The viscous darkness surrounded, overpowered by the absence of sounds, as if Enid had somehow fallen into the sky of the new moon. Fear crawled up, curled into a ball of air between the collarbones. A moment later, the absence of sounds was replaced by the lull of the living forest, still but noisy. And with the background of a lull - a voice, unfamiliar and quiet, melodious and deep, broke through the darkness.
Traitor - the name of the wolf,
that follows the bright godi,
to the warding woods,
There is another, Hatred,
Child of Glorious Wolf,
that follows only the bright bride in the sky.
The sound of the words was unfamiliar, but understanding seemed to come by itself. Enid started to smell the forest - and roasting meat - and, as usual, the mention of food in a dream made her wake up. It was a rather odd phenomenon, the same as some people have it with flying or harming themselves in a dream
Enid woke up with a sudden start.
Kinda wacky buzzing head, blurry vision, muffled hearing - all this did not set up a productive mood. It just couldn't, because it was, firstly, unexpected, and secondly, how can the mood be productive when the memories seem to be so abrupt?
Enid didn't remember how or where she fell asleep, and it was extremely abnormal. Definitely something unusual for one of werewolves, who, after the first turn, simply do not have such a thing as "I'm sick" or "I felt inexplicably ill." Sometimes, of course, it was unpleasant to look at the detailed bloody scenes in movies, those that she was not quite supposed to watch because of age limit. But the condition in which Enid found herself as of now very little resembled a slight horror-induced wobbling of the insides.
Enid felt quite a palpable very sharp pain in her stomach.
"Regaining consciousness," a familiar voice stated, barely breaking through the buzzing in her ears.
"Schaefer?"
Enid's voice was peculiarly raspy.
"Enid, how do you feel, is it not tight? I hope the rest won't cause you too much inconvenience. How's the head?"
John Schaefer's cheerful voice did not suit the situation at all, and the content of his speech in general.
If something was tight, that's what he asked. Which was about - and Enid had already realized this, only because she could slightly turn her head to the side and see a silver gleam - handcuffs chaining her to a metal cot.
And that gleam was not just silver in color.
At the point of contact with the skin, the handcuffs left a mark, as if from a burn.
It was silver.
***
Enid tried to scream, of course she tried to escape, but every movement in handcuffs brought even more pain to her limbs. The abdominal pain has dulled, becoming worse only with excessive movements.
John Schaefer kept writing something down and humming softly to himself at the table in the corner of the room. Enid could only see his back. The fact that he dared to turn his back made her boil even more - he knew that she could not overcome silver. He was overconfident. Yes, there was little strength, but if try and compare her - when she first came to her senses, and her - now, then it could be said with confidence that her strength was gradually returning.
She decided to play along.
What ordinary people usually forgot about - and what Owen had told her more than once, although at that time she perceived it as just interesting information - silver is fatal for werewolves only if it got into the organs mechanically with tissue damage. Even eating something with a silver spoon could end with something bad only if there's an accumulation of the substance for decades.
The only thing that bothered her was what happened to her stomach? The T-shirt with the schematic image of a vampire smiley face showing the tongue was still on her -nobody undressed her. Joy, really.
Enid gave free rein to her tears, quiet and as if announcing that she was giving up - it was easy, because crying from tension and stress, to some extent, brought relief. And this reprieve made it possible to convince John Schaefer that she was ready for a dialogue. After all, as soon as she started trying to escape, he said something along the lines of "as soon as you understand that it's useless, we'll talk," and sat down at his desk.
"Well, did you realize it's useless?"
His tone was no less cheerful.
Enid nodded repeatedly, as if nervous, swallowing tears, even a little afraid of slipping into hysterics. But her inner wolf-the very essence that warned of danger in the first meeting with this man-seemed to be crouched inside a tight lump of rage and hatred.
"You see, Enid," the man began, coming closer, "your biological status will most likely be Alpha. You know what happens to Alphas that the pack doesn't need, right?"
"What do you mean?" she frowned, pretending not to understand, and it seems she succeeded, because the man launched into an explanation.
This man loved to listen to his voice, it was quite clear.
"The dossier on the pack living in San Francisco says that there is already an Alpha, and he is undergoing training."
Enid tensed, realizing how serious it was if some unknown had information intended only for the state authority, responsible for the Outcast communities.
"And since you're here, in the camp for those who didn't turn," Schaefer continued, but in a more serious tone and narrowing his eyes, "then it's definitely not you."
