessary fire. The room was still dim; neither the firelight nor the round, moon-like lamps above us seemed to do more than make the shadows darker as they danced about the walls. Wolves, I assumed, had better night vision than human beings. Or maybe they liked the leaping shadows.

Dinner was meat, as Yorik had promised. A giant haunch of roasted venison, dripping bloody juices onto its platter, with potatoes and pumpkin around it, but there was a salad on the table too, and even bread and butter plates each with its neat hot roll. But somehow though, they were all subordinate to that lovely glistening roast.

I didn’t speak much. I listened and I watched and saw Eleanor watching me watch, with the faint half smile that meant she knew just what I was doing and how and why.

The cubs chattered about their lessons on NetSchool, and Great Uncle Rex, an elderly charmer with grey hair swept back in a pony tail, told me all about a walk to the waterfall I might enjoy if I cared to take a stroll in the moonlight after dinner.

And Emerald limped silently from place to place, serving more slices of meat (it seemed no one except Eleanor and I really wanted more pumpkin or potatoes). Uncle Dusty concentrated on his dinner, or rather on
manipulating his paws to cut up his meat and place it on his fork, till Eleanor leant over and cut it for him.

Which told me two things. This happy human dinner table was for my benefit—Dusty wasn’t used to cutlery. And secondly, they rarely had visitors for a formal dinner, or someone would have cut his meat up for him before it was served.

I gazed around the table. In one more generation, or two perhaps, the family might be human again—in appearance, at any rate. Assuming, I added in my mind, that Rusty also looked human. It was his genes as well as Eleanor’s, after all, that were shaping the family now.

‘And it’s almost a full moon, too. You should see the moonlight on the water.’ Great Uncle Rex laid an arthritic paw on my knee.

I blinked.

Was an elderly werewolf really trying to seduce me? But only one pair ever mated at a time…

But these weren’t really wolves, were they? They were human too.

I glanced at Eleanor. She laid her knife and fork elegantly on her plate. ‘Darling Uncle Rex,’ she said. ‘She’s already mated! To a lovely young man called Neil. At least I assume he’s lovely. And there is an interesting man called Michael too, in case she ever decides to change her mind.’

‘There is nothing between me and Michael,’ I said too quickly.

‘No? I just got the impression…never mind. I am sure, though, that you don’t want a walk in the moonlight with Uncle Rex.’

‘I…I am rather tired,’ I said.

‘Exactly.’ Eleanor smiled at Uncle Rex. ‘Don’t tempt her, darling. We really mustn’t seduce our guests.’

As though I could have found Rex attractive. I caught Eleanor’s eye. No, she hadn’t for one moment thought he might seduce me, but Rex was digging into his dinner contentedly, a small smile on his face. Management, I thought. She knows how to manage people well.

It was the moon that woke me. It shone through the curtainless window, a clear butter yellow now, its fullness only reduced by a tiny slice off the top.

I rolled away from its brightness and shut my eyes firmly again. Eleanor was correct. It was a comfortable bed, wide and very soft, though lower than my bed at home. The pillows were soft too. It was still hard to escape the feeling that this was a bed you turned round and round on until you’d stomped out a comfortable nest, then flopped down and curled up in its softness, rather than stretching out neatly along its length.

Despite the comfort though, I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was indigestion. The meat had been richer—and bloodier—than I was used to and even the roast vegetables had a certain meaty quality. Perhaps I missed Neil, the wide comfort of the bed only emphasising its emptiness. Or maybe…

It had been the moonlight that had woken me, hadn’t it?

I slid out of bed and slipped on a dressing gown. I had a sudden image of Eleanor, naked and furry in her bed. I doubted that Eleanor ever wore a dressing gown.

Did she and Rusty sleep alone, as a Truenorm couple might do? Or did the ‘cubs’ sleep with them, a warm friendly wolf-like mass of arms and legs and furry ears. Or—the thought suddenly struck me—perhaps the
whole clan slept together by the light of the fire downstairs or in another room with soft floors and cushions and a fire for light and comfort.

The moon was bright enough to make out the main features of the garden—tall trees, squat trees, the green of the grass almost purple now. Night colours are different from those of daylight, but they are colours none the less, not simply shades of black and grey.

