CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was an interesting portion indeed! Lots going on and I am excited for more later! 
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The Blood, Continuing where we left off with The Beasts
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
PART TWO
“This is reminding me of another story.” Jim said,
“Well, spit it out,” Kris clapped him on the back.
Jim opened his mouth, but Kristian had already guessed, “Bisclavret.”
“Yes,”
“What the hell is Bisclavret?” Myron demanded.
“It’s a French story. It’s medieval.”
“Can you find it?”
“It’s the twenty first century,” Jim took out his phone, “Of course I can find it.”
And then Jim read: “Eight, the Lay of the Were Wolf.”
He read on.
“AMONGST THE TALES I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.
It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I have to tell.
In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did any of his house know the business which called him forth.
On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this fashion, "Husband," said she, "and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty hand, than to gain hard words."
When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her.
"Wife," he answered, "ask what you will. What would you have, for it is yours already?"
"By my faith," said the lady, "soon shall I be whole. Husband, right long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now, where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who loves so closely, bring you to harm?"
"Wife," made answer the lord, "nothing but evil can come if I tell you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost indeed."
And then Jim stopped and he passed his phone to Kris.
When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.
"Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey and roots, within the thickest of the wood."
After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.
"Wife," said he, "I go naked as a beast."
"Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?"
"Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my lair."
"Husband," replied the lady to him, "I love you better than all the world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now your heart, and tell what is good to be known."
So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could no longer refrain, but told her all.
And suddenly, as if they were performing a liturgy, they passed the phone one to another.
"Wife," said he, "within this wood, a little from the path, there is a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I would return to my own home."
On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.
"Fair friend," said she, "be happy. That which you have coveted so long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as love and dame."
Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told him all this business of her lord—why he went, and what he became, and of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel, and of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his vesture. Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed. Often enough had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from this journey he never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came together to ask of his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad. Many a man, on many a day, searched the woodland, but none might find him, nor learn where Bisclavaret was gone.
The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long a space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared. Then it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where the Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way and that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman winded on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed him from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned upon the prince's foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but presently he called his courtiers to his aid.
"Lords," cried he, "hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing. Here is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his foe, and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the hounds, and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but return to our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken."
The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret following at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like any dog, and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had brought him safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the beast was fair and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had the King in his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all those who wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to strike him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and kennelled warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all the day the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong, for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none. Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that the King loved him as his friend.
Hearken now to that which chanced.
The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons, and all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a goodlier feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst those who were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of Bisclavaret for dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair company, but little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret marked his foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him, and seized him with his fangs, in the King's very presence, and to the view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once, and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was the beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent the household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and that the Wolf had suffered at the knight's hand some bitter wrong. Right wary of his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and all the barons had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to his own house. With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom Bisclavaret so fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was glad to go.
No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the courteous King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found. With the prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the King abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known of that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the lodge, since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a rich present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor leash might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in his hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady's face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain wise counsellor said to the King,
"Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there is not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has done evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of the dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close and private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he had gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and question her straitly, so that she may tell—if perchance she knows thereof—for what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For many a strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous land of Brittany."
The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He laid hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another place. He caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their torment was very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress, and partly by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady's lips were loosed, and she told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her lord, and how his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then she knew not where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never come again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.
Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish. When the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give him a fresh rede.
"Sire," said he, "you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human shape."
The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King's bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a hundred times. When man's speech returned once more, he told him of his adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell. As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more seen.
But when Myron had finished reading, he gave the phone to Anne who read:
The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and indeed it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was written that it should ever be borne in mind.”
“I remember the end of that story,” Joyce said, and it was the first time she had spoken. “But I always thought it was just.. fun.”
“Leaving aside stuff like, was the wife a bitch, was the werewolf gay for the king,” Kris said, “we don’t even know how he became a werewolf.”
“What if he didn’t?” Jim said. “What if he was born that way?”
“It’s a French story, but there’s more to it than that,” Kris said. “Where does it come from. The part of France? Brittany”
“Where was Perrault from?”Peter said.
“Paris,” Anne said, without looking at her phone.
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked.
“Just,” Kris said, “that if we can trace the stories, maybe we can trace where it all began, and if we can go to where it all began, we can find out more.”
They had stopped talking, and Kris and jim were both working on their phones, looking at each other’s work, tongues between their lips, whispering back and forth and then, Jim said, “Well, shit.”
“Holy shit,” Kris murmured.
“Share?” Marabeth said.
“We were trying to figure the distance between Brittany and Bavaria,” Kris said.
“And then Jim did the distance between Quimper—”
“Because it’s the only town I could remember in Brittany,”
“And Bavaria,” Kris said. “And it made, get this, a straight six hundred mile line.”
“That should mean something,” Myron said.
“If this has gone on a long time,” Marabeth said, “if Hagano is very very old, then… along time ago the French and the Germans were one people.”
Kris blinked at his sister.
“Kris, I went to school just like you.”
“Yes,” Kris allowed. “It’s just, “sometimes I forget it.”
“Anyway,” Marabeth continued, “when Charlemagne ruled, his empire spread across both. After he died it was eventually split into France and Germany, through his descendants. But, Germanic people, our ancestors, were nomadic, or partially.”
“And when they weren’t nomads, they would have stll traveled between the two lands,” Kris said. “I mean, back then it would have been a bunch of different lands. The borders would have always been changing. This whole stretch of land, from Brittany to Bavaria could be our stomping grounds.”
“You are close,” Anne said. “Closer and closer. I am not old. I have not met one of your kind before. When you are so close and you find the source of everything, have you considered this: what will you do?”
Myron wanted to leave, not that he didn’t want to be with his cousins, but the night was drawing on, and Anne had a look that said this, and Myron wanted to leave with her, talk with her.
“So,” Jim said, yawning, and thinking of Seth, “all of you have been talking about these pills, this medicine.”
All day, he had reminded himself not to be desperate, not to call Seth, and when he had finally messaged him an hour or so ago, there had been no answer.
“Yeah,” Kris said. “Right around thirteen, or puberty, we took it.”
“Dad took it too,” Marabeth said. “and Granddad.”
“Now I think that what I thought was happening to me,” Kris said, “the madness, that must have been my Change.’
“It was the Change,” Peter said, certainly.
When Kris looked at him, Peter said, “There are chains in the basement of your house and in mine, chambers that they used to use before the pills. I used them,. Sometimes. When I wanted to Change.”
All of his cousins looked on him in surprise.
“I’ve done the Change,” Peter said. He looked to Joyce. “Joyce was with me the last time.”
When they looked at her, Joyce tried to not look guilty and Myron said, “But what was it that happened to me the other night? With the vampires. It wasn’t the Change.”
“It was your natural strength,” Anne said. “It came out because you needed it. It is possible all of you could warg when pressed to it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Jim said, “I don’t know anything about this Change.”
“Of course you do,” Kris said.
“No,” Jim said. “Not the pills, not the madness, not the Change. I’ve never known anything like that.”
All of his cousins frowned and Peter said, “All of us but Marabeth and Jim?”
“But the women in the family and Jim,” Myron said.
After a bit, Jim started, “Maybe it’s because—”
“It’s not because you’re gay,” Kris said, flatly.
“But you thought it.”
“No,” Kris said, “I thought that you thought it, because I’ve known you for thirty years, but I don’t think it, and… we don’t really know enough. We haven’t asked everyone.”
“I have,” Peter said,” I mean, I have to. It’s my business. My dad kept the records of everyone who made the change. He had to. And so I have too.”
“I seems,” Marabeth said, that if there are two generations of women between Friederich and a male descendant, those male cousins don’t go through the Change.”
“So, like….” Myron was thinking, Any of Aunt Claire or Aunt Maris’s daughters, their sons…”
“Don’t don’t go through the Change,” Peter said.
“It makes sense,” Kris said. “I mean, if every descendant of a… werewolf became one… the whole world would be taking pills.”
“So Jim isn’t the only guy in the family who doesn’t Change,” Kris said.
“But I am the only one who violates the rule,” he said. “Why?”
“Pamela wasn’t forced to change, and neither did Freiderich,” Kris said. “Maybe you’re a throwback. You’re the only one of us who’s a blond too. You could just be like, more of an original Strauss.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “But that’s not me. So… it doesn’t answer any questions.”
“Is that such a bad thing,” Kris said, frowning and touching his cousin’s back. “Not to have to worry about losing your mind or turning into a wolf?”
“We need to stop asking Marabeth to finish that book,” Jim said. “We all need to read the book. We all need to learn.”
Anne yawned luxuriously and looked forward the window where, because it was winter, the sky was still black despite the late hour.
At this Jim actually yawned too, and Myron said, “We need to go to bed.”
Jim’s phone buzzed and he took it out, feeling silly at his disappointment because it was not Seth, just a 419 area code. But then it sent a message and when he checked it, the message was:
Hey, Jim. It’s Ryan? You busy?”
Jim looked around the room where they were all dispersing before writing back.
I just got free.
DON'T FORGET TO HAVE A SOCIALLY DISTANT, LONELY AND FEAR BOUND WEEKEND! WHEN WE RETURN ON SATURDAY NIGHT/SUNDAY MORNING... A NEW SHORT STORY. THE BEASTS WILL RESUME NEXT WEEK.
“This is reminding me of another story.” Jim said,
“Well, spit it out,” Kris clapped him on the back.
Jim opened his mouth, but Kristian had already guessed, “Bisclavret.”
“Yes,”
“What the hell is Bisclavret?” Myron demanded.
“It’s a French story. It’s medieval.”
“Can you find it?”
“It’s the twenty first century,” Jim took out his phone, “Of course I can find it.”
And then Jim read: “Eight, the Lay of the Were Wolf.”
He read on.
“AMONGST THE TALES I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.
It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I have to tell.
In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did any of his house know the business which called him forth.
On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this fashion, "Husband," said she, "and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty hand, than to gain hard words."
When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her.
"Wife," he answered, "ask what you will. What would you have, for it is yours already?"
"By my faith," said the lady, "soon shall I be whole. Husband, right long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now, where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who loves so closely, bring you to harm?"
"Wife," made answer the lord, "nothing but evil can come if I tell you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost indeed."
And then Jim stopped and he passed his phone to Kris.
When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.
"Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey and roots, within the thickest of the wood."
After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.
"Wife," said he, "I go naked as a beast."
"Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?"
"Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my lair."
"Husband," replied the lady to him, "I love you better than all the world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now your heart, and tell what is good to be known."
So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could no longer refrain, but told her all.
And suddenly, as if they were performing a liturgy, they passed the phone one to another.
"Wife," said he, "within this wood, a little from the path, there is a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I would return to my own home."
On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.
"Fair friend," said she, "be happy. That which you have coveted so long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as love and dame."
Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told him all this business of her lord—why he went, and what he became, and of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel, and of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his vesture. Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed. Often enough had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from this journey he never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came together to ask of his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad. Many a man, on many a day, searched the woodland, but none might find him, nor learn where Bisclavaret was gone.
The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long a space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared. Then it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where the Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way and that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman winded on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed him from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned upon the prince's foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but presently he called his courtiers to his aid.
"Lords," cried he, "hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing. Here is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his foe, and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the hounds, and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but return to our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken."
The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret following at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like any dog, and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had brought him safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the beast was fair and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had the King in his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all those who wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to strike him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and kennelled warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all the day the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong, for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none. Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that the King loved him as his friend.
Hearken now to that which chanced.
The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons, and all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a goodlier feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst those who were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of Bisclavaret for dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair company, but little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret marked his foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him, and seized him with his fangs, in the King's very presence, and to the view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once, and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was the beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent the household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and that the Wolf had suffered at the knight's hand some bitter wrong. Right wary of his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and all the barons had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to his own house. With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom Bisclavaret so fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was glad to go.
No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the courteous King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found. With the prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the King abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known of that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the lodge, since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a rich present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor leash might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in his hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady's face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain wise counsellor said to the King,
"Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there is not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has done evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of the dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close and private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he had gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and question her straitly, so that she may tell—if perchance she knows thereof—for what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For many a strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous land of Brittany."
The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He laid hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another place. He caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their torment was very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress, and partly by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady's lips were loosed, and she told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her lord, and how his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then she knew not where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never come again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.
Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish. When the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give him a fresh rede.
"Sire," said he, "you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human shape."
The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King's bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a hundred times. When man's speech returned once more, he told him of his adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell. As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more seen.
But when Myron had finished reading, he gave the phone to Anne who read:
The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and indeed it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was written that it should ever be borne in mind.”
“I remember the end of that story,” Joyce said, and it was the first time she had spoken. “But I always thought it was just.. fun.”
“Leaving aside stuff like, was the wife a bitch, was the werewolf gay for the king,” Kris said, “we don’t even know how he became a werewolf.”
“What if he didn’t?” Jim said. “What if he was born that way?”
“It’s a French story, but there’s more to it than that,” Kris said. “Where does it come from. The part of France? Brittany”
“Where was Perrault from?”Peter said.
“Paris,” Anne said, without looking at her phone.
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked.
“Just,” Kris said, “that if we can trace the stories, maybe we can trace where it all began, and if we can go to where it all began, we can find out more.”
They had stopped talking, and Kris and jim were both working on their phones, looking at each other’s work, tongues between their lips, whispering back and forth and then, Jim said, “Well, shit.”
“Holy shit,” Kris murmured.
“Share?” Marabeth said.
“We were trying to figure the distance between Brittany and Bavaria,” Kris said.
“And then Jim did the distance between Quimper—”
“Because it’s the only town I could remember in Brittany,”
“And Bavaria,” Kris said. “And it made, get this, a straight six hundred mile line.”
“That should mean something,” Myron said.
“If this has gone on a long time,” Marabeth said, “if Hagano is very very old, then… along time ago the French and the Germans were one people.”
Kris blinked at his sister.
“Kris, I went to school just like you.”
“Yes,” Kris allowed. “It’s just, “sometimes I forget it.”
“Anyway,” Marabeth continued, “when Charlemagne ruled, his empire spread across both. After he died it was eventually split into France and Germany, through his descendants. But, Germanic people, our ancestors, were nomadic, or partially.”