"I see..." Enid muttered hoarsely, and the tears sprang out again - she gave in, surprising even herself. "That is..."
"That is, when you turn, they will deny you," the man clapped his hands, returning to a cheerful tone. "Let's lift you up! It will be easier this way!"
He came closer, snapped his fingers in front of her nose - obviously checking the reaction, and was satisfied that Enid did not try to bite him, although she really, really wanted to - and scrolled the mechanism of the cot to move Enid from lying to a sitting position.
"How..." Enid licked her lips and swallowed to make it easier to speak. "How did you find out about this?"
"Oh, don't you remember? Wait a minute!"
The man quickly went to the door, opened the latch and stuck his head out.
Enid's hearing, which had almost returned after losing consciousness, caught the softly spoken name.
"Peter," Schaefer said, deliberately softly, "buddy, come here."
A flimsy-looking teenager, at least a year younger than Enid, walked in the door, under John's outstretched hand. His hair was straight and light brown, covered his ears and eyebrows, his face was thin and somehow haggard. He was much shorter than John.
"Peter prefers to do everything I say, right Peter?" Schaefer said with his unwavering smile.
"Y-yes, Mr. Schaefer, I am... I don't..."
"Come on, Peter, don't be embarrassed, even though you are an Omega werewolf, but still a man, you need to build sentences clearly if you don't want to be constantly interrupted by everyone!"
"What does he have to do with it," Enid squeezed out of herself, barely restraining a growl because the emotions of fear and terror were radiating from the boy. "And how did his biological status help you find out mine? It doesn't work that way."
"He obeys me because, as in your case, the rules of the pack work, and if his parents find out that he has this biological status, then he will not be able to study at Nevermore. You're supposed to go to Nevermore this year too, aren't you, Enid?"
"It's not like that," Enid shook her head, "no, I mean, I'm going to Never... but Omegas are not forbidden to study? They just have to be more careful and spend at least a year with the elders to learn how to control their abilities."
"Maybe for you it's like this!"
Peter suddenly ranted angrily, flaring up with even greater fear and uncertainty - Enid even wondered why she felt his emotions so well.
"But I enrolled Nevermore only because I study a lot and graduated from several classes of secondary school in a year! My family doesn't have as much money as the whole clan."
"Well done, Peter," John patted the boy on the shoulder, interrupting him. "So, Peter, at my request, tried to arouse an emotion of hatred in you. Which eventually ended up with both of you passing out, and I took advantage of the situation and ran a test."
"You took my blood," Enid looked wearily at the werewolf boy. "You do realize that this is illegal, right?"
"He doesn't need an Omega," the boy shrugged. "He said he would let you go."
"And you believed it?" Enid exhaled, not without vitriol.
"Of course he believed me, I was telling the truth!" Schaefer interrupted, smiling with all his teeth and putting his arm around the boy's shoulders. "You see, omegas are a settled issue. They weren't taken care of so much in the last big war, so they are very studied, Enid. But unclaimed Alphas?"
"Unclaimed?" Enid muttered.
Schaefer heard it anyway, because he and the boy came closer - John was literally dragging Peter by the scruff of the neck, and from that he smelled more and more of fear and ... anticipation?
"Unclaimed - meaning, you don't have a senior Alpha Werewolf as a mentor. And we have reason to believe that Alpha werewolves remember something from the past of ancestors related to them by blood, if they do not have the... let's say, anchor. You see, my grandfather did some research, and unfortunately his first and last unclaimed Alpha Werewolf died of a brain hemorrhage, muttering in ancient Greek, which the guy never knew in his life, something about the curse of the gods."
"And why it was... all this for the sake of..." Enid had obvious difficulties with forming sentences, because what he was telling her seemed terrible and unimaginable nonsense, for which, apparently, she was kidnapped.
Well, she certainly understood that Owen knew where she was, and their connection, which this psychopath thought did not exist, would still work when he eventually got here, but...
"I took the liberty," John continued, without ceasing to cause disgusting sensations with his ostentatious cheerfulness, "to apply to you the horn secretion solution of Cochlea Sarmatica, the so-called Sarmatian sea snail. But I did it, unlike my deceased grandfather, not in such concentration that you felt as bad as that poor guy. I wonder what you heard? Will you tell me?"