No, it hadn’t been the moonlight that woke me. Now I was awake, I could remember the sound of a door banging below my room. A deeper shadow moved in the dappled shadows of the Tree.

Someone was out there in the night.

I was half tempted to call out ‘Hey!’ or ‘Hello’ or simply ‘What are you doing?’ But somehow the very silence of the night stopped me. It was as though the gold and black of night were smiling at me, just like Eleanor, all red and black, had smiled at me before. You are a creature of daylight, the night whispered. This is not your time. Be still.

The shadow moved again. A creature on all fours, shaggy and wolf-like. The face lifted up into the light and I saw that it was human too.

Werewolf. I don’t think I had really understood the term before. Not with my heart, not in the instinctive depths where most emotion still comes from.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck shiver, my hands stiffen slightly as though to fight. I willed them to relax.

The figure below had stopped. It sat on its haunches, facing away from me, its head on one side as though considering.

What was it thinking? Was it just enjoying the
moonlight? Or was it wondering which ‘topia to lope to next, which throat to rip out, whose life to tear from their body?

For a moment I frantically considered throwing my clothes on and padding down the stairs and outside, following it into the darkness and across the countryside to catch it in the act.

But the whole idea was ridiculous. I was in a house of werewolves. They would hear me before I was halfway down the stairs, no matter how quiet I tried to be. The first wandering breeze would carry my scent to my quarry in the moonlight. Nor was there any way I could keep up with whoever it was down there—my two legs versus their four.

No. If the wolf below me slipped away into the darkness all I could do would be to call Eleanor so we could face the culprit together when they came home, blood around their mouth perhaps or other stains on their fur. Perhaps I should ask Eleanor to open the Link to Black Stump for me too, so I could warn them that…

That what? That a perfectly innocent neighbour was taking a run in the moonlight? Suddenly I realised that I too had been doing exactly what Black Stump had warned me all their neighbours—the bigots at Nearer to Heaven, the narrow minds at the Patriach’s—had done. I was letting my prejudices rule my mind. Not even my own prejudices, but lingering racial memories that screamed ‘Beware the semi-human! Beware the animal that smiles into the night!’

The members of this family were not werewolves, even though Eleanor might mockingly use the term. They were different, modified, as I was modified. Part
wolf, yes, but that should make them gentler than humanity, not crueller…

The creature below me lifted his head. The sudden noise raised the hairs on my neck again, even as it reassured my mind.

I took off my dressing gown and crept into the too-soft bed again. There was nothing to worry about. No one in the Tree even seemed to stir at the sound.

It was only Uncle Dusty, howling at the moon.

B
reakfast was meat. Cooked meat, as at dinner, but still meat. A pot of porridge sat on the table, but no one seemed interested in it, except me.

We sat at another low table in the kitchen this time. Apart from the table the kitchen was an almost human room, with its benches and Ultrawave. On a small shelf above the bench a hologram of the cubs grinned and wriggled on the sofa, just like the baby holo of Neil with his first apple tree that Elaine kept on her desk.

But this room had a fireplace too, the Truewood charred and smoky around it. Even on this warm morning the hot coals snickered and flared and, as Emerald limped out to fetch the milk, I caught a glimpse of the long room beyond which evidently served as both commercial cool room and kitchen larder.

Long headless bodies of what I assumed—hoped—were deer hung from metal hooks in the ceiling, then thankfully the door shut itself again as Aunt Emerald limped back in to the room, carrying the milk in a tall jug and a tray of chops.

The cubs sat on cushions and wriggled their noses into their milk; apart from Dusty, we adults sat on stoollike low chairs.

‘How many chops?’ Aunt Emerald smiled above me, the bloody tray in her hands.

‘Er…just one. Thank you.’

‘Are you sure? You’re going to have a busy day…Bonnie, Johnnie you stop that at once!’

The cubs ignored her.

‘No really. Just the one.’ I was tempted to say, the cereal is plenty, but was afraid it would seem wimpish in this house of meat.