“And when they weren’t nomads, they would have stll traveled between the two lands,” Kris said. “I mean, back then it would have been a bunch of different lands. The borders would have always been changing. This whole stretch of land, from Brittany to Bavaria could be our stomping grounds.”
“You are close,” Anne said. “Closer and closer. I am not old. I have not met one of your kind before. When you are so close and you find the source of everything, have you considered this: what will you do?”
Myron wanted to leave, not that he didn’t want to be with his cousins, but the night was drawing on, and Anne had a look that said this, and Myron wanted to leave with her, talk with her.
“So,” Jim said, yawning, and thinking of Seth, “all of you have been talking about these pills, this medicine.”
All day, he had reminded himself not to be desperate, not to call Seth, and when he had finally messaged him an hour or so ago, there had been no answer.
“Yeah,” Kris said. “Right around thirteen, or puberty, we took it.”
“Dad took it too,” Marabeth said. “and Granddad.”
“Now I think that what I thought was happening to me,” Kris said, “the madness, that must have been my Change.’
“It was the Change,” Peter said, certainly.
When Kris looked at him, Peter said, “There are chains in the basement of your house and in mine, chambers that they used to use before the pills. I used them,. Sometimes. When I wanted to Change.”
All of his cousins looked on him in surprise.
“I’ve done the Change,” Peter said. He looked to Joyce. “Joyce was with me the last time.”
When they looked at her, Joyce tried to not look guilty and Myron said, “But what was it that happened to me the other night? With the vampires. It wasn’t the Change.”
“It was your natural strength,” Anne said. “It came out because you needed it. It is possible all of you could warg when pressed to it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Jim said, “I don’t know anything about this Change.”
“Of course you do,” Kris said.
“No,” Jim said. “Not the pills, not the madness, not the Change. I’ve never known anything like that.”
All of his cousins frowned and Peter said, “All of us but Marabeth and Jim?”
“But the women in the family and Jim,” Myron said.
After a bit, Jim started, “Maybe it’s because—”
“It’s not because you’re gay,” Kris said, flatly.
“But you thought it.”
“No,” Kris said, “I thought that you thought it, because I’ve known you for thirty years, but I don’t think it, and… we don’t really know enough. We haven’t asked everyone.”
“I have,” Peter said,” I mean, I have to. It’s my business. My dad kept the records of everyone who made the change. He had to. And so I have too.”
“I seems,” Marabeth said, that if there are two generations of women between Friederich and a male descendant, those male cousins don’t go through the Change.”
“So, like….” Myron was thinking, Any of Aunt Claire or Aunt Maris’s daughters, their sons…”
“Don’t don’t go through the Change,” Peter said.
“It makes sense,” Kris said. “I mean, if every descendant of a… werewolf became one… the whole world would be taking pills.”
“So Jim isn’t the only guy in the family who doesn’t Change,” Kris said.
“But I am the only one who violates the rule,” he said. “Why?”
“Pamela wasn’t forced to change, and neither did Freiderich,” Kris said. “Maybe you’re a throwback. You’re the only one of us who’s a blond too. You could just be like, more of an original Strauss.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “But that’s not me. So… it doesn’t answer any questions.”
“Is that such a bad thing,” Kris said, frowning and touching his cousin’s back. “Not to have to worry about losing your mind or turning into a wolf?”
“We need to stop asking Marabeth to finish that book,” Jim said. “We all need to read the book. We all need to learn.”
Anne yawned luxuriously and looked forward the window where, because it was winter, the sky was still black despite the late hour.
At this Jim actually yawned too, and Myron said, “We need to go to bed.”
Jim’s phone buzzed and he took it out, feeling silly at his disappointment because it was not Seth, just a 419 area code. But then it sent a message and when he checked it, the message was:
Hey, Jim. It’s Ryan? You busy?”
Jim looked around the room where they were all dispersing before writing back.
I just got free.
DON'T FORGET TO HAVE A SOCIALLY DISTANT, LONELY AND FEAR BOUND WEEKEND! WHEN WE RETURN ON SATURDAY NIGHT/SUNDAY MORNING... A NEW SHORT STORY. THE BEASTS WILL RESUME NEXT WEEK.
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a well done second portion! This whole history is very interesting indeed to read. I will try to have a good weekend even being isolated and I hope you do too! I look forward to the next short story in a few days! Stay safe! 
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I'm glad you found the second portion worth it.
I will stay as safe as I can. Last week it was five thousand people in the country and now suddenly its eighty six thousand? Makes me think someone wasn't testing. I know its almost forty thousand in New York and five hundred in my state, but goddamn.
I will stay as safe as I can. Last week it was five thousand people in the country and now suddenly its eighty six thousand? Makes me think someone wasn't testing. I know its almost forty thousand in New York and five hundred in my state, but goddamn.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
AFTER SOME DAYS OFF.... THE BLOOD RETURNS
S E V E N
COMMUNION
For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.
-The Book of the Law
The phone rang, and Marabeth touched the number that had called her before she thought of it. By the time she remembered who it was, the phone was ringing, and by the time she thought of hanging up, Jason had answered.
“Marabeth?”
“It’s awfully late.”
“I know,” Jason McCord said. “I meant to leave a message but hit call instead. I did leave a message. I mean...”
And then he said, sounding not very bright, “I left a message.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth said.
Myron had been the last to leave the house, with Anne. Peter and Joyce. Jim and Kris were gone, and Kris had been on the phone with whoever he was currently banging.
“Well, since you’re on the phone, what was the message?”
“I was just wondering how you were. After the funeral and everything.”
“ “Well, my father’s funeral was over a week ago, so…”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Thanks for calling,” Marabeth said. And then she said, “You know that was sarcasm, right?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Jason said. “I didn’t want to jump in and presume.”
“So you waited a week and a half?”
And then she said, “Look, here’s the thing, you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t want to act like some angry girlfriend. I’ve been the angry girlfriend. That shit is exhausting. Thanks for calling.”
Marabeth, was swiping to end the call—she missed rotary phones and the finality of an actual hang up—when she heard Jason’s voice.
“Yeah,” she said, and she yawned, and it started out as an affectation, but it was late, and she was tired.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Yeah… all right,” Marabeth said.
“Yeah,” Jason said.
Neither one of them seemed to be saying anything, but neither one of them was hanging up, and Marabeth was walking around her apartment, looking at the wolf painted on the canvas.
“Well,” Marabeth said with a shrug in her voice, “what are you doing now?”
Ryan always came to him, and so tonight Jim would pick him up and bring him back. He knew Ryan loved his apartment, and he knew Ryan had two roommates. They touched hands in the car, and Ryan smelled good. He’d been at the club because he was still the age where clubs were worth going to. It had never made sense to Jim, even though he was only about a year or two older. They drove in silence until they came to the long low beige modern building, parked and, catching hands again, came up bush lined the walk. Jim unlocked the door, and in the lit lobby they made out, hands on hips, and then on cheeks, exalting in the pleasure of not caring, of kissing in a public hallway before heading into the elevator.
Ryan had been so good to him over the last few years, never a boyfriend, but better than most boyfriends with those deep dark eyes and the dark hair that, even half a day after shaving, always showed up on his handsome face. He wanted to treat him as good as Ryan always treated him, surprise his old friend. When they entered the apartment, Jim unzipped his pants and took his thick cock in his mouth. Ryan cried out, his voice high, and placed the backs of his hands on the door and then finally in Jim’s hair while Jim took all of him in.
They were naked in the lving room, and in the living room, against the sofa, Ryan thrust his tongue deep inside of Jim and licked him out from behind, took Jim in his mouth from behind. In the living room, they pleasured each other every way they could, and in between they rested, not speaking, sometimes laughing, both surprised by their lust and then starting up again before Jim led him to the bedroom.
Jim had never shut his curtains and the place still smelled of Seth. Jim kissed Ryan on his mouth, tasting liquor and smelling his cologne. He felt Ryan’s tongue thick in his mouth, his hands strong as Jim remembered. As the sky turned grey and morning was coming, Jim fucked him. He surprised himself. He knew his body so well, but now the orgasm took him unawares. He almost screamed as it was wrenched from his body, and he first thrust out, bending backward, and then bent in, clinging to Ryan as he pumped his seed inside of him.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said from where he lay in her bed. “I’m stupid. I didn’t know what to do.”
He had just pulled his Jockeys on, and she was in her tee shirt and shorts wondering if she should wear a black negligee. No, fuck that. He didn’t deserve that.
“It’s alright,” Marabeth said. “I’ve been married. I know men by now.”
“Hold up,” Jason sat up, touching her shoulder.
“Do you want me to go?” he said.
“No,” she said, almost exasperated, “No, I don’t want you to go.”
“Do you think we could try?” Jason said.
Marabeth nodded.
“Yes,” she said. Then she said, “Stay. Don’t go. But I want to read a lttle bit of what I’ve put off.”
“The book your father sent you.”
“Yes.”
Jason got up. He was tall, broad shouldered. Small buttocked in his black Jockeys, his orange hair hanging to his shoulders.
“I’ll make some coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” Jason said, pulling on his trousers and leaving the bedroom. Marabeth went into her closet, digging through the mess of clothes and boxes she believed a forty year old woman should have organized better to find her housecoat. There it was, and how this place needed to be cleaned. She pulled the plush housecoat from between the air conditioner and the pair of skis she had taken from the laundry room, Jason entered the bedroom again.
“Uh…”
“They’re skis.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Yeah?” Marabeth said.
“Where do you keep the coffee?”
THE BOOK OF PAMELA STRAUSS
I TOLD NO ONE where I was going, or even that I was going. I was surprised to find two tickets, one for the journey south and another for the journey back already sent me. I took a cab to the great station in the center of the city . Traveling up there I realized what a parochial soul I was. In my growing up, I never left our village and only once in my lfie had I seen all of Germany, this land I had such a strange connection to which, from so far away had caused us so much trouble and might be causing trouble again. I had come, in a train, a much different one, almost thirty years ago to, again, a very different German town, and I had hardly left it save to go to college. But now, if I were to travel east to Wallington, where were were once woods and track, there were whole burgeoning neighborhoods and townships, asphalt roads that took one quickly where once it had taken me hours to reach, and now the downtown and this great train station had also come to life.
The journey by train was the first long journey I’d taken since coming to America, and I traveled far better than I had then. I noticed, and how could I not, that Negroes were sent to the back cars, a petty indignity, because I could not see the actual difference between their cars and the ones I sat in. I cannot idealize what I do not know, but it seems like they had what these white people I was among did not, a camaraderie, an irony mingled with joy about life, and an easiness in their expectations. It was beyond, I think, the way that Germans back in our part of town were with each other, beyond, I suppose even the Jews. Perhaps it was because whatever small oppressed culture we were in we had the hope and ambiguity of being seen as white, that what we were might be, for better or for worse, erased. It was a precarious thing. My sisters spoke no German at all. They were a little embarrassed by old Friederich and perhaps even me. They were white young women who would marry white young men. But when would it be thrown in their faces that they were, after all, German. There was a fragility in whiteness. One was never really safe. At least a Negro knew she or he was a Negro, and from what I saw, there was a peculiar rejoicing in this.
Then, again, there was the strange business of my riding in this fine car on a ticket bought by a man who, regardless if he wished to or not, could never sit where I was sitting now.
I know I thought these thoughts then, but not as much as I think them now, when I am old, and most of that business in the past, though, I believe, not as much in the past as one would like to believe. But at the time I was, of course, filled with thoughts of my own trouble, the trouble of my brother and of Staler, for Staler, undeniably became ill, and almost mad at the same time his best friend suffered and I thought, if this Augustus Dunharrow could do something for both of them, relieve the madness in both boys, I would be eternally in his honor.
This is a mighty house. I have never seen anything like it. I did see that Gone With the Wind movie, and it is the closest thing to which I can compare this house. But it is hidden, back among woods with hanging weeping trees, set among ponds and lakes and wild birds, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Augustus Dunharrow is a man who has decided to live away from the greater world. I cannot blame him. The train that stopped in the nearest city led to a cab that took me into a village where an oxblood painted limousine arrived for me. I thought others would be afraid of what was to come, but I felt a marvelous tingling in me, as if I were coming home, as if a veil, always put up before me, was, at last, being pulled away.
“He is waiting for you,” the driver had said, and he was black and beautiful and nothing like no servant I’d ever seen, and then, as soon as I could say thank you, he was gone. Where Augustus was waiting the driver had not said, and I wondered, putting my bags down, if this was part of the test. I walked from the great foyer into an even greater living room, filled with light and air cool from large, turning ceiling fans. I did not call, but continued to walk through a house filled with oil paintings of noble looking people, black and white alike, and followed my intuition through this quiet house to the next room where a man in immaculate trousers and vest, silk white shirt, rose and said, “Pamela Strauss, welcome. I have been waiting for you.”
I bowed slightly to him, and this was the first man to whom I had ever inclined my head.
“You are Augustus.”
“I am,” he said, “and now, for the first time in a long time, you are home.”
“This is your home because the witch blood is in you,” Augustus said. “Where there is magic there is your home. I have no love for white people,” Augustus said, “and why would I? I wonder, if so many of them had not lost their magic, would they be as greedy as they are? Something was taken from them, something sucked out, and this wound, this lack, made them reach and reach. The white men who came here to this land, were fleeing. They were running from something and when they came here they kept running, and in running they ran off, in experiencing whatever violence they’d experienced, they dealt violence.”
“Then are you in sympathy with them?” I asked. “You cannot even ride anywhere but the back of their trains. And this is their country. No one denies that.”
“This is their nation,” Augustus said, “but not their country. The country is the land and the land can never be theirs. As long as they try to rule over it, the land will rise up and drive them out. She always does.
“But no, there is no sympathy. There is understanding. Understanding is a different thing. My life has been most out of sympathy with white men.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Are you a white man, Pamela Strauss?”
“Well, then, what do you know of the wolf?”
“You must tell, then, what you know, first. It is your heritage. Surely you must know a thing.”