"Even if I'd heard something, I wouldn't have told you," Enid said, trying to throw this freak off balance.
"Give me time," John promised, and smiled broadly again.
Enid herself began to get out of balance, which did not correspond to her desires, but she could not do anything about it, John enraged her so much. Even the thought of sharing that moment of calm in the forest with him
Peter suddenly jerked to the side, out from under the arm of this psychopath, and tried to rush to the door, but John took his other hand out of his pants pocket and threw a throwing knife, silver in the bright light of the daytime lamps. He missed - the projectile clanked on the floor, but made the boy freeze, because the throw touched the palm stretched out to the door handle.
"I won't miss next time," John lost all his fun and squinted, holding another knife in his other palm. "Come."
The boy shrank his head into his shoulders and took a step back to the man.
"Take a pill out of your pocket and swallow it," Schaefer said, focusing his gaze on Peter. "And keep in mind that no one will believe you anyway, even if you run out of here, get to people and shout about it."
"Y-you're putting lives in danger," the boy shook, but still took a pill out of his own pocket and brought it to his mouth. "You're making a mistake."
"I'll figure out somehow what I'm doing and with whom! I've calculated everything. And no one will have to die. I am accountable for you lot," John chuckled, but did not put the knife down
Their exchange of pleasantries gave Enid the opportunity to somehow get close and try to quietly test the handcuffs for strength - the chains were too thin to keep the werewolf who can turn, but it was clearly assumed that silver would take over most of the restraining.
On the Beta Werewolf, who never turned, it would have worked.
She was already preparing to rush forward, breaking the flimsy shackles - while Peter slowly obeyed the order of their captor. The boy put the pill in his mouth and swallowed, under John's attentive gaze. The man was playing with the silver knife. Boy's shoulders sagged and when he opened his eyes, they seemed to have acquired a strange haze.
"Well done," Schaefer remarked with satisfaction and began to turn to face Enid.
Her plans, which had abruptly shifted from bringing the man to unconsciousness to bringing the man to a crippled state, were interrupted by the signal of Schaefer's phone.
The man picked up the phone and put his finger to his lips, looking straight into Enid's eyes. She understood that if she rushed at him now, then whoever was on the other side would call the police, and more precisely, the department that specifically deals with such cases of attacks on ordinary people. And they're unlikely to figure it out before they start shooting at a bloodied werewolf near a crippled Normie.
"Mm-hmm? Yes, Schaefer is listening. Alarm in... Can it wait? Mm-hmm. Good. I'll be there in ten minutes. At least let me get dressed, Mr. Harris. Mm-hmm. Yes."
He ended the call, walked over to Enid and took a ready-made syringe from the refrigerator next to the bed.
"You'll tell me," he nodded to himself, baring his teeth in an insincere smile that did not touch his eyes, and unceremoniously lifted her T-shirt up to the diaphragm. "I do it here, because this way the absorption into the blood is slower."
Enid almost changed her mind about waiting for him to leave the room, but if someone's waiting for him somewhere, then if she tries to kill him now, they'll be looking for him. And it's likely that this call in itself is a sign that Owen finally found her missing and decided to break in. The probability of this was really high.
Sinclair didn't even flinch, though the pain from the injection was serious.
"After a while, you will either feel very good or very bad," John said with mock concern and threw the syringe on the table.
Before leaving the room, the man looked at Peter and said mockingly.
"Place. Guard."
And he went out, closing the door behind him with a key.
Peter nodded slowly and stood by the door as soon as it closed. His gaze met Enid's.
Enid didn't even have to strain to unleash the inner beast.
The iris was probably flooded with scarlet, the silver on the wrists seemed only a small obstacle. And then she realized that the veil in Peter's eyes had receded a little, and the corner of his lips twitched, faintly, but noticeably. The boy breathed fear and anticipation again.
And now she understood why.
He must have seen these eyes before.
And he was definitely not a fool.
"Give the order, Alpha," the boy blurted out and took an uncertain step in her direction.
Fingers got claws, and Enid's mouth was full of fangs, so she just growled - Peter got it right and jumped out of her way. Sinclair felt that soon this drug - and the secretion of some kind of snail, causing wacky dreams, definitely sounded like a drug -would begin to work. And therefore it was necessary to act.
"No, really, order me something contrary to his orders," Peter started again from somewhere on the right, he no longer stuttered, spoke hurriedly, swallowing the words. "Please, hurry up!"