‘Six for me,’ growled Uncle Dusty beside me. He moved even more stiffly today after his moonlight singsong. He saw me looking—or perhaps he smelled my emotions—because he smiled endearingly and said, ‘Arthritis! Ten years ago I’d have been prowling through the valley in the moonlight. Now a howl in the night is about all that I can manage.’

Aunt Emerald sniffed. ‘You know Eleanor has forbidden any prowling in the moonlight till the murderer is caught. You’ll get yourself shot. And you’ll have three chops as you always do. Six! My word, the way some people fancy themselves.’

Dusty glanced at me. He lifted his chin. His ears pricked up. ‘If I say six, woman, then I mean…’

‘Good morning everyone!’ Eleanor strode into the room. Again I was struck by her elegance, her confidence, even with the bulge of pregnancy. I wondered suddenly how many cubs she carried. Three again? Wolves had multiple nipples to feed their young…

I gazed at her breasts automatically. Two breasts, not six to feed a litter of three. I blushed, and looked up to see Dusty watching me with genuine anger, Eleanor with amusement, and Emerald with something too hard to define.

Then the tableau was broken. Eleanor bent down to kiss the cubs, who straightened their backs and
their bowls. She kissed Dusty’s cheek, and his confrontational chin dropped and his ears seemed to droop as well.

‘Bonnie, darling, porridge first then chops. No, don’t argue. No chops till you’ve had your porridge, no play till you’ve had your chops. Johnnie, we eat our meat cooked, don’t we? Emerald, sweet, where is the orange juice?’

‘I’m just about to put it out.’ Emerald placed the jug on the table (it was genuine stuff, I noticed, not drypak; Rusty must trade for oranges when he did the venison run) then limped over to the fire and picked up a plate of chops. She began to thread several onto a long metal pole across the fireplace. It was already laden, the fresh fat spluttered on the coals below and a faint haze of smoke filled the kitchen.

I stood up. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Sit down!’ Eleanor slid into the seat beside me. She was wearing something long, velvety and dark green this morning. The colour suited her. ‘Emerald is quite capable. Aren’t you, darling?’

Emerald’s smile, showed her long teeth. ‘Very capable,’ she said, but she said it to Eleanor, not me.

Eleanor held her gaze for perhaps a moment too long. Emerald’s eyes dropped back to the chops. Eleanor turned to me.

‘Did you sleep well?’ she enquired.

‘Perfectly,’ I lied.

Eleanor’s eyes ran over my face—undoubtedly slightly hollow-eyed. But she said nothing. ‘Pass me the porridge, darling,’ she said to Dusty. Then to me. ‘Did his song wake you last night? I suppose it’s not what you’re used to.’

‘Not exactly,’ I admitted.

Dusty looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘No, don’t be. I suppose the full moon…’

Dusty smiled. ‘You suppose the full moon is irresistible to a wolf? Not quite. I was out there anyway, and…’

Eleanor frowned. ‘I said no one was to leave the house at night…’

‘I smelt something,’ said Dusty shortly. ‘Something wrong. And with Rusty not here…’

‘What sort of thing?’ I asked, alarmed. ‘The Matriach’s people again?’

Again the not-quite-human shrug. ‘No. Not this time. I don’t know. Strange. Maybe animal. Maybe human.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t Gloucester?’ asked Emerald.

‘I know Gloucester’s smell perfectly well,’ began Dusty.

‘Gloucester!’ I exclaimed.

‘He’s been patrolling the Valley every night since the Patriarch was killed,’ said Emerald.‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said slowly. ‘I suppose these murders bring it all back…Perdita’s death I mean.’

‘I suppose they do,’ said Eleanor quietly. ‘Now, what do you intend to do this morning? You have our full cooperation of course.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘I’d like to question each one of you if you don’t mind. By yourselves,’ I added hastily, in case Eleanor decided to orchestrate each interview. ‘Just to see where everyone was. If you all have alibis then that proves you must be innocent.’

‘I’d have thought that finding the guilty person would do that even better,’ said Emerald quietly from the fireplace.

‘Darling, we know none of us are murderers. Danielle doesn’t. Isn’t that right, Danielle?

I nodded, took a bite of chop. It was tender, but I was already sick of so much meat.

Eleanor sipped her orange juice, and smiled at us around the table.