The Wolf & The Witch

The wolf laid on his right side, and the witch on her left, facing each other, with three inches between them. Claire brought a rock pillar up from the ground, and another, and a third; she took a deep breath, ran magic out of her body, and pushed stone against stone. Lestat braced his body and pushed against the stones- no good. Claire added two more narrow pillars- now there was no room for either to move. Claire pushed, and Lestat pushed, and the stone cracked.

“Just a little… more,” Lestat grunted, and she strained, and ran magic, and life, out of her body, and she hardened the stones, and grimaced as she lengthened them- stone against stone; Lestat half-shifted, breaking two stone pillars, and pushed with all his strength, and the stone coffin shattered. A large chunk of black stone went flying off to the side and the rest fell away kicking up a cloud of ash. He grabbed Claire and jumped to his feet and a wave of a hot air hit them in the face; They pulled their faces back and squinted their eyes shut against the heat.

There was nothing left of the coven, or the forest. Black earth, and white ash, and red embers glowed like fireflies in the fall. Leaning monoliths of white smoke held up the sky, and the radiance, and the impermanence, of flame and heat, unfurled the air like sheets hanging on a line. The bodies of men and women- no longer wolves and witches- scattered the glowing ground, cut, broken, dead and dying. All the houses were burned and burning, and the trees looked like black bones wrapped in white paper; the remains of leaves and limbs were paper-white, folding and creasing the blackened soil.

Thunder rattled overhead.

Maybe they were done fighting? Maybe the fire took all of them? Then Lestat heard a sound behind them and smelled metal and jumped- just in time. A werewolf, one of James’ elite guards, swiped a long sword with a long, furry arm and the blade just missed cutting them clean in two.

“What good is it,” James said, exasperated, from behind them, “To rule a land of ash?”

Lestat jumped away but too slow. Em and Emma caught his ankle with chains, and Soph plucked hairs from her head and a wave of sleep washed over them. Lestat went to his knee, and Claire passed out, or pretended to.

Claire had three poisons with her- in her pack, and they were damned lucky the jars hadn’t shattered yet. They were wrapped in cloth, and all three were deadly. She had a quarter of a second to look as they fell, pretending sleep: Olive, Soph, Em and Emma, James, and two elite wolves. Where was Rin? Where was Beverly? She could hear a handful of witches and wolves were in the woods, further back, fighting, and killing, each other.

The elite werewolf walked over, raised his sword, and Lestat shifted- a full shift, in a heartbeat, and he grabbed the werewolf’s ankle, broke it with the twist of his hand, and dodged the blade as it came whistling down, Lestat came up from the ground with a straight uppercut- all the strength, and all the power he had, focused into his fist and the werewolf’s jaw shattered like rocks through glass. The bones of his maxilla and nose broke and blood flew and teeth clicked off the ground, kicking up puffs of ash, and the werewolf crumpled- not dead, but not fighting just yet.

Olive had her hands in the air, the twins had their hands in the air; chains crept up Lestat’s legs and he grabbed the downed werewolf by the shoulder, hefted him, and hurled him at the witches. James jumped in front of his wives to shield them and was knocked back into Olive, pushing her to the ground.

Claire raised her bow and fired an arrow and the twins blocked it. She fired three more, driving two into the ground at their feet. Lestat was ten feet tall as a werewolf, stronger and harder and faster, and nearly pure aggression. Claire strapped her bow to her side and Lestat picked her up and held her in the crook of his right arm. She grinned ear to ear- he was sexy as a man, and he was sexy as a wolf, and she loved it when he growled. “Let’s light their asses up.”

Lestat growled, and glared. “We’re after Beverly. Where is she?"

“As if I would stand by and let you kill my wife,” James answered, and helped Olive back to her feet, then stepped forward, in front of his four wives. “As if I would let you live after burning my land.”

“How the hell is she your wife? She’s been the priestess here for almost a decade.” Claire reached back into her pack for a small jar of bright green pea oil. “And why the fuck do you care about this land? It’s not yours, and even if the bitch was successful with her stupid plan, it wouldn’t have worked- the packs here would not let Adra rule.” She kept her hand behind Lestat’s back, and slowly loosened the metal lid.

“It was never about Adra,” James answered. “You two have the working intelligence of barn owls. No-“ James considered, and lowered his head a moment- he was as sad and as disappointed in their son as Bev. How could he have performed so poorly? He shifted, and black and silver fur ran up and down his body- he was older, but that made him no weaker. The reason James had five wives was because that was how many women were required to satiate the aggression of being a werewolf, which, in turn, had made James into a very strong werewolf. “That was too kind- you barely have the intelligence of the barn.” His voice was lower, and ragged, like strips of fabric.

“Educate us, then,” Claire said. “I seriously doubt any of the other couples could’ve killed Edward. You’re the ruler of that land because of us.”

“True,” James admitted, and put his large hand on the back of Olive’s ass, and squeezed. “But if Josh and Adra had won, there would’ve been no need to kill my brother- he would’ve ruled his land, and I mine.”

The wolf and the witch looked at each other- it interested them that he said Josh’s name first. Actually, that entire sentence was interesting, but they didn’t have time to think about it.

James jumped through the air at them, his right arm pulled back.

Lestat let him come- he was certain as soon as he took a step chains would grab him, tripping him, and if he tripped into that attack he would probably die. Come on then, motherfucker.

James brought a heavy paw out of the air and hit Lestat straight on- claws tore the skin of his chest open and he was knocked back; he shielded Claire as he thudded against the hard, peeling ground. No chains- yet, but he saw the wives, and saw their arms. And no sooner had he climbed to his feet then James hit him again, again knocking him to the ground. One more, Lestat thought. He rolled, angling his body. James threw a heavy punch at Lestat and Lestat threw one back, and both wolves rattled the other. Another punch, and another, and their ribs and bones groaned from the heavy blows as if logs were falling on them, hammering their bodies. It was hard to strategize as a fully shifted werewolf- Lestat felt anger, and aggression, and a strong urge to chew on Claire’s naked body- aggression gnawed his heart and spine: he wanted to slaughter; he wanted to devour, but instead he purposefully missed with a wild swipe through the air, and James grabbed Lestat and hurled him. Right towards his wives.

The wolf and the witch flew past Olive and Soph and Claire flung the jar of green oil at them, coating Olive’s back and arm, and Soph’s neck, and face, and chest. Lestat shielded Claire as he bounced off the ground, kicking up ashes. He held her close, and stood, growling. The pike fell to the ground, in the glowing embers. He had both swords at his side, but both handles were too small to use as a werewolf.

Claire grinned as the wives turned to face them. “Every goddamn one of you is a fucking whore. You know that, right? To share a man? Fucking pathetic.”

Lestat felt the heat of the earth through his boots, and stepped out of a pile of glowing embers, back to the center of the burning village.

Soph wiped oil off her face, and spit oil onto the ground. James leapt over his wives and landed with a thud in front of them- he needed to be careful with this sigma- he fought dirty. It was likely his witch did, too.

Two wives raised their arms, and two wives held their hands, and Claire grinned from ear to ear. “Watch out, whores- my magic’s a little different.” Claire looked from one blonde twin, to the other, to James, to the mouse-looking, perky-breasted Soph, to wide-hipped Olive. This was going to hurt. She leaned out of Lestat’s arm, grabbed a handful of glowing embers and hurled them into the air, burning her palm. James watched; his wives watched, and the embers hung in the air as if on strings. Embers hit James’ furry chest, and they hit the twins, and they hit Olive and Soph, and flames roared to life and Soph screamed out in pain, and went to the ground, her face, and neck, and chest ablaze, her hair engulfed. James and the twins rushed to her, and covered her in water- from magic and their skins, and it did no good- flames burned and scorched through skin to bone. James covered Olive and his chest caught fire, and he backed away.

Claire didn’t have much time- she grabbed the second jar from her pack, jumped out of Lestat’s arm and grabbed her bow. She was certain all of his wives could use wind magic- they could all blow spores away, except the twins. She tossed the jar with her right hand and fired off an arrow- her left hand still tied to Lestat’s right. The jar was full of the secretions of the black forest newt. The arrow shot straight through the jar and straight into Olive’s thigh. Olive screamed, her back on fire, her arm on fire, and an arrow through her leg, and Soph screamed until she couldn’t breathe, and then she choked to death on the fumes of her own burning- the caustic, black-acrid odor of burnt cartilage and skin and hair filled her nostrils and she tumbled into the ashes and died.

The last elite werewolf was on them. Lestat slipped a straight punch to the face, dodging it. Claire fired an arrow straight up into the wolf’s jaw, pinning his mouth closed. Lestat followed the arrow with his open hand- he grabbed the werewolf by the throat, and sunk his claws in, through skin, tendons, muscles, until he had throbbing veins, and yanked them out of the wolf’s neck.

The air trembled with death the color of static- the color of flame right off the wood, a translucent wavering as if the air were stained glass. Columns of smoke drifted up from the black stave hearts of dead trees and the forest floor was alive- blistering, peeling white, glowing orange and cracking.

Storms thundered in the distance, and ashes rolled like fog over the monochrome earth.

Olive rolled on the ground screaming, though not dying- just suffering, and James stood with the twins in his arm, and growled. Lestat pulled Claire up and jumped back, past a burning house, as James leapt forward. And again he jumped back. “You’ve sealed your fate, wolf,” James growled. Soph was a hard woman to lose- it was the shape of her mouth, the way her two front teeth overhung her lower lip, like a mouse, and it’s what she did with that mouth, and those teeth, that would be so difficult to replace. And she was a decent witch. He was going to kill this son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did.

Olive steadied herself- her back sizzled, and the yellow-white fat beneath her skin blistered and bubbled, but she steadied herself. She brought her hands up, and ran magic down her arms, out past her fingers, then stopped. She couldn’t move. She tried to blink and couldn’t. She tried to speak, and couldn’t. She tried with all her might, and her thumb twitched, and that was it. And so Olive, with her wide hips, knelt on the ground, her hands held out, unmoving, as embers and ashes and the fireflies of death swirled around her.

Lestat felt Claire tap his back twice, and knew she wanted to say something. He jumped, and James jumped, and the two met in the air and exchanged heavy blows on the way down. James punched Lestat’s chest as if his fist were a boulder dropped off a ledge. Lestat stumbled back- he blocked, and threw a punch, but was surprised- James was very fast and agile for a wolf his size, and very strong. Lestat dodged a heavy swipe, caught James’ arm and tried to throw him but James nailed him in the side, and tore skin with long claws.

James nudged his twins and threw a punch- Lestat stepped to dodge, but didn’t step- chains caught his ankle and he took the heavy blow to the face, and then one to the stomach, then one to his chest, and then a very heavy swipe that broke the chains and nearly his ankle. Lestat flew off to the side, into a burning house; he shielded Claire, and stumbled to his feet, and Claire’s mouth was at his ear, as quiet as breathing- hold your breath.

James landed in the burning house with a thud and kicked Lestat’s legs out from under him. He crashed into embers and glowing wood and his shirt, and pants, and hair started burning.

Lestat stood, dodged a heavy swipe, then kicked him in the hip- trying to break bones, then he jumped out of the smoldering house, towards the frozen Olive.

“Some help!” Em yelled, at Olive.

Olive heard, but could not move. Her eyes were watering because she couldn't blink.

Lestat backed up, walking backwards towards Olive when chains caught his ankle and locked him in place. His chest was bleeding, his face was cut, his leather pants torn from shifting, and his shirt smoked. His back and right side were white with ashes. Claire was covered in white ashes, her shirt was torn at the sleeve and two holes were burned through the front, showing the white skin of her stomach.

James charged forward, and Claire grinned, took a deep breath, twisted the lid off the last jar and threw it into the air over their head.

“Don’t breathe!” Emma yelled; she had no idea what this damn stupid witch had in that jar, but she saw Claire take a deep breath- that could only mean one thing: don’t breathe. James stopped and held his breath. Lestat stood, the chain at his ankle, with Claire in his arm, and held his breath. And tiny red spores sifted down out of the air like dust, glittering, hanging in the heat.

James felt his heartbeat in his throat- it was difficult for him to attack holding his breath, but his twins could- chains ran up Lestat’s legs, up his hips, and around him and Claire, squeezing down, squeezing the air out of them.

Olive felt a tickle in her throat, then her chest, and then pain, but she couldn’t cough. Then she couldn’t breathe. Moss grew and multiplied in her lungs. Moss ran up her throat and out her nose, and mouth, closing her throat, filling her lungs, and she died, her arms locked out in front of her, her eyes locked open, staring at the glowing, smoking forest. Moss scurried away searching for water, and died, finding only embers.

James watched, growing more and more furious; he watched as chains circled Claire and Lestat, wrapping them together. Lestat shifted down, loosening the chains just enough for Claire to move up him. Claire climbed up, holding her breath, and put her mouth over his, and for a moment he thought she wanted a kiss, then realized- this wasn't kissing; it was breathing. Chains wrapped their bodies, and the twins squeezed down on them, and the wolf held the witch in his arms, their mouths locked together, inhaling as she exhaled, and exhaling as she inhaled, back and forth.

Twenty seconds, thirty, and still the red spores hung fluttering in the heat, like dust in the light of quiet afternoons. James couldn’t wait much longer- he jumped and swiped Lestat off his feet, breaking chains and sending them flying off into the forest. He felt Emma gasp for air, and he grabbed Em’s mouth and locked theirs together, while the other blond twin choked to death between them.

The wolf and the witch did not let go. Lestat held her, and breathed with her, as they flew through the air. He hit the ground and bounced once, twice, and cradled Claire’s neck, and head, and she cradled his, and they rolled to a stop. Warm blood ran down around their lips, but neither let go. Claire could just see out of her right eye, and she saw the pike, glowing red on the ground. And Lestat could hear witches coming through the burning forest, returning. They were out of time. He felt Claire reaching for something and looked around the side of her face- the glowing red pike, then he felt her hold her arm out, and knew what she intended. He rolled, grabbed the pike with his left hand, and stood- he shifted again- a werewolf covered in black silk fur; his palm sizzled; he pulled his arm back, and Claire ran life out of her body and blew the spores and smoke hanging in the air at James and his twins- one slumped dead with moss running out of her nose and mouth.