Enid listened - there was definitely no one behind the door - so she took it off its hinges with two blows, making the boy wince from the screech.
Sinclair exhaled - her head began to spin, so she listened to the plea of another werewolf and turned her head to him.
"If a werewolf older than us, name's Owen, comes here, it's for me. Anyone else, especially John Schaefer, the reaction should be as follows. You tear his face and hands, try not to touch the vital areas, run away from here and shout something along the lines "Rapist!" and "Fire in the building!" Is that clear?
She added to this - doing it for the first time in her life, should be noted - the Alpha order, which Owen had told her about as if it's a last resort. Well, Owen said exactly how to complete it, so as not to reveal the secret.
"Don't tell anyone in any way that I'm the Alpha Werewolf and know how to give orders like this."
Peter's eyes bulged in surprise, but he nodded silently and somehow pulled himself together.
"Gotcha, Enid. Better sit, by the way. I read, well, in the preparatory literature for Nevermore about this snail and its secretion, it is forbidden, of course, but the effects are recorded. For ordinary people, it causes pleasant stuff without any addiction, in small dosages, and for outcasts - depending on..."
"Tell me later, Peter," Enid clutched her head with one hand and the wall with the other. "I think I need to sit down."
Peter helped her down to the hallway floor. The last thing she saw before the darkness began to take over her field of vision again was his worried face.
***
"You've got it wrong, Suni." it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar and pleasant.
"Really? How then?" the voice was soft, it was clear that he was talking to someone for whom he feels tenderness and affection, perhaps even love.
Betrayer called a wolf,
who accompanies purification seeking priest
to the warding woods.
Another is Hatred,
He, who is the Famed Wolf's son,
Sows derision in the presence of
The pure bride in the sky.
"Now remember, dear?" her voice was filled with answering tenderness and warmth.
"A prophecy for the future of our family? What does it mean?"
"This is a prophecy for all of us. If I knew how to avoid it, I wouldn't try to pass it on to others, and woud've done something myself. You know me."
"Ragna, the prophecy doesn't apply to our child, does it?"
"No, Suni."
"Then let's worry about it later. You're going to be a wonderful mother."
The conversation in the darkness was interrupted again by the appearance of other sounds and smells, although for some reason Enid continued to feel the emotions of this Suni, the desire to protect, love and tenderness, which she had never felt before. The roasting meat once again pushed Enid out of the dream, and this time she was greeted by the undoubtedly most expected, and most importantly, causing undoubted relief, worried face of Uncle Owen.
Enid felt the tension drain away. Visibly staggering, she got up from the floor and rushed to hug him. But Owen ruined everything when she stopped squeezing him in her arms and pulled away.
"I'm sorry, Enid, I didn't realize everything was that bad here!"
He was holding Enid by the elbows, because she was shaking, but what he said made her throw away his palms and recoil.
"You knew?! Did you know where you were sending me?!"
"I knew that there were certain kinds of problems here, but I didn't even think that I would stumble upon this leftover..."
Owen scratched the back of his head with a familiar gesture, he clearly felt uncomfortable, but...
"What the hell?!"
"One of the traces of smuggling operation of mythical creatures led here, my partner interrogated the man who locked you up, and we have more leads now. Everything is settled!" Uncle blurted out, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"This does not negate that..."
Enid was wound up, and how could she not be. From such stupidity, you'd not just want to growl at, you'd probably want to murder someone.
"Enid!" Peter's voice was even more emotional than before, and he practically ran into the room.
Both Sinclairs turned their heads toward the door.
"Mr. Aras and Mr. Owen came by half an hour later. It turned out that they suspected something was wrong..."
"Paz," Owen nodded to a dark-skinned man in a floor-length raincoat and sunglasses. "Is everything settled?"
"And they work for the FBI, ain't that cool?"
"Peter?"
"Yes?"
"I'll meet you at Nevermore, okay?" I'm not in the mood for... all this."
"Uh-m-m... You're absolutely sure you want to be... uh, to be friends with me?" Peter hesitated, losing his enthusiasm. "I am, well, boring?"
"Are you asking or claiming?" Owen interjected and grinned. "Boy, be so kind, don't talk much about what happened here. Would you?"
His eyes flashed scarlet.
Peter turned pale and nodded very quickly.
"You and her," the boy nodded at Enid, "totally have a family resemblance when you try to threaten."
"Well," Owen snorted and stepped closer. "Come on, kid, I'm ordering you not to tell anyone except those who are already here about this whole situation. So it will be easier for you, and for me to fill out lesser amount of papers. Paz?"
"Hmm?" The silent man pulled his raincoat closer and shrugged. "Hmm."
"Well, good talk. And you..." He turned to the still very much irritated Enid. "We're going to my house. Paz, you can go rest. The mission is over."
Paz shrugged again, reached for the light switch. He left only the desk lamp on. Owen rolled his eyes at this, and the teenagers looked at each other, not without fright. As soon as the shadow appeared in a room, not as brightly lit as before, the man disappeared into it, and not just became invisible, but actually dissolved. It was clear to the werewolves right away - the smell, the sound, everything wasn't there.
Owen flipped the switch and muttered to himself, but of course Enid heard.
"What a drama aficionado..."
"Owen..." She rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly and grimaced at the pain in her stomach. "I'm not very well, and yours... your actions..."
"I'm sorry," the man shrugged and scratched his head again. "I can try to make you feel better by the fact that we got some distant relatives incoming, extremely fun kids, one even your age. They will be visiting..."
"Not interested," Enid growled. "Don't try to change the subject."
"Well, not in front of him, right?" Owen nodded at Peter, and Enid also looked at him.
"Agreed," Sinclair somehow deflated and continued pinching the bridge of her nose.
The man sighed and jerked his head towards the exit.
"The camp continues its work, boy. You'll be contacted later to testify, but for now, go rest. The director was not aware, Paz checked."
"And who is this... Mr. Aras?" Peter asked with evident curiosity. "He's simply... odd."
"He's... an immigrant," Owen shrugged and turned to Enid, clearly considering his answer completed, ergo generating even more questions. "Let's go get your stuff. I've arranged it. You'll spend the rest of the summer with me."
"And if I don't..."
"We'll discuss it in the car," Owen interrupted, pointedly glancing at the boy.
"All right," Enid surrendered, and followed Owen.
"Wait for me!" Peter caught up with them a few steps later and asked, "Enid, are you sure you're going to be friends with me in Nevermore? I don't have any friends, so I would like to make sure we meet in advance, well, and..."
There was an awkward pause, which Enid's tiredness and Peter's finished charge of enthusiasm did not allow to fill.
"There's a statue of Edgar Allan Poe," Owen shared. "The one with the book and the raven. My wife studied there, why are you looking like that! She says it's a good meeting place. Well, or the crypt of some psychopath. But this is more the thing for my wife, the graves, the crypts... Ugh."
"It sounds like your wife is an Addams, not a werewolf," Peter chuckled, but when there was no answering laughter, he stopped and even quit walking. "You're... an Alpha, aren't you?"
"Well?" Owen asked lazily and stopped. "What does this have to do with my wife?"
"Peter," Enid folded her arms and leaned forward. "Do you think that werewolves become spouses only with werewolves? If you remember, our stupid captor decided to give me a ticket to the past."
"What do you mean, Enid?" Owen frowned.
"We'll discuss it in the car," she mimicked Owen irritably. "So," Enid continued, looking closely at the nervous boy. "What I heard was a conversation between two spouses. One is a werewolf, the other is his wife, according to the modern classification, a psychic oracle. She said something about a traitor who leads a priest into a protected forest, and about a hater who sows discord, as I far as I understood. Is the message clear?"
"Clear," Peter nodded and sniffed. "Near the Poe's statue?"
"Near the Poe's statue," Enid hastened to agree.
"But wash your hair first, kid," Owen added, and when Enid nudged him in the side, he shrugged and muttered. "I know you'd like to say that too! His hair's oily!"
"Don't pretend that you don't know how to lie when it's convenient for you, Uncle!"
Owen Sinclair shut up after it, and the rest of the time before arriving home - which was three to four hours - they spent in relative silence.
Enid kept thinking that she didn't know her uncle at all and couldn't understand his motives. It was the first time that mortal danger had touched her life so closely. And it seemed as if her unconditional trust in Uncle Owen was partly to blame for that.
Owen kept thinking about how he would have to explain his wife that Enid did not want to reveal herself to the family once again and even hear about the move. And how the wife will react to the girl's wounds. Though, as that nervous boy correctly noted, such things are not very significant for the Addamses.
Especially if no one has died, and especially, if no one has died irrevocably.