“I do not even know my mother,” I said, and then realized, “That is a lie. Even after so many years, I lie about this and do not know why. My mother was a wolf. My father, in wolf form got me on her. He is the only human blood I have. I was taught by a… friend… a man, Hagano, one my father does not know, to transform into a wolf. My father could always do it. My brother is cursed into doing it. As far as I know, he is the only one of my blood who is cursed to become a wolf with no control at the rising of the moon, though… though it seems others suffer, go into madness, but do not transform.”
“This is strange,” Augustus said, “because I have heard of those in battle, especially in the North, where you ancestors came from, who could transform in the heat of battle, or who put on a skin and transform until the skin was removed.”
“As in the story of Sinfioltli and Sigmund.”
“Exactly. But for such a variety in the nature of the change to exist in your family is strange. Perhaps your power is strong because your blood is undiluted.”
“I had wondered.”
“But what of Friederich and those before him?”
“I do not know.”
“Then you must ask. You must ask so that you know. And this Hagano, who is he?”
“He is… real. I know he is real. He is flesh and blood, but can come and go. He is, it seems, attached to me. He says he is always with me. He comes when he wishes, or when I call. He is, in that way, a ghost. But still, he is flesh and blood. I know it.”
“You all have been lovers,” Augustus said, plainly.
“Well, yes,” I said. “We have.”
“But who has he said he is?”
“He says he is the first of us, whatever that means. He has never said more, and I have even thought he was the first werewolf.”
“No,” Augustus shook his head.
“My Pamela, you must become serious about questioning him, for he seems to possess the elements of a family genius.”
I did not wish to repeat the words. I would only sound ignorant. He understood this and explained
“It seems to me that he is a family spirit, not the first werewolf, but the first Strauss.”
S E V E N
COMMUNION
For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.
-The Book of the Law
The phone rang, and Marabeth touched the number that had called her before she thought of it. By the time she remembered who it was, the phone was ringing, and by the time she thought of hanging up, Jason had answered.
“Marabeth?”
“It’s awfully late.”
“I know,” Jason McCord said. “I meant to leave a message but hit call instead. I did leave a message. I mean...”
And then he said, sounding not very bright, “I left a message.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth said.
Myron had been the last to leave the house, with Anne. Peter and Joyce. Jim and Kris were gone, and Kris had been on the phone with whoever he was currently banging.
“Well, since you’re on the phone, what was the message?”
“I was just wondering how you were. After the funeral and everything.”
“ “Well, my father’s funeral was over a week ago, so…”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Thanks for calling,” Marabeth said. And then she said, “You know that was sarcasm, right?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Jason said. “I didn’t want to jump in and presume.”
“So you waited a week and a half?”
And then she said, “Look, here’s the thing, you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t want to act like some angry girlfriend. I’ve been the angry girlfriend. That shit is exhausting. Thanks for calling.”
Marabeth, was swiping to end the call—she missed rotary phones and the finality of an actual hang up—when she heard Jason’s voice.
“Yeah,” she said, and she yawned, and it started out as an affectation, but it was late, and she was tired.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Yeah… all right,” Marabeth said.
“Yeah,” Jason said.
Neither one of them seemed to be saying anything, but neither one of them was hanging up, and Marabeth was walking around her apartment, looking at the wolf painted on the canvas.
“Well,” Marabeth said with a shrug in her voice, “what are you doing now?”
Ryan always came to him, and so tonight Jim would pick him up and bring him back. He knew Ryan loved his apartment, and he knew Ryan had two roommates. They touched hands in the car, and Ryan smelled good. He’d been at the club because he was still the age where clubs were worth going to. It had never made sense to Jim, even though he was only about a year or two older. They drove in silence until they came to the long low beige modern building, parked and, catching hands again, came up bush lined the walk. Jim unlocked the door, and in the lit lobby they made out, hands on hips, and then on cheeks, exalting in the pleasure of not caring, of kissing in a public hallway before heading into the elevator.
Ryan had been so good to him over the last few years, never a boyfriend, but better than most boyfriends with those deep dark eyes and the dark hair that, even half a day after shaving, always showed up on his handsome face. He wanted to treat him as good as Ryan always treated him, surprise his old friend. When they entered the apartment, Jim unzipped his pants and took his thick cock in his mouth. Ryan cried out, his voice high, and placed the backs of his hands on the door and then finally in Jim’s hair while Jim took all of him in.
They were naked in the lving room, and in the living room, against the sofa, Ryan thrust his tongue deep inside of Jim and licked him out from behind, took Jim in his mouth from behind. In the living room, they pleasured each other every way they could, and in between they rested, not speaking, sometimes laughing, both surprised by their lust and then starting up again before Jim led him to the bedroom.
Jim had never shut his curtains and the place still smelled of Seth. Jim kissed Ryan on his mouth, tasting liquor and smelling his cologne. He felt Ryan’s tongue thick in his mouth, his hands strong as Jim remembered. As the sky turned grey and morning was coming, Jim fucked him. He surprised himself. He knew his body so well, but now the orgasm took him unawares. He almost screamed as it was wrenched from his body, and he first thrust out, bending backward, and then bent in, clinging to Ryan as he pumped his seed inside of him.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said from where he lay in her bed. “I’m stupid. I didn’t know what to do.”
He had just pulled his Jockeys on, and she was in her tee shirt and shorts wondering if she should wear a black negligee. No, fuck that. He didn’t deserve that.
“It’s alright,” Marabeth said. “I’ve been married. I know men by now.”
“Hold up,” Jason sat up, touching her shoulder.
“Do you want me to go?” he said.
“No,” she said, almost exasperated, “No, I don’t want you to go.”
“Do you think we could try?” Jason said.
Marabeth nodded.
“Yes,” she said. Then she said, “Stay. Don’t go. But I want to read a lttle bit of what I’ve put off.”
“The book your father sent you.”
“Yes.”
Jason got up. He was tall, broad shouldered. Small buttocked in his black Jockeys, his orange hair hanging to his shoulders.
“I’ll make some coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” Jason said, pulling on his trousers and leaving the bedroom. Marabeth went into her closet, digging through the mess of clothes and boxes she believed a forty year old woman should have organized better to find her housecoat. There it was, and how this place needed to be cleaned. She pulled the plush housecoat from between the air conditioner and the pair of skis she had taken from the laundry room, Jason entered the bedroom again.
“Uh…”
“They’re skis.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Yeah?” Marabeth said.
“Where do you keep the coffee?”
THE BOOK OF PAMELA STRAUSS
I TOLD NO ONE where I was going, or even that I was going. I was surprised to find two tickets, one for the journey south and another for the journey back already sent me. I took a cab to the great station in the center of the city . Traveling up there I realized what a parochial soul I was. In my growing up, I never left our village and only once in my lfie had I seen all of Germany, this land I had such a strange connection to which, from so far away had caused us so much trouble and might be causing trouble again. I had come, in a train, a much different one, almost thirty years ago to, again, a very different German town, and I had hardly left it save to go to college. But now, if I were to travel east to Wallington, where were were once woods and track, there were whole burgeoning neighborhoods and townships, asphalt roads that took one quickly where once it had taken me hours to reach, and now the downtown and this great train station had also come to life.
The journey by train was the first long journey I’d taken since coming to America, and I traveled far better than I had then. I noticed, and how could I not, that Negroes were sent to the back cars, a petty indignity, because I could not see the actual difference between their cars and the ones I sat in. I cannot idealize what I do not know, but it seems like they had what these white people I was among did not, a camaraderie, an irony mingled with joy about life, and an easiness in their expectations. It was beyond, I think, the way that Germans back in our part of town were with each other, beyond, I suppose even the Jews. Perhaps it was because whatever small oppressed culture we were in we had the hope and ambiguity of being seen as white, that what we were might be, for better or for worse, erased. It was a precarious thing. My sisters spoke no German at all. They were a little embarrassed by old Friederich and perhaps even me. They were white young women who would marry white young men. But when would it be thrown in their faces that they were, after all, German. There was a fragility in whiteness. One was never really safe. At least a Negro knew she or he was a Negro, and from what I saw, there was a peculiar rejoicing in this.
Then, again, there was the strange business of my riding in this fine car on a ticket bought by a man who, regardless if he wished to or not, could never sit where I was sitting now.
I know I thought these thoughts then, but not as much as I think them now, when I am old, and most of that business in the past, though, I believe, not as much in the past as one would like to believe. But at the time I was, of course, filled with thoughts of my own trouble, the trouble of my brother and of Staler, for Staler, undeniably became ill, and almost mad at the same time his best friend suffered and I thought, if this Augustus Dunharrow could do something for both of them, relieve the madness in both boys, I would be eternally in his honor.
This is a mighty house. I have never seen anything like it. I did see that Gone With the Wind movie, and it is the closest thing to which I can compare this house. But it is hidden, back among woods with hanging weeping trees, set among ponds and lakes and wild birds, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Augustus Dunharrow is a man who has decided to live away from the greater world. I cannot blame him. The train that stopped in the nearest city led to a cab that took me into a village where an oxblood painted limousine arrived for me. I thought others would be afraid of what was to come, but I felt a marvelous tingling in me, as if I were coming home, as if a veil, always put up before me, was, at last, being pulled away.
“He is waiting for you,” the driver had said, and he was black and beautiful and nothing like no servant I’d ever seen, and then, as soon as I could say thank you, he was gone. Where Augustus was waiting the driver had not said, and I wondered, putting my bags down, if this was part of the test. I walked from the great foyer into an even greater living room, filled with light and air cool from large, turning ceiling fans. I did not call, but continued to walk through a house filled with oil paintings of noble looking people, black and white alike, and followed my intuition through this quiet house to the next room where a man in immaculate trousers and vest, silk white shirt, rose and said, “Pamela Strauss, welcome. I have been waiting for you.”
I bowed slightly to him, and this was the first man to whom I had ever inclined my head.
“You are Augustus.”
“I am,” he said, “and now, for the first time in a long time, you are home.”
“This is your home because the witch blood is in you,” Augustus said. “Where there is magic there is your home. I have no love for white people,” Augustus said, “and why would I? I wonder, if so many of them had not lost their magic, would they be as greedy as they are? Something was taken from them, something sucked out, and this wound, this lack, made them reach and reach. The white men who came here to this land, were fleeing. They were running from something and when they came here they kept running, and in running they ran off, in experiencing whatever violence they’d experienced, they dealt violence.”
“Then are you in sympathy with them?” I asked. “You cannot even ride anywhere but the back of their trains. And this is their country. No one denies that.”
“This is their nation,” Augustus said, “but not their country. The country is the land and the land can never be theirs. As long as they try to rule over it, the land will rise up and drive them out. She always does.
“But no, there is no sympathy. There is understanding. Understanding is a different thing. My life has been most out of sympathy with white men.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Are you a white man, Pamela Strauss?”
“Well, then, what do you know of the wolf?”
“You must tell, then, what you know, first. It is your heritage. Surely you must know a thing.”
“I do not even know my mother,” I said, and then realized, “That is a lie. Even after so many years, I lie about this and do not know why. My mother was a wolf. My father, in wolf form got me on her. He is the only human blood I have. I was taught by a… friend… a man, Hagano, one my father does not know, to transform into a wolf. My father could always do it. My brother is cursed into doing it. As far as I know, he is the only one of my blood who is cursed to become a wolf with no control at the rising of the moon, though… though it seems others suffer, go into madness, but do not transform.”
“This is strange,” Augustus said, “because I have heard of those in battle, especially in the North, where you ancestors came from, who could transform in the heat of battle, or who put on a skin and transform until the skin was removed.”
“As in the story of Sinfioltli and Sigmund.”
“Exactly. But for such a variety in the nature of the change to exist in your family is strange. Perhaps your power is strong because your blood is undiluted.”
“I had wondered.”
“But what of Friederich and those before him?”
“I do not know.”
“Then you must ask. You must ask so that you know. And this Hagano, who is he?”
“He is… real. I know he is real. He is flesh and blood, but can come and go. He is, it seems, attached to me. He says he is always with me. He comes when he wishes, or when I call. He is, in that way, a ghost. But still, he is flesh and blood. I know it.”
“You all have been lovers,” Augustus said, plainly.
“Well, yes,” I said. “We have.”
“But who has he said he is?”
“He says he is the first of us, whatever that means. He has never said more, and I have even thought he was the first werewolf.”
“No,” Augustus shook his head.
“My Pamela, you must become serious about questioning him, for he seems to possess the elements of a family genius.”
I did not wish to repeat the words. I would only sound ignorant. He understood this and explained
“It seems to me that he is a family spirit, not the first werewolf, but the first Strauss.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great to see this story returning! I really enjoyed this new portion. It was nice to read more about Pamela Strauss and also more about how Marabeth is at the moment. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I'm glad you enjoyed. Oh, goodness. Sleep seems to be overcoming me right now. Good night.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
THE BLOOD: CONTINUED
”Wolfbane,” Augustus said, holding the plant up. “Of course.”
He was pounding the plant with a mortar and pestle when he said, “Bring me that bottle, my dear.”
I did and he said, “Not too much. Just.” He took it and with his elegant brown hands, he poured a little into the mixture. “This should do.”
“What is it?”
“Silver nitrate.”
“Have you ever done this before?’
“Yes,” Augustus said. “There are actually many ways to prevent a werewolf, but it depends on the type of werewolf. I don’t know what your father’s story was, but he seems to have one power which comes out at a particular time, and which it seems like he can control. You have ultimate control. You do not have to transform at all. Your brother has no control which turns out to be a sign, not of him being more of a werewolf, but less of one, with blood that is less pure. Your parentage was strange. What, I wonder, was your father’s. You will have to ask him, ask him as much as he knows.”
“And ask Hagano?”
“Oh, you have to.”
“I have not seen him in many years.”
“Then you must call him up, because you must know.
“Did you know,” Augustus continued, as he set the mixture to boil, and began to add a thick, dry bay leaf, “there are some which say the werewolf is what joins the witch to the vampire.”
“The vampire.”
“Yes.”
“You mean those creatures from dime store novels? Count Dracula?”
And then when I saw the look on this man’s beautiful brown face, a face smooth and noble like mahogany, I said, “Augustus, do the vampires symbolize a thing?”
“They symbolize themselves,” Augustus said, “They are real. As real as you. The specifics differ from the novels, but they are real and in this world. Just as myself. Just as you.”
Well, now, this was a surprise, and it led me to wonder if I had ever met one. The truth is once I think I did, but he said, “It was said, in the long ago, that vampires could take the shape of wolves, and that werewolves who were killed and not properly attended to could return as blood drinkers. Why, even in that dreadful book, Dracula can become a wolf and has control over wolves.”
“Do,” and this mattered to me, personally, “do vampires have control over werewolves?”
“No,” Augustus said. “Vampires have control over very little, except perhaps common mortals, and many mortals are quite uncommon. But it is said that witches used to summon the wolves to ride upon them, that the greatest witches are riders of wolves and even transform into them.”
“Then the witch has power over the wolf.”
“You are concerned with power?” Augustus smiled at me. It was a predatory, powerful smile, but it did not frighten me. Rather I was chastened.
He said, “Pamela, you are not hearing me. The witch once rode the wolf. I believe in a long ago time when men and all other animals were closer, when men were more… spiritual, but that is not the right word, for the spirit I talk of is not of Our Father in Heaven, but of our Mother in the Earth, back then, the wolf and the witch became one, which is why there is witch in you. Before there were werewolves or shapeshifters, many men, many people believed themselves descended from animals, and Mr. Darwin tells us this is so. The line between man and beast is a thin one, but it can only be reached through the spirit, through witchcraft. Ah, I have already said too much, but,” Augustus turned the flame of the stove down.
“If you can, you must go through with your idea of the Kellers, you must marry them to your siblings. Their blood will make you stronger, less subject to what Jimmy is going through now.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Augustus sighed, looking humble for once, and humility in such a man was a strange thing to see.
“Not truly, Pamela. I have dealt with one, maybe two wolves. An entire family history? This is new to me. But you must talk to Hagano as soon as you can.”
Frau Inga would have bowed at this man’s feet. Power always knows power. Wise power always honors it. He pulled from one of those cabinets two mushrooms, a toadstool, brown and grey and withered, and one that was dried but had been high in color, red and white spotted.
“Just a touch, just a touch,” he murmured, and he pulled from one of his many drawers a long wooden spoon of dark wood, fragrant and evergreen.
“Yew,” I recognized it.
“The death tree,” Augustus said. “And poisonous. You would not make a common ladle from it. We will make you something, dear, and Hagano will come to you through it. I promise.”
This was my first time in the South and my first time seeing Augustus. All of my life has been lived in these cold countries, but for the first time, in that warm country, I felt at home. In his large kitchen with all of his herbs abd roots, I learned more than I ever had before. At the feet of Augustus, I learned how to mix the potion which, despite my trust in him, I still had fears of working.
Even though it was spring it still seemed cold nad grey in Ohio, and Germantown seemed worn down, not as lovely as I remembered it. All the area was filled with church bells. And people moved around me quickly, some of them stopped to say hello, many whom I had never known.
It was a relief to shut the heavy door on them and enter into the quiet world of 1948 Dimler Street. That nigh, in the dining room at the long table, after dinner, I told Jimmy to take some of the wolfsbane. Because Staler had suffered so much from Jimmy’s suffering, I told him to take some as well.
“I feel as if you and Jimy are linked that way,” I said, and Staler accepted it.
“But it’s not,” Jimmy began… “It’s not that time.”
“You msut take it every day,” I said. “A tablespoon every day.”
“It tastes awful,” Jimmy said.
“It tastes better than being locked in a basement for three nights you stupid boy,” Freiderich boomed. “Now drink.”
Maris and Claire looked at each other. I could tell that, to them, this was an inconvenience, the inability to be a good American girl, to be normal. Katherine only pressed her hands together and said, “But it will work, won’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, because what else could I say?
We waited, and for the very first time, there was no Change. As long as we kept Jimmy drinking his potion, as long as I had the supply to make it, there was no more transformation, only mildly strange feelings in him, and Staler no longer suffered for his friend.
But soon, the matters of the Strauss family were absorbed into the matters of the world, for that winter, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and as America entered into a new war with Germany on the other side of it, many of us began to fear, remembering what had happened twenty years before.
But I had learned much, for back in the South, Augustus had been right, by his potions, Hagano had come to me. I had been afraid, feeling my body old and undesirable, but when he had come to me, he had been just as old. He said, “For you. For you, Pamela. I am ageless. This is for you. You are ageless too. I come and I go. I am not here. I am tied to all the Strauss women, even before you were the Stauss.
“Who was my father’s father. Who was his mother.”
“I don’t know, for I did not appear in this world again until you did.”
“But who are you?”
“I am the father of Leinghelde and Holving.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” I turned on my side, looking at him.
“Leinghelde was the mother of your clan, the first of you. She was the mother of the mother of the Strausses.
“And when did she live?”
“Over a thousand years ago,” Hagano said, touching me gently.
“You are so like her. Before Friederich was your father, it was me. I am the father of you all.”
“Were you always a wolf?” I asked him.
“No,” Hagano said. “How could that be. I am the first.”
“But, not the first ever?”
“No. I have heard and seen others who came form other lines. And other changers. When I was young there were the berserkers, those who changed into the bear both in form and spirit. But I was the first of our line, the beginning of what you are.”
“Then you must tell me,” Pamela. “You must tell me your whole story, that I may know my own.”
He looked as if he were thinking. I wondered, maybe if he were having me on, and then his face changed and he said, his voice heavy. “I will tell you, then, my Pamela. I will tell you all.”
@@@@@@@@@@@
It is the most beautiful church he’s ever seen. And he’s seen the big brick structure, the concrete arches and solid, high tower of Saint Jerome. Seth loves Saint Jerome. He always believed in God, He certainly believes in Chicago, but now he truly believes.
The choir sings.
“I call on the Lord in my distress,
and he answers me.
Save me, Lord,
from lying lips
and from deceitful tongues.
What will he do to you,
and what more besides,
you deceitful tongue?”
And what does that mean? What does it mean when he says, and now he really believes? That he has been a spectator up until now. Maybe up until now he has never truly been a witch. He has watched Owen be the witch. He has watched Lewis, and even Loreal. Owen always said, “You will feel the Gods when you are in your power. You will feel the Gods in the wind, and in the fire, in the earth, in the oak, the ash, and the thorn. You will see the Virgin and Mother and the Dark Lady in her many faces. You will see that She is He, and He They and the Gods God. You will see the truth in everything.”
But these were promises, and in the end, he had to take Owen’s word for them.
This evening, on the Feast of the Baptism of Christ, in Saint Agatha’s, the pink stone church with its white pillars and jewel box stain glass windows, Seth feels touched by God.
He will punish you with a warrior’s sharp arrows,
with burning coals of the broom bush.
Woe to me that I dwell in Meshek,
that I live among the tents of Kedar!
Too long have I lived
among those who hate peace.
I am for peace;
but when I speak, they are for war.
The stain glass windows were cut by Gerard Freneau. He knows that name. He has heard the story of the talented man, mixed like himself, back then called… Seth grimaces, a quadroon, who cut these windows in New Orleans and sailed up rivers and took trains to insert them into these windows. There is Saint Solange in white, holding a hawthorn tree with white flowers blossoming, but even as he observes the serenity of her face which is that color, not of a black person or a white person but the color of a sans colour gen, his own color, he sees her closed eyes. When they open for him, and he is not afraid, she looks upon him and he knows this is the Whtie Goddess. Her names go over him. Belili, Belial, Lilith, Don, Arianrhod, Freya, Branwen, Mary, her names and faces travel across his mind like a river.
“ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber…”
They are all gathered here. Lewis kneels in the front aisle under the golden light, the giant stones of his old rosary about his fingers, and beside him, looking like an angel—vampires really are angels—fine boned and nearly white haired is Chris Ashby, and what is this? He has a black beaded heavy rosary around his white hands. Where did that come from? Chris never said he was a Catholic? Jim is beside him. He loves Jim. He just does. He loves them all. But what was last night, when he gave himself to Chris and then, after love they came to surround Lewis. What was this morning with Lewis after the previous morning when he was with Jim and the world was new and knew everything. He loves sleeping in Chris’s arms, loves Lewis’s body being linked to his, loves kneeling right next to him Jim, before God is this beautiful rose and gold lit church, smelling the frankincense, knowing that before the night is over they will share in another sacrament, just as pure, just as offered up to God, as they give themselves to each other, for he must go to Jim tonight. He must figure things out.
“Indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
And there on the altar, all in white, surrounded by white candles and holding up a golden, round faced child, was the Virgin, crowned and noble, brown eyed, offering her son and his outstretched arms to the world. Seth heard the old prayer, knew he was hearing Lewis, knew Lewis was not saying it out loud, that they were linked again, and always, heard the old prayer and murmured it to the Queen of Heaven.
Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection,
implored your help, or sought your intercession,
was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence,
I fly unto you, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother.
To you do I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
despise not my petitions,
but in your mercy, hear and answer me.
Amen.
And there is Marabeth, and there is Kris, looking most out of place, almost as out of place as Laurie beside Loreal. But Lewis had said they must all be there. He has not explained, but he has said that tonight, on the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord, a week after Epiphany and only a few days after the burial of Marabeth’s father, Jim’s uncle, they must be at this evening mass, at Saint Agatha’s, a church which, Loreal has just learned, was built by her grandfather nearly one hundred years ago.
It is such a comfortable church, how could such a thing come from Augustus Dunharrow? He did not build it himself, of course not. The pillars are high, the ribbing leading to a vaulted ceiling hung with brass lanterns. And yet, it feels as close as a jewel box, or as a cave, as the cave where Christ was born.
Seth remembers Owen saying, “They got it all wrong. This is why so many of us walked away from the Church. They told you that Christ did it all. That all you had to do was believe in him and he would take aways your sins and your suffering, and make everything happen. And yet, here we were, believing, sinful, and still suffering. You must not stand and watch. You must enter the place of Christ and become him, and then all things will happen. The Craft is really nothing more than this.”
“Things must begin this way,” Lewis had said, “and you must be content with not understanding for some time. And then, in the night, all things will begin.”
More and more he talked like that, though Lewis had always been a mystery. Perhaps Lewis simply didn’t explain everything because he didn’t have the time, but now the hymn changed.
The priest had been droning on, which sounded like a horrible thing to say, but this is how Jim thought about it, droning on like bees, like drones, buzzing in the summer and what they were saying didn’t matter, it was the rhythm of it. The beehive, the beehive, there was something in that, and the golden light of the sun. But this was not a sun, it was a Host, it was a cream colored wafer half as large as a human head, made golden by the lights of candles and, suddenly, it was a cracked sun and more light came through it.
“Amen
Amen
Aaaaa aaa men!”
They were rising for Communion and the choir was singing
“You shall cross the barren desert
But you shall not die of thirst
You shall wander far in safety
Though you do not know the way
You shall speak your words in foreign lands
And all will understand
You shall see the face of God and live
Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come follow me
And I will give you rest.”
Seth rose up, was nearly pushed up it seemed, and followed Jim. But as he was approaching the altar the lights were brighter and brighter, the candles like twirling stars, and suddenly, in place of all was a woman in white, and she held out a chalice and it grew brighter, its silver burning. A voice cried, “Take and eat.”
And Seth, suffused in whiteness, passed out on the floor of Saint Agatha’s.
MORE ON THURSDAY
”Wolfbane,” Augustus said, holding the plant up. “Of course.”
He was pounding the plant with a mortar and pestle when he said, “Bring me that bottle, my dear.”
I did and he said, “Not too much. Just.” He took it and with his elegant brown hands, he poured a little into the mixture. “This should do.”
“What is it?”
“Silver nitrate.”
“Have you ever done this before?’
“Yes,” Augustus said. “There are actually many ways to prevent a werewolf, but it depends on the type of werewolf. I don’t know what your father’s story was, but he seems to have one power which comes out at a particular time, and which it seems like he can control. You have ultimate control. You do not have to transform at all. Your brother has no control which turns out to be a sign, not of him being more of a werewolf, but less of one, with blood that is less pure. Your parentage was strange. What, I wonder, was your father’s. You will have to ask him, ask him as much as he knows.”
“And ask Hagano?”
“Oh, you have to.”
“I have not seen him in many years.”
“Then you must call him up, because you must know.
“Did you know,” Augustus continued, as he set the mixture to boil, and began to add a thick, dry bay leaf, “there are some which say the werewolf is what joins the witch to the vampire.”
“The vampire.”
“Yes.”
“You mean those creatures from dime store novels? Count Dracula?”
And then when I saw the look on this man’s beautiful brown face, a face smooth and noble like mahogany, I said, “Augustus, do the vampires symbolize a thing?”
“They symbolize themselves,” Augustus said, “They are real. As real as you. The specifics differ from the novels, but they are real and in this world. Just as myself. Just as you.”
Well, now, this was a surprise, and it led me to wonder if I had ever met one. The truth is once I think I did, but he said, “It was said, in the long ago, that vampires could take the shape of wolves, and that werewolves who were killed and not properly attended to could return as blood drinkers. Why, even in that dreadful book, Dracula can become a wolf and has control over wolves.”
“Do,” and this mattered to me, personally, “do vampires have control over werewolves?”
“No,” Augustus said. “Vampires have control over very little, except perhaps common mortals, and many mortals are quite uncommon. But it is said that witches used to summon the wolves to ride upon them, that the greatest witches are riders of wolves and even transform into them.”
“Then the witch has power over the wolf.”
“You are concerned with power?” Augustus smiled at me. It was a predatory, powerful smile, but it did not frighten me. Rather I was chastened.
He said, “Pamela, you are not hearing me. The witch once rode the wolf. I believe in a long ago time when men and all other animals were closer, when men were more… spiritual, but that is not the right word, for the spirit I talk of is not of Our Father in Heaven, but of our Mother in the Earth, back then, the wolf and the witch became one, which is why there is witch in you. Before there were werewolves or shapeshifters, many men, many people believed themselves descended from animals, and Mr. Darwin tells us this is so. The line between man and beast is a thin one, but it can only be reached through the spirit, through witchcraft. Ah, I have already said too much, but,” Augustus turned the flame of the stove down.
“If you can, you must go through with your idea of the Kellers, you must marry them to your siblings. Their blood will make you stronger, less subject to what Jimmy is going through now.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Augustus sighed, looking humble for once, and humility in such a man was a strange thing to see.
“Not truly, Pamela. I have dealt with one, maybe two wolves. An entire family history? This is new to me. But you must talk to Hagano as soon as you can.”
Frau Inga would have bowed at this man’s feet. Power always knows power. Wise power always honors it. He pulled from one of those cabinets two mushrooms, a toadstool, brown and grey and withered, and one that was dried but had been high in color, red and white spotted.
“Just a touch, just a touch,” he murmured, and he pulled from one of his many drawers a long wooden spoon of dark wood, fragrant and evergreen.
“Yew,” I recognized it.
“The death tree,” Augustus said. “And poisonous. You would not make a common ladle from it. We will make you something, dear, and Hagano will come to you through it. I promise.”
This was my first time in the South and my first time seeing Augustus. All of my life has been lived in these cold countries, but for the first time, in that warm country, I felt at home. In his large kitchen with all of his herbs abd roots, I learned more than I ever had before. At the feet of Augustus, I learned how to mix the potion which, despite my trust in him, I still had fears of working.
Even though it was spring it still seemed cold nad grey in Ohio, and Germantown seemed worn down, not as lovely as I remembered it. All the area was filled with church bells. And people moved around me quickly, some of them stopped to say hello, many whom I had never known.
It was a relief to shut the heavy door on them and enter into the quiet world of 1948 Dimler Street. That nigh, in the dining room at the long table, after dinner, I told Jimmy to take some of the wolfsbane. Because Staler had suffered so much from Jimmy’s suffering, I told him to take some as well.
“I feel as if you and Jimy are linked that way,” I said, and Staler accepted it.
“But it’s not,” Jimmy began… “It’s not that time.”
“You msut take it every day,” I said. “A tablespoon every day.”
“It tastes awful,” Jimmy said.
“It tastes better than being locked in a basement for three nights you stupid boy,” Freiderich boomed. “Now drink.”
Maris and Claire looked at each other. I could tell that, to them, this was an inconvenience, the inability to be a good American girl, to be normal. Katherine only pressed her hands together and said, “But it will work, won’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, because what else could I say?
We waited, and for the very first time, there was no Change. As long as we kept Jimmy drinking his potion, as long as I had the supply to make it, there was no more transformation, only mildly strange feelings in him, and Staler no longer suffered for his friend.
But soon, the matters of the Strauss family were absorbed into the matters of the world, for that winter, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and as America entered into a new war with Germany on the other side of it, many of us began to fear, remembering what had happened twenty years before.
But I had learned much, for back in the South, Augustus had been right, by his potions, Hagano had come to me. I had been afraid, feeling my body old and undesirable, but when he had come to me, he had been just as old. He said, “For you. For you, Pamela. I am ageless. This is for you. You are ageless too. I come and I go. I am not here. I am tied to all the Strauss women, even before you were the Stauss.
“Who was my father’s father. Who was his mother.”
“I don’t know, for I did not appear in this world again until you did.”
“But who are you?”
“I am the father of Leinghelde and Holving.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” I turned on my side, looking at him.
“Leinghelde was the mother of your clan, the first of you. She was the mother of the mother of the Strausses.
“And when did she live?”
“Over a thousand years ago,” Hagano said, touching me gently.
“You are so like her. Before Friederich was your father, it was me. I am the father of you all.”
“Were you always a wolf?” I asked him.
“No,” Hagano said. “How could that be. I am the first.”
“But, not the first ever?”
“No. I have heard and seen others who came form other lines. And other changers. When I was young there were the berserkers, those who changed into the bear both in form and spirit. But I was the first of our line, the beginning of what you are.”
“Then you must tell me,” Pamela. “You must tell me your whole story, that I may know my own.”
He looked as if he were thinking. I wondered, maybe if he were having me on, and then his face changed and he said, his voice heavy. “I will tell you, then, my Pamela. I will tell you all.”
@@@@@@@@@@@
It is the most beautiful church he’s ever seen. And he’s seen the big brick structure, the concrete arches and solid, high tower of Saint Jerome. Seth loves Saint Jerome. He always believed in God, He certainly believes in Chicago, but now he truly believes.
The choir sings.
“I call on the Lord in my distress,
and he answers me.
Save me, Lord,
from lying lips
and from deceitful tongues.
What will he do to you,
and what more besides,
you deceitful tongue?”
And what does that mean? What does it mean when he says, and now he really believes? That he has been a spectator up until now. Maybe up until now he has never truly been a witch. He has watched Owen be the witch. He has watched Lewis, and even Loreal. Owen always said, “You will feel the Gods when you are in your power. You will feel the Gods in the wind, and in the fire, in the earth, in the oak, the ash, and the thorn. You will see the Virgin and Mother and the Dark Lady in her many faces. You will see that She is He, and He They and the Gods God. You will see the truth in everything.”
But these were promises, and in the end, he had to take Owen’s word for them.
This evening, on the Feast of the Baptism of Christ, in Saint Agatha’s, the pink stone church with its white pillars and jewel box stain glass windows, Seth feels touched by God.
He will punish you with a warrior’s sharp arrows,
with burning coals of the broom bush.
Woe to me that I dwell in Meshek,
that I live among the tents of Kedar!
Too long have I lived
among those who hate peace.
I am for peace;
but when I speak, they are for war.
The stain glass windows were cut by Gerard Freneau. He knows that name. He has heard the story of the talented man, mixed like himself, back then called… Seth grimaces, a quadroon, who cut these windows in New Orleans and sailed up rivers and took trains to insert them into these windows. There is Saint Solange in white, holding a hawthorn tree with white flowers blossoming, but even as he observes the serenity of her face which is that color, not of a black person or a white person but the color of a sans colour gen, his own color, he sees her closed eyes. When they open for him, and he is not afraid, she looks upon him and he knows this is the Whtie Goddess. Her names go over him. Belili, Belial, Lilith, Don, Arianrhod, Freya, Branwen, Mary, her names and faces travel across his mind like a river.
“ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber…”
They are all gathered here. Lewis kneels in the front aisle under the golden light, the giant stones of his old rosary about his fingers, and beside him, looking like an angel—vampires really are angels—fine boned and nearly white haired is Chris Ashby, and what is this? He has a black beaded heavy rosary around his white hands. Where did that come from? Chris never said he was a Catholic? Jim is beside him. He loves Jim. He just does. He loves them all. But what was last night, when he gave himself to Chris and then, after love they came to surround Lewis. What was this morning with Lewis after the previous morning when he was with Jim and the world was new and knew everything. He loves sleeping in Chris’s arms, loves Lewis’s body being linked to his, loves kneeling right next to him Jim, before God is this beautiful rose and gold lit church, smelling the frankincense, knowing that before the night is over they will share in another sacrament, just as pure, just as offered up to God, as they give themselves to each other, for he must go to Jim tonight. He must figure things out.
“Indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
And there on the altar, all in white, surrounded by white candles and holding up a golden, round faced child, was the Virgin, crowned and noble, brown eyed, offering her son and his outstretched arms to the world. Seth heard the old prayer, knew he was hearing Lewis, knew Lewis was not saying it out loud, that they were linked again, and always, heard the old prayer and murmured it to the Queen of Heaven.
Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection,
implored your help, or sought your intercession,
was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence,
I fly unto you, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother.
To you do I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
despise not my petitions,
but in your mercy, hear and answer me.
Amen.
And there is Marabeth, and there is Kris, looking most out of place, almost as out of place as Laurie beside Loreal. But Lewis had said they must all be there. He has not explained, but he has said that tonight, on the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord, a week after Epiphany and only a few days after the burial of Marabeth’s father, Jim’s uncle, they must be at this evening mass, at Saint Agatha’s, a church which, Loreal has just learned, was built by her grandfather nearly one hundred years ago.
It is such a comfortable church, how could such a thing come from Augustus Dunharrow? He did not build it himself, of course not. The pillars are high, the ribbing leading to a vaulted ceiling hung with brass lanterns. And yet, it feels as close as a jewel box, or as a cave, as the cave where Christ was born.
Seth remembers Owen saying, “They got it all wrong. This is why so many of us walked away from the Church. They told you that Christ did it all. That all you had to do was believe in him and he would take aways your sins and your suffering, and make everything happen. And yet, here we were, believing, sinful, and still suffering. You must not stand and watch. You must enter the place of Christ and become him, and then all things will happen. The Craft is really nothing more than this.”
“Things must begin this way,” Lewis had said, “and you must be content with not understanding for some time. And then, in the night, all things will begin.”
More and more he talked like that, though Lewis had always been a mystery. Perhaps Lewis simply didn’t explain everything because he didn’t have the time, but now the hymn changed.
The priest had been droning on, which sounded like a horrible thing to say, but this is how Jim thought about it, droning on like bees, like drones, buzzing in the summer and what they were saying didn’t matter, it was the rhythm of it. The beehive, the beehive, there was something in that, and the golden light of the sun. But this was not a sun, it was a Host, it was a cream colored wafer half as large as a human head, made golden by the lights of candles and, suddenly, it was a cracked sun and more light came through it.
“Amen
Amen
Aaaaa aaa men!”
They were rising for Communion and the choir was singing
“You shall cross the barren desert
But you shall not die of thirst
You shall wander far in safety
Though you do not know the way
You shall speak your words in foreign lands
And all will understand
You shall see the face of God and live
Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come follow me
And I will give you rest.”
Seth rose up, was nearly pushed up it seemed, and followed Jim. But as he was approaching the altar the lights were brighter and brighter, the candles like twirling stars, and suddenly, in place of all was a woman in white, and she held out a chalice and it grew brighter, its silver burning. A voice cried, “Take and eat.”
And Seth, suffused in whiteness, passed out on the floor of Saint Agatha’s.
MORE ON THURSDAY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Another well done portion! I am still fascinated with Pamela and her history. Seth is growing to be one of my favourite characters in this story. Great writing! I look forward to more in a few days.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, I wondered when you would come to appreciate the special charms of Seth Moore. Pamela is always interesting, and her story is far from over. Hopefully, when we return to the Blood, Seth will have waken up.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
E I G H T
REUNION
Love one another with burning
-The Book of the Law
It was that morning sun that was so gold it was white, and the fields were white with snow covered wheat and snow covered grass. Or maybe this white was the color of the vegetation, for it wasn’t cold at all, and a high pure voice was singing:
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their laylums
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mowed hay.
Seth looked for the source of the voice, and he was approaching a girl, or a woman. It seemed that when he was trying to distinguish if she was young or old then there were, distinctly, two of them, a young laughing girl, and a doting mother, but as he settled on it not mattering there was only one woman, and she was wrapped in white and crowned in white and white hung about her neck, and all the white was of wheat and flowers and snowflakes. Her eyes were wide and deep like chunks of amber and her skin was like his, not dark, not light, neither black nor white.
Beside her, though, was a man not nearly as indescribable. He sank with her:
In spring we sow at the harvest mow
And that is how the seasons round they go
but of all the times choose I may
I'd be rambling through the new mowed hay.
“Seth!” he called, and now that Seth had spent some time with the Strausses he saw that this tall man, more like a boy than like the sad man he had seemed, had Kris Strausses’s coloring, Peter Keller’s build and somewhat sharp features, but above all and despite his darkness, Jim Strauss’s wavy hair and movie star looks.
“Nathan,” Seth said, and turning to the woman, “Lady. What happened? Am I dead? I’m not ready to be dead.”
Nathan grabbed Seth’s shoulders.
“You fainted, buddy! But you’ve got work to do.”
“You do,” the Lady said.
But now she was surrounded by others, bright and burning and some dark and burning, and she said, “You fainted in our place, so close to the borders of things.”
“Does this… does this mean anything?”
“It means you are Aos Si,” one of them spoke. “Like us. You are about to wake now.”
“Should I say anything?” Seth asked. “Are there any messages?”
The others looked at Nathan Strauss and he said, “At this moment no. The last thing they need is me sending messages. For now the message is you. Just love them.”
“He’ll be fine,” Seth heard Lewis saying as he came back into consciousness. His head did not hurt. He felt, really, as if he’d been asleep. Jim was sitting on the pew, for he was laid out on the pew, beside him, and as he turned on his side and then tried to sit up, he saw that the church was empty.
“What happened?” Seth asked.
“You fell,” Jim said, quietly. “You passed out.”
“Where is everyone?.” Seth whispered.
“Oh, they’re gone,” Lewis replied, not quiet at all, and apparently quite able to hear Seth.
“Father Jefferson left me the keys when he heard the name Dunharrow. Apparenlty they regard this, sort of, as our church. Extraordinary!” Lewis said, but in a different voice, bending over to look at something.
When Lewis did not elaborate, Seth got up and, not without genuflecting, moved up the flagstone aisle, and then turned past the altar to where Lewis was standing. It was in the corner of the church beneath the altar of the Blessed Virgin. Mary was to the right of them and they were near the door that led out to the little portico on the northeast of the church when Lewis murmured, “The Golden Lantern.”
“But it is the Golden Lantern,” Loreal insisted.
It had a brassy holder and hook, but the majority of tha lantern was of glittering stain glass, and the base of it transparent so that golden light burned clear from the bottom, filling the rest of the lantern with rosy color. It stood on a table beneath the open right hand of the Virgin, and Loreal looked behind them and said, “and yes, there it is.”
When Seth looked back, he saw, fairly new, a wide, round, glass baptismal font and, beside it on a table was a heavy glass dome that must have bene used to cover it. A little futuristic, Seth thought, for such an old church, but good none the less, nothing like the old stone baptismal font across from it, carved with figures and Loreal recited, looking fromthe glass one, to the stone one, “The Glass Orb, and the Stone Bowl.
“And lastly,” Lewis said, looking to the communion cup which was set up on a dais in a display case near the back, “the Silver Chalice.”
Seth looked to Jim, but Jim said, “I don’t know. This seems like your business.”
“They are the Four Treasures of the Four Castles,” Loreal explained. “It’s on a chart that came from Grandma. It’s the way the witch clans of old traced their circles and did their rites. The way Wiccans have four watchtowers.”
` “Only the Castles are rela,” Lewis said, “and so are the treasures.”
“But this is a church,” Jim said.
“Built by our uncle,” Lewis looked about.
“See…. Over there, in that window.”
“A saint. Ah,” Jim shrugged, “I don’t really read the Bible like I should. Or at all, really.”
“Saint John the Baptist,” Lewis said. “After a fashion. But no, it is he Lord of the Wild. And there, that is the White Lady, the one some called Arianrhod, dressed as Saint Solange. And there is the Lady of the Waves, she who is called La Sirene and Yamaya, but is also Aphrodite or Don, as Saint Mary Magdalene. They are all here, disguised in the walls and the carvings.”
Lewis sighed. “Of course, Augustus would never give a damn about building a church that’s just a church. He is as Catholic like any of us. It is the outer form of the inner worship, and even Augustus worships as a witch. He didn’t build this church for the poor Black Catholics of Lassador to worship. That was accidental. He built this,” Lewis gasped, looked around, seeing in all of the paintings, something wildly different than he had seen before, seeing the stations of the Cross a mild interruption to what Augustus was trying to do.
“He built this as a witch’s temple.”
“You say it like you admire him,” Seth accused.
“I do admire him,” Lewis said. “Who could do less? I don’t care for him as a person and I certainly won’t let him oppose me. But admire him.” Lewis sighed, grinning and looking around. Oh, yes,”
“What we did in Chicago was phenomenal, the lines of power leading from all over, converging under Saint Jerome’s. But Saint Jerome’s in itself was not our making. The chamber was, and the chamber was great, and it is a mighty work. But this, this was what the witches of old in Africa and Spain and England did. This is what the people of the old faith did with their half memories, carving green men in goddesses into cathedrals, raising up Chartre in France on the sight of a druid temple, placing the labyrinth on the floor when men had forgotten what the labyrinth meant. But in America? What withc has done this in America? Built a witch temple and had it blessed by the Church of Rome? Put in daily use, for over a century?
“When everyone else was gone, this must have been the place where the witches of the area gathered for their own worship ,the way we only dreamed of doing at Saint Jerome’s. Amazing.”
Chris watched Lewis, who was shaking his head in wonder
“Well, I’ll bet,” Lewis continued, “that there is some line of power which connects this church ot Saint Jerome, and I wonder, if we follow the lines here, what else will we find.
“What else will we find, what else will we find,” Lewis stood up tapping his chin and Chris turned to Jim and said, apologetically, “He gets like this sometimes.”
“All the time,” Seth said.
“What is this?” Marabeth wondered.
“It was in my grandmother’s book, her journal. She left me her journals, the family history,” Loreal said.
“There’s a lot of that going around,” Kris commented, but Marabeth was still looking at the quartered circle with the spirals in the center, and at the middle of the quadrants, markings for castles.
“Northwest, The Glass Castle. The Crystal Orb. Northeast, the Golden Castle… But what does it mean?”
“Is it like the Watchtowers?” Peter Keller asked, frankly
“What?” Lewis said.
“Don’t be so shocked,” Peter said. “When we were kids Amy wanted to be a Wiccan, and she was into the Circle and calling the corners and the Watchtowers. Is it like that?”
Loreal hesitated over the answer, but Lewis said, “Yes. It is like that.”
“Except real,” Peter filled in for him.
“I do not know if what your sister or many a teenage girl does is real or not,” Lewis said. “I do know form requires force. And will. People of little will can call up very little. When we call up something, we expect it to show up, which is why it is a thing not done lightly.”
“But our castles were never to the north, east south and west,” Seth said. “Or, at least, those were called, I think Owen called them, the Hidden Castles.”
“Yes,” Lewis nodded.
“And when you called, you called the Gods, the High People, the Ancestors, the Aspects of God, whatever was in that particular castle, or place,” Seth said.
“The Castles are real,” Joyce said.
“They are names for what is real,” Lewis said. “And, also, there are actual places which correspond with them. Real in this world. Loreal’s… destiny,” he looked at his cousin “that’s sort of a loaded word, is to join the Maid. The Maid is the other side of our clan as I am the Master.”
“The only problem,” Loreal said, “is that I do not know where the Maid is.”
“Then let me guess,” Peter leaned forward. “May I?” he asked holding his hand out.
“Yeah,” Loreal said. Then, “Yes.” She liked him, thought Peter was a stable sort of fellow.
“You have marked it. This is a new one. You drafted this from the old?”
“Yes?” Loreal said.
“The Maid, you say her castle is in the South?”
“I’m guessing.”
“That’s very vague,” Peter said.
“I know. That’s why I’m going with your cousins to ask my grandfather. He must know more.”
“But surely Owen would know too?” Seth said.
“Owen may not know as much as we thought,” Loreal said, regretfully. “I’m not saying my grandfather is perfect, or even good. But it seems as if Augustus innovated while Owen only preserved.”
“It seems that way at the moment,” Lewis said sternly, “but let’s not be so quick to judge what we are just coming to understand.”
Loreal opened her mouth, and Lewis said, “At any rate, we are closer to Augustus than we are to Owen, and it is Augustus who has the answers to Marabeth’s questions, so it is to Augustus that we will go.”
As they walked up the street, Jim said, “I should have parked closer.”
“No,” Seth said, “I told you I wanted to walk.”
“I know,” Jim said, grinning. “And that was really crazy of you.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to walk.”
“Why not?”
“You just fainted!”
“I’m over it.” Seth brushed it off.
Jim looked at him, and Seth said, “What?”
Suddenly Jim kissed him.
“James, what are we?”
“What?”
“I think I love you. I know I love you,” Seth said. “But that sounds ridiculous and… I wanted to call you last night. I thought of it.”
“I thought about it too.”
“And… I didn’t sleep alone last night. I… I have been in something. But… if we are something… we should decide that.”
Jim nodded and he said, “I’m sort of in the same thing too. And I didn’t think there would be anything new. Any you. This is…”
Jim stopped talking, and then he said, “Well, now that we know, now that we know everything, do you want to work through it together? Figure us out?”
“Yes,” Seth said. “I do.”
They were in car coats, and Seth’s cap was pulled down over his ears, but Jim wasn’t wearing one at all, and when Seth looked to him his breath was frozen and his ears were red.
“Are you still coming home with me?” Jim asked him.
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” Jim said.
“The moon is so beautiful,” Jim’s voice almost cracked.
“You know the sun is wonderful, but the moon is better. The sun is so bright it makes the sky blue and all you can see is the earth. But the moon? The moon shines on everything, makes everything down here a pure white light, and the sky isn’t black, it’s this brilliant dark blue, and you can see all the stars, the road to heaven.”
Jim said, “Do you know, I never did have the Change, not what Chris and Peter talk about. I just got really ill and funny and I got the pills. I wonder what would happen if I didn’t take them.”
Jim’s eyes turned on Seth. “Just once.”
His eyes were large and blue and almost laughing and Seth said, “Could you do it?’
“In the basement of the house,” Jim said, “once I found the chains. I didn’t know what they were for. The chains and the harness. It must have been where Uncle Nate was locked up. Or maybe my grandfather. But, what if I could do it, do it well and not be a monster. Or… whatever. There’s so much I don’t know. So much that growing up I suspected. I always knew something was wrong, but I never knew what it was.”
“Did you look at the book yet?”
“No,” Jim said. “Peter has, some of it. Marabeth looked at the rest, but I haven’t seen any of it.”
“I don’t like the way they treat you.”
“Who?”
“Your family,” Seth said. Then he said, “I mean, they’re great, but, you need to know. You’re not some side character. You can’t let Peter and Marabeth make all the dccisions.”
“What do I say? Give me the book?”
“Yes,” Seth said.
Jim though. “Well, maybe I will.”
As they continued walking up Case Street with its stylish apartments, Seth heard Jim muttering, as he looked up at the moon.
“Virgin most prudent,
Virgin most venerable,
Virgin most renowned…”
Seth started, “What’s that?”
But then he also said with Jim,
“Virgin most powerful,
Virgin most merciful,
Virgin most faithful uh…”
Jim looked at him tenderly and lifting a gloved hand said, “Mirror of Justice?”
“Yes?”
“Mirror of justice,
Seat of wisdom…
“I’ve forgotten the rest,” said Jim. “That’s usually when I start making stuff up.”
“My grandmother used to pray it,” Seth said, “In from her Virgin Mary.”
“We had to learn it in school,” said Jim, “but I always said it to the moon. I thought she was the real Virgin and Mary was just sort of a stand in. I don’t know,” he shrugged.
“As they stood on the corner across from the three story white building with its balconies and square windows, light peaking through white curtains, Seth said, “You don’t have to come with me, you know?”
“But I want to.”
“Well, then let me be next to you when you tell your family you deserve to look at that book.”
“Alright,” said Jim.
“Tower of David,” Seth said.
“What?”
“The rest of it:
Tower of David, .
Tower of ivory,
House of gold,
Ark of the covenant,
Gate of Heaven.”
“It’s cold,” Jim said, pulling Seth by the elbow across Washington Street. “Let’s get inside.”
REUNION
Love one another with burning
-The Book of the Law
It was that morning sun that was so gold it was white, and the fields were white with snow covered wheat and snow covered grass. Or maybe this white was the color of the vegetation, for it wasn’t cold at all, and a high pure voice was singing:
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their laylums
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mowed hay.
Seth looked for the source of the voice, and he was approaching a girl, or a woman. It seemed that when he was trying to distinguish if she was young or old then there were, distinctly, two of them, a young laughing girl, and a doting mother, but as he settled on it not mattering there was only one woman, and she was wrapped in white and crowned in white and white hung about her neck, and all the white was of wheat and flowers and snowflakes. Her eyes were wide and deep like chunks of amber and her skin was like his, not dark, not light, neither black nor white.
Beside her, though, was a man not nearly as indescribable. He sank with her:
In spring we sow at the harvest mow
And that is how the seasons round they go
but of all the times choose I may
I'd be rambling through the new mowed hay.
“Seth!” he called, and now that Seth had spent some time with the Strausses he saw that this tall man, more like a boy than like the sad man he had seemed, had Kris Strausses’s coloring, Peter Keller’s build and somewhat sharp features, but above all and despite his darkness, Jim Strauss’s wavy hair and movie star looks.
“Nathan,” Seth said, and turning to the woman, “Lady. What happened? Am I dead? I’m not ready to be dead.”
Nathan grabbed Seth’s shoulders.
“You fainted, buddy! But you’ve got work to do.”
“You do,” the Lady said.
But now she was surrounded by others, bright and burning and some dark and burning, and she said, “You fainted in our place, so close to the borders of things.”
“Does this… does this mean anything?”
“It means you are Aos Si,” one of them spoke. “Like us. You are about to wake now.”
“Should I say anything?” Seth asked. “Are there any messages?”
The others looked at Nathan Strauss and he said, “At this moment no. The last thing they need is me sending messages. For now the message is you. Just love them.”
“He’ll be fine,” Seth heard Lewis saying as he came back into consciousness. His head did not hurt. He felt, really, as if he’d been asleep. Jim was sitting on the pew, for he was laid out on the pew, beside him, and as he turned on his side and then tried to sit up, he saw that the church was empty.
“What happened?” Seth asked.
“You fell,” Jim said, quietly. “You passed out.”
“Where is everyone?.” Seth whispered.
“Oh, they’re gone,” Lewis replied, not quiet at all, and apparently quite able to hear Seth.
“Father Jefferson left me the keys when he heard the name Dunharrow. Apparenlty they regard this, sort of, as our church. Extraordinary!” Lewis said, but in a different voice, bending over to look at something.
When Lewis did not elaborate, Seth got up and, not without genuflecting, moved up the flagstone aisle, and then turned past the altar to where Lewis was standing. It was in the corner of the church beneath the altar of the Blessed Virgin. Mary was to the right of them and they were near the door that led out to the little portico on the northeast of the church when Lewis murmured, “The Golden Lantern.”
“But it is the Golden Lantern,” Loreal insisted.
It had a brassy holder and hook, but the majority of tha lantern was of glittering stain glass, and the base of it transparent so that golden light burned clear from the bottom, filling the rest of the lantern with rosy color. It stood on a table beneath the open right hand of the Virgin, and Loreal looked behind them and said, “and yes, there it is.”
When Seth looked back, he saw, fairly new, a wide, round, glass baptismal font and, beside it on a table was a heavy glass dome that must have bene used to cover it. A little futuristic, Seth thought, for such an old church, but good none the less, nothing like the old stone baptismal font across from it, carved with figures and Loreal recited, looking fromthe glass one, to the stone one, “The Glass Orb, and the Stone Bowl.
“And lastly,” Lewis said, looking to the communion cup which was set up on a dais in a display case near the back, “the Silver Chalice.”
Seth looked to Jim, but Jim said, “I don’t know. This seems like your business.”
“They are the Four Treasures of the Four Castles,” Loreal explained. “It’s on a chart that came from Grandma. It’s the way the witch clans of old traced their circles and did their rites. The way Wiccans have four watchtowers.”
` “Only the Castles are rela,” Lewis said, “and so are the treasures.”
“But this is a church,” Jim said.
“Built by our uncle,” Lewis looked about.
“See…. Over there, in that window.”
“A saint. Ah,” Jim shrugged, “I don’t really read the Bible like I should. Or at all, really.”
“Saint John the Baptist,” Lewis said. “After a fashion. But no, it is he Lord of the Wild. And there, that is the White Lady, the one some called Arianrhod, dressed as Saint Solange. And there is the Lady of the Waves, she who is called La Sirene and Yamaya, but is also Aphrodite or Don, as Saint Mary Magdalene. They are all here, disguised in the walls and the carvings.”
Lewis sighed. “Of course, Augustus would never give a damn about building a church that’s just a church. He is as Catholic like any of us. It is the outer form of the inner worship, and even Augustus worships as a witch. He didn’t build this church for the poor Black Catholics of Lassador to worship. That was accidental. He built this,” Lewis gasped, looked around, seeing in all of the paintings, something wildly different than he had seen before, seeing the stations of the Cross a mild interruption to what Augustus was trying to do.
“He built this as a witch’s temple.”
“You say it like you admire him,” Seth accused.
“I do admire him,” Lewis said. “Who could do less? I don’t care for him as a person and I certainly won’t let him oppose me. But admire him.” Lewis sighed, grinning and looking around. Oh, yes,”
“What we did in Chicago was phenomenal, the lines of power leading from all over, converging under Saint Jerome’s. But Saint Jerome’s in itself was not our making. The chamber was, and the chamber was great, and it is a mighty work. But this, this was what the witches of old in Africa and Spain and England did. This is what the people of the old faith did with their half memories, carving green men in goddesses into cathedrals, raising up Chartre in France on the sight of a druid temple, placing the labyrinth on the floor when men had forgotten what the labyrinth meant. But in America? What withc has done this in America? Built a witch temple and had it blessed by the Church of Rome? Put in daily use, for over a century?
“When everyone else was gone, this must have been the place where the witches of the area gathered for their own worship ,the way we only dreamed of doing at Saint Jerome’s. Amazing.”
Chris watched Lewis, who was shaking his head in wonder
“Well, I’ll bet,” Lewis continued, “that there is some line of power which connects this church ot Saint Jerome, and I wonder, if we follow the lines here, what else will we find.
“What else will we find, what else will we find,” Lewis stood up tapping his chin and Chris turned to Jim and said, apologetically, “He gets like this sometimes.”
“All the time,” Seth said.
“What is this?” Marabeth wondered.
“It was in my grandmother’s book, her journal. She left me her journals, the family history,” Loreal said.
“There’s a lot of that going around,” Kris commented, but Marabeth was still looking at the quartered circle with the spirals in the center, and at the middle of the quadrants, markings for castles.
“Northwest, The Glass Castle. The Crystal Orb. Northeast, the Golden Castle… But what does it mean?”
“Is it like the Watchtowers?” Peter Keller asked, frankly
“What?” Lewis said.
“Don’t be so shocked,” Peter said. “When we were kids Amy wanted to be a Wiccan, and she was into the Circle and calling the corners and the Watchtowers. Is it like that?”
Loreal hesitated over the answer, but Lewis said, “Yes. It is like that.”
“Except real,” Peter filled in for him.
“I do not know if what your sister or many a teenage girl does is real or not,” Lewis said. “I do know form requires force. And will. People of little will can call up very little. When we call up something, we expect it to show up, which is why it is a thing not done lightly.”
“But our castles were never to the north, east south and west,” Seth said. “Or, at least, those were called, I think Owen called them, the Hidden Castles.”
“Yes,” Lewis nodded.
“And when you called, you called the Gods, the High People, the Ancestors, the Aspects of God, whatever was in that particular castle, or place,” Seth said.
“The Castles are real,” Joyce said.
“They are names for what is real,” Lewis said. “And, also, there are actual places which correspond with them. Real in this world. Loreal’s… destiny,” he looked at his cousin “that’s sort of a loaded word, is to join the Maid. The Maid is the other side of our clan as I am the Master.”
“The only problem,” Loreal said, “is that I do not know where the Maid is.”
“Then let me guess,” Peter leaned forward. “May I?” he asked holding his hand out.
“Yeah,” Loreal said. Then, “Yes.” She liked him, thought Peter was a stable sort of fellow.
“You have marked it. This is a new one. You drafted this from the old?”
“Yes?” Loreal said.
“The Maid, you say her castle is in the South?”
“I’m guessing.”
“That’s very vague,” Peter said.
“I know. That’s why I’m going with your cousins to ask my grandfather. He must know more.”
“But surely Owen would know too?” Seth said.
“Owen may not know as much as we thought,” Loreal said, regretfully. “I’m not saying my grandfather is perfect, or even good. But it seems as if Augustus innovated while Owen only preserved.”
“It seems that way at the moment,” Lewis said sternly, “but let’s not be so quick to judge what we are just coming to understand.”
Loreal opened her mouth, and Lewis said, “At any rate, we are closer to Augustus than we are to Owen, and it is Augustus who has the answers to Marabeth’s questions, so it is to Augustus that we will go.”
As they walked up the street, Jim said, “I should have parked closer.”
“No,” Seth said, “I told you I wanted to walk.”
“I know,” Jim said, grinning. “And that was really crazy of you.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to walk.”
“Why not?”
“You just fainted!”
“I’m over it.” Seth brushed it off.
Jim looked at him, and Seth said, “What?”
Suddenly Jim kissed him.
“James, what are we?”
“What?”
“I think I love you. I know I love you,” Seth said. “But that sounds ridiculous and… I wanted to call you last night. I thought of it.”
“I thought about it too.”
“And… I didn’t sleep alone last night. I… I have been in something. But… if we are something… we should decide that.”
Jim nodded and he said, “I’m sort of in the same thing too. And I didn’t think there would be anything new. Any you. This is…”
Jim stopped talking, and then he said, “Well, now that we know, now that we know everything, do you want to work through it together? Figure us out?”
“Yes,” Seth said. “I do.”
They were in car coats, and Seth’s cap was pulled down over his ears, but Jim wasn’t wearing one at all, and when Seth looked to him his breath was frozen and his ears were red.
“Are you still coming home with me?” Jim asked him.
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” Jim said.
“The moon is so beautiful,” Jim’s voice almost cracked.
“You know the sun is wonderful, but the moon is better. The sun is so bright it makes the sky blue and all you can see is the earth. But the moon? The moon shines on everything, makes everything down here a pure white light, and the sky isn’t black, it’s this brilliant dark blue, and you can see all the stars, the road to heaven.”
Jim said, “Do you know, I never did have the Change, not what Chris and Peter talk about. I just got really ill and funny and I got the pills. I wonder what would happen if I didn’t take them.”
Jim’s eyes turned on Seth. “Just once.”
His eyes were large and blue and almost laughing and Seth said, “Could you do it?’
“In the basement of the house,” Jim said, “once I found the chains. I didn’t know what they were for. The chains and the harness. It must have been where Uncle Nate was locked up. Or maybe my grandfather. But, what if I could do it, do it well and not be a monster. Or… whatever. There’s so much I don’t know. So much that growing up I suspected. I always knew something was wrong, but I never knew what it was.”
“Did you look at the book yet?”
“No,” Jim said. “Peter has, some of it. Marabeth looked at the rest, but I haven’t seen any of it.”
“I don’t like the way they treat you.”
“Who?”
“Your family,” Seth said. Then he said, “I mean, they’re great, but, you need to know. You’re not some side character. You can’t let Peter and Marabeth make all the dccisions.”
“What do I say? Give me the book?”
“Yes,” Seth said.
Jim though. “Well, maybe I will.”
As they continued walking up Case Street with its stylish apartments, Seth heard Jim muttering, as he looked up at the moon.
“Virgin most prudent,
Virgin most venerable,
Virgin most renowned…”
Seth started, “What’s that?”
But then he also said with Jim,
“Virgin most powerful,
Virgin most merciful,
Virgin most faithful uh…”
Jim looked at him tenderly and lifting a gloved hand said, “Mirror of Justice?”
“Yes?”
“Mirror of justice,
Seat of wisdom…
“I’ve forgotten the rest,” said Jim. “That’s usually when I start making stuff up.”
“My grandmother used to pray it,” Seth said, “In from her Virgin Mary.”
“We had to learn it in school,” said Jim, “but I always said it to the moon. I thought she was the real Virgin and Mary was just sort of a stand in. I don’t know,” he shrugged.
“As they stood on the corner across from the three story white building with its balconies and square windows, light peaking through white curtains, Seth said, “You don’t have to come with me, you know?”
“But I want to.”
“Well, then let me be next to you when you tell your family you deserve to look at that book.”
“Alright,” said Jim.
“Tower of David,” Seth said.
“What?”
“The rest of it:
Tower of David, .
Tower of ivory,
House of gold,
Ark of the covenant,
Gate of Heaven.”
“It’s cold,” Jim said, pulling Seth by the elbow across Washington Street. “Let’s get inside.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great weekend portion! Lots going on as always and I am enjoying it. Seeing so much of Seth is a definite positive! Excellent writing and I look forward to more in a few days! Have a wonderful weekend!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I am a Seth fan, though he's understated and a slow burn character. What do you like about him?
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
I like the way he thinks.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
THE BLOOD... CONTINUED
“Are you coming home?” Marabeth asked when Kris dropped her off.
“Not just yet,” Kris said. “I’ve got to do something before we leave.”
Marabeth nodded, leaned into the car to kissed her brother, and then watched him drive off. She turned to walk up the steps to the great old door. Marabeth Strauss hadn’t returned to her apartment, because she had to speak to her mother, and because the house on Dimler Street was closer. In the past, when she had needed to speak to Rebecca, needed the woman to read her mind, drop the business of her husband and the business of Kris or Jim and come over and ask what was the matter, she had not. When Marabeth had stood awkward before her, begging inside, “Mother, untie my tongue. Help me say what I’m trying to say,” the help had not been forthcoming. It had taken almost until Marabeth was thirty-five to learn the mantra mothers are not magic. But it was even now, when she was finally believing it, that Rebecca was waiting for her in the living room.
“I put tea on,” Rebecca said. And then she said, “And I never drink tea.”
“It all sounds so civilized,” Marabeth jested, and Rebecca smiled and said, “Come with me and let’s get cups.”
They did, and while her mother was pouring, Marabeth said, “Pamela wrote about a man named Augustus in her journals. He’s the one that gave her the formula that became the pills. Her friend.”
“I can’t imagine Pamela Strauss having friends.”
“And he is Lewis’s uncle.”
“Lewis Lewis? Dunharrow? Who’s in town? Who you all were with?”
“Yes. They think,” Marabeth said as she took the tea from her mother, “that he could know a lot, and we’re going down to see him.”
“Wait a minute,” Rebecca said, sitting down in the kitchen. “How is that possible? I mean, if he knew Pamela… She’s been dead thirty years. He must be so old. And when did he know her?”
“He knew her in the 1930’s.”
“What?”
“Or the 40’s. Right before World War II.”
“But…”
“It seems that he is…. Very well preserved.”
“Well,” was all Rebecca said with a deep sigh.
“Yeah,” Marabeth said.
Then Marabeth said, “He was one of the last people who saw Dad.”
“What?” Rebecca shook her head. “I need to stop saying that.”
“Dad must have read Pamela’s journal. He was looking for answers. He was going to Augustus. He must have died somewhere near him. It was Augustus who sent me these books, Augustus, I believe, who sent the police to look for Dad so that his remains were finally found.”
“Do you think he killed him?”
“No!”
“Well, he was friends with Pamela.”
“Pamela wasn’t evil,” Marabeth said. “At least not that way. And if Augustus is evil, it seems like he is evil regarding his own concerns.”
“Then this Augustus is…. Magical.”
“He is a witch.”
“I am afraid for you. For you all. Are you taking Kris?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I’m almost of a mind to go too. To see the man who saw Nathan last.”
Neither of them spoke for a while, but when there was speech, it was from Rebecca.
“When your father disappeared I told myself he’d be back in a few hours, then a few days. And I’m not sure if I ever believed he was gone. And then when Detective McCord told us….
“And do you know, I had to see him. I can’t blame your grandmother. I had to see him too. And the thing is, no matter what I saw, there is a part of me so lonely for him, so in need of him, I would crawl into the grave and cling to him if I could. I really would. I don’t know another way to describe it.”
“Mom,” Marabeth touched her mother’s hand, “I can wait. We can go later.”
“Oh, baby,” her mother touched her hand. “Your staying can’t stop me from feeling this way. You’d better go. I want to know, too. It won’t make me feel happy, but it will make me feel better.”
“Ohhh, God!” she groaned. “Ohh, God! Fuck me. Fuck meeee. Stay in me. Stay!”
Her voice rose.
“Fuck me! Fuck me,” she insisrted.
On the living room floor of of her apartment, under the long windows that looked up at the burning moonlight, head buried in her shoulder, hairy ass arched in the air as he buried himself in her, Kris Strauss fucked Jenean Morrison.
“Stay in me, stay in me, stay in me,” she prayed, her voice shallow, as she turned around and wrapped her thighs around him. Her hands landed on his back, caressed his sides, the sides of his thighs, went back to his hard ass.
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come—” he moaned.
“Come in me,” she whispered. “Come inside of me.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face and she said, “I love it when you come, I love the way to you look when you come.”
She tightened her thighs around him and received his thrust, and the sofa behind them scratched the floor, then his body froze, His eyes were wide, his mouth open like someone being hit. He stared into her, vulnerable, He was perfectly still, as buried inside of her, his lips parted, his eyes almost far away, almost frightened, he came. He closed his mouth, gritting his teeth, his body twisting for the last of it. When it had passed over him, as it had passed over her, Kris lay across her and in her, wrung out. She stroked his damp hair while his cheek rested on her shoulder.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she said.,
“I don’t want to leave.”
“When will you come home?” Jenean asked.
And then she said, “And I don’t mean that this is your home. I’m not trying to be possessive, I just…”
Kris smiled at her and ran his finger along her cheek. She turned to look at him. His cock was still hard, arched in the air, damp with her pussy juice.
“You don’t have to explain anything he told her. “And besides, what if I wanted to make a home out of this. Of us? What would you say?”
But as satisfied as she was, she was not through with him, and he was still hard for her, and so she mounted him and rode him, taking him in deeper and deeper, pressing his shoulders while his eyes sparkled and his mouth parted, until he began to thrust back and they thrust together, fucking, staring into each other’s eyes, until, at last, with a growl, he picked her up and took her from behind, fucking her like a jackhammer until they both came, shouting and sweating, him collapsing across her, and neither one of them saying a word until, half exhausted, Chris began to chuckle, and then so did she, and stroking each other they laughed, then stopped, then laughed again.
Marabeth was up early the next morning, and walked the five blocks to Jim’s apartment. It was closer to downtown on Case and Washington, on the other side of Demming, the street that ran south and north toward downtown and divided Germantown from what once had been Little Hungary. She was going to buzz, but someone coming out let her in, and it was a treat coming to Jim’s place, an expensive and well kept apartment that not even he spent much time in. When she knocked on his door, she wore a perfect pokey face as Seth Moore, shirtless, opened it.
“Good morning,” Marabeth said while Seth was pulling his dress shirt on. Always a dress shirt, she noted, just like Jim. “I could come back.”
“Not at all,” ushered her in.
Jim was coming out of the kitchen and he looked a little surprised, but not at all embarrassed much to his credit.
“I could go,” Seth said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim said. “You didn’t drive.”
“Well, I’ll take a trip to McDonalds then and give you some time. I’m probably going to hit up those curio stores too.”
When Jim opened his mouth to protest, Seth opened the closet by the door and took out his coat.
“I insist,” he said. And then he said, “Remember what I said.”
“About?” Jim began. Then, scratching his head. “Aw yeah.”
“Yeah,” Seth said, and was gone.
Marabeth looked after Seth, or rather looked at the door through which Seth had gone.
“I like him,” Marabeth said.
“Yup,” Jim said. “They’re a good family. What the fuck did they do to get mixed up with us.”
“Look,” Marabeth said. “I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Fuck that. Let me get you some coffee.”
MORE TOMORROW NIGHT
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great to read this story again after a short break! Pamela's journals are leading to all sorts of things. I am enjoying this story and can't wait to read some more of this great writing tomorrow night!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I thought it would be better to pace the output slower this time, but this was almost too many days of an absence. Pamela's journals will continue to reap havoc as well as bring revelation, and the most important revelations have not even come.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
END OF CHAPTER
“I was surprised,” Marabeth said.
“By?”
“Mom’s blessing,”
When Jim looked at her, Marabeth said, “It’s just, me and Mom haven’t always got on. I wished we did,” she said to Jim,” but we didn’t.”
“She was afraid for you,” Jim said. “She didn’t understand you is all.”
“And I don’t really understand her either,” Marabeth confessed. “I think I’ve always felt bad about that. Us not being on the same page. Not understanding each other.”
She was quiet for a while and she said, “I wonder if I wasn’t a little jealous of you. Not in that angry way. Not in a hateful way. No,” Marabeth reconsidered this. “Not jealous, but just… wistful. I wished I could understand Mom the way you did. Love her like you did.”
“You love your mom,” Jim said. “Come on, everyone knows that. Even Peter, no matter some of the things he’s said.”
“Yes,” Marabeth agreed. “But not the way you do. And, I have to admit, none of us makes her smile like you do, Jim. You have a way about you.”
“Well, you know, gay men have to be pleasing.”
“Is that really a thing?” Marabeth said.
“Sometimes,” Jim said. “I had to talk to a shrink about it. It’s like, once you’re accepted you feel so grateful you’ll do anything. And it’s not like I told everyone in the family. But… ” his brow had furrowed and Marabeth said, “What is it, Jim?”
“It’s just, you know how you say you wished you’d gotten on with your mother? I wish I’d had a sane mother. I wish she hadn’t been so… you know? I wished my mother hadn’t killed herself.”
“Oh, fuck,” Marabeth, said putting down her cigarette, “I’m such a fucking cunt.”
“No,” Jim said, “I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like that.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s just, I wish that a lot. And the truth is, I felt anger and jealousy too. I was angry, and I was jealous, and you know what, part of it was I though it was my fault.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
He lifted his head and sighed, not able to talk for a muinute, not quite able to get to his words.
“But, it’s like, what did I do to have a mom who killed herself and a Dad who probably did the same thing too?”
“We didn’t do anything, Jim,” Marabeth said, fiercely. “We didn’t do anything but be born into this nuttiness.”
“Mara, I need to see the journal. I need to read it. It’s my family, I need to know about it too. Especially if Peter—”
“Alright,” Marabeth told him. “Peter made a second copy, and I don’t want to read it by myself and God knows Kris won’t touch it. Maybe you and I can mqke something of it together.”
Jim blinked at her and Marabeth said, “What?”
“I just… I don’t know… I was looking for more of a fight.”
“Why?” Marabeth frowned. “I mean, if Peter read it, Peter who I cannot believe is fucking my best friend, then…”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “Maybe it’s because I never knew my Dad. Maybe its because the whole reason I’m in this family is because… my granddad was your granddad’s best friend.”
“Our granddad. Grandfather. James Strauss was your grandfather too. That’s why you have his name, loganberry.”
“But,” Jim shook his head, “I don’t know… Why do I always feel like some stepchild?”
“I don’t know,” Marabeth said. “Because it’s me who feels like the stepchild.”
“How in the world?” Jim said. “You’re the artist. You’re… You’re Nathan’s daughter. You’re Pamela’s hier.’
“What in the world does that even mean?” Marabeth said. “The heir of a sketchy, shadowy old aunt who had no children. Except… that’s not even true.”
“What? Aunt Pam had kids?”
“She had one,” Marabeth said. “But… See, you really do need to read the book. Yeah. It’s upstairs. Go knock yourself out with the craziness.”
“Will I regret it?”
“Probably.”
Marabeth closed the book very slowly, and beside her, Jason decided to say nothing immediately. It was some time before he finally said, “Is there something troubling you?”
“Yeah,” Marabeth replied. “You could say that. “There is… This is a book that’s full of revelations.”
Jason decided to save Marabeth from her awkwardness.
“You should probably tell your family first. After all. It is their secrets.”
“Yes,” Marabeth said, not quite there yet, “but it seems like every time I can’t really be surprisred anymore, something new comes up and I am surprised again. One thing I do know, “It was Jason’s uncle Augustus who gave our family whatever they made that ended up becoming the pills we take. Or at least that’s what I believe. He gave Pamela a type of potion… well, that makes it sound magical, and maybe it is, but it was made from wolfbane and silver nitrate, and he used it to stop the symptoms from coming. He said there were all types of… what we are, and that my grandfather, and so I guess my cousins, were just one type.”
As Jason listened quietly, Marabeth finally said, “My grandfather was a Nazi.”
“Oh,” Jason said, noncommittally.
Marabeth looked at him, astounded, and then burst out laughing.
“Oh! All you can say is oh.”
“Well, he was around a long time ago, and it’s hardly your fault. Things were different.”
Marabeth opened the book and cleared her throat as if giving a recital
“All these hypocrites, we throw them out,
Judah escapes from our German house!
Once the floe is cleared and clean,
we will be united and happy!”
“Hum,” Jason shook his head. “It doesn’t even rhyme.”
At once, Marabeth began to laugh, and then Jason, laughing, looked at her and said, “Well, it doesn’t!”
And then he said, “He couldn’t have been that old during World War Two. And didn’t you say your mother was Jewish?”
“I guess. Technically she is. Her father’s Irish, she’s redheaded and pale but Nana is Jewish, so that makes her Jewish and I wonder if that makes me Jewish too. I think it does, but apparently Jimmy was not.”
“How old is he at this point of the story.”
“About sixteen I guess. Oh, and Jim’s grandfather was a Nazi with him I mean, Jimmy was Jim’s grandfather, yes, but this other one. That old man, Steiger. He’s the sweetest man in the world. He was a Nazi,” Marabeth breathed.
“Well, and I don’t know why the hell I keep excusing it, it’s not like he was a Nazi in Germany. Were they just beng teenagers singing heil Hitler in America?”
“Yes,” Marabeth said, “But would you say that if you ran into a sixteen year old Klansmane saying the same thing now?”
“No,” Jason shook his head. “I don’t think I would.”
Then Jason said, “So you’re headed out of town.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth said, reaching for the light. “To figure out this thing… with my family.”
In the dark they lay side by side and Jason said, “Maybe one day you’ll tell me about it. Whatever it is.”
Marabeth sighed in the dark and turned to him.
“We’re werewolves.”
MORE TOMORROW NIGHT
“I was surprised,” Marabeth said.
“By?”
“Mom’s blessing,”
When Jim looked at her, Marabeth said, “It’s just, me and Mom haven’t always got on. I wished we did,” she said to Jim,” but we didn’t.”
“She was afraid for you,” Jim said. “She didn’t understand you is all.”
“And I don’t really understand her either,” Marabeth confessed. “I think I’ve always felt bad about that. Us not being on the same page. Not understanding each other.”
She was quiet for a while and she said, “I wonder if I wasn’t a little jealous of you. Not in that angry way. Not in a hateful way. No,” Marabeth reconsidered this. “Not jealous, but just… wistful. I wished I could understand Mom the way you did. Love her like you did.”
“You love your mom,” Jim said. “Come on, everyone knows that. Even Peter, no matter some of the things he’s said.”
“Yes,” Marabeth agreed. “But not the way you do. And, I have to admit, none of us makes her smile like you do, Jim. You have a way about you.”
“Well, you know, gay men have to be pleasing.”
“Is that really a thing?” Marabeth said.
“Sometimes,” Jim said. “I had to talk to a shrink about it. It’s like, once you’re accepted you feel so grateful you’ll do anything. And it’s not like I told everyone in the family. But… ” his brow had furrowed and Marabeth said, “What is it, Jim?”
“It’s just, you know how you say you wished you’d gotten on with your mother? I wish I’d had a sane mother. I wish she hadn’t been so… you know? I wished my mother hadn’t killed herself.”
“Oh, fuck,” Marabeth, said putting down her cigarette, “I’m such a fucking cunt.”
“No,” Jim said, “I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like that.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s just, I wish that a lot. And the truth is, I felt anger and jealousy too. I was angry, and I was jealous, and you know what, part of it was I though it was my fault.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
He lifted his head and sighed, not able to talk for a muinute, not quite able to get to his words.
“But, it’s like, what did I do to have a mom who killed herself and a Dad who probably did the same thing too?”
“We didn’t do anything, Jim,” Marabeth said, fiercely. “We didn’t do anything but be born into this nuttiness.”
“Mara, I need to see the journal. I need to read it. It’s my family, I need to know about it too. Especially if Peter—”
“Alright,” Marabeth told him. “Peter made a second copy, and I don’t want to read it by myself and God knows Kris won’t touch it. Maybe you and I can mqke something of it together.”
Jim blinked at her and Marabeth said, “What?”
“I just… I don’t know… I was looking for more of a fight.”
“Why?” Marabeth frowned. “I mean, if Peter read it, Peter who I cannot believe is fucking my best friend, then…”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “Maybe it’s because I never knew my Dad. Maybe its because the whole reason I’m in this family is because… my granddad was your granddad’s best friend.”
“Our granddad. Grandfather. James Strauss was your grandfather too. That’s why you have his name, loganberry.”
“But,” Jim shook his head, “I don’t know… Why do I always feel like some stepchild?”
“I don’t know,” Marabeth said. “Because it’s me who feels like the stepchild.”
“How in the world?” Jim said. “You’re the artist. You’re… You’re Nathan’s daughter. You’re Pamela’s hier.’
“What in the world does that even mean?” Marabeth said. “The heir of a sketchy, shadowy old aunt who had no children. Except… that’s not even true.”
“What? Aunt Pam had kids?”
“She had one,” Marabeth said. “But… See, you really do need to read the book. Yeah. It’s upstairs. Go knock yourself out with the craziness.”
“Will I regret it?”
“Probably.”
Marabeth closed the book very slowly, and beside her, Jason decided to say nothing immediately. It was some time before he finally said, “Is there something troubling you?”
“Yeah,” Marabeth replied. “You could say that. “There is… This is a book that’s full of revelations.”
Jason decided to save Marabeth from her awkwardness.
“You should probably tell your family first. After all. It is their secrets.”
“Yes,” Marabeth said, not quite there yet, “but it seems like every time I can’t really be surprisred anymore, something new comes up and I am surprised again. One thing I do know, “It was Jason’s uncle Augustus who gave our family whatever they made that ended up becoming the pills we take. Or at least that’s what I believe. He gave Pamela a type of potion… well, that makes it sound magical, and maybe it is, but it was made from wolfbane and silver nitrate, and he used it to stop the symptoms from coming. He said there were all types of… what we are, and that my grandfather, and so I guess my cousins, were just one type.”
As Jason listened quietly, Marabeth finally said, “My grandfather was a Nazi.”
“Oh,” Jason said, noncommittally.
Marabeth looked at him, astounded, and then burst out laughing.
“Oh! All you can say is oh.”
“Well, he was around a long time ago, and it’s hardly your fault. Things were different.”
Marabeth opened the book and cleared her throat as if giving a recital
“All these hypocrites, we throw them out,
Judah escapes from our German house!
Once the floe is cleared and clean,
we will be united and happy!”
“Hum,” Jason shook his head. “It doesn’t even rhyme.”
At once, Marabeth began to laugh, and then Jason, laughing, looked at her and said, “Well, it doesn’t!”
And then he said, “He couldn’t have been that old during World War Two. And didn’t you say your mother was Jewish?”
“I guess. Technically she is. Her father’s Irish, she’s redheaded and pale but Nana is Jewish, so that makes her Jewish and I wonder if that makes me Jewish too. I think it does, but apparently Jimmy was not.”
“How old is he at this point of the story.”
“About sixteen I guess. Oh, and Jim’s grandfather was a Nazi with him I mean, Jimmy was Jim’s grandfather, yes, but this other one. That old man, Steiger. He’s the sweetest man in the world. He was a Nazi,” Marabeth breathed.
“Well, and I don’t know why the hell I keep excusing it, it’s not like he was a Nazi in Germany. Were they just beng teenagers singing heil Hitler in America?”
“Yes,” Marabeth said, “But would you say that if you ran into a sixteen year old Klansmane saying the same thing now?”
“No,” Jason shook his head. “I don’t think I would.”
Then Jason said, “So you’re headed out of town.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth said, reaching for the light. “To figure out this thing… with my family.”
In the dark they lay side by side and Jason said, “Maybe one day you’ll tell me about it. Whatever it is.”
Marabeth sighed in the dark and turned to him.
“We’re werewolves.”
MORE TOMORROW NIGHT
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
I am glad Marabeth and Jim are getting along now. Seems like things are progressing between Marabeth and Jason if she is letting her read Pamela's writing. That was some great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow! I hope you are having a nice night.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Well Marabeth always got on with Jim. Her issues were with Peter and it was Kris who couldn't deal with Jim. But at the moment Kris is joyfully, fuckfully, occupied with saying goodbye to Jenean. I am not entirely sure if Marabeth is becoming more trusting of Jason, or if she's one of those people who is always trusting because she just doesn't give a fuck and thinks it's less trouble to show him the journal than to hide it. This was certainly a Marabeth night and there will be more of our favorite furry family, and the Dunharrows tomorrow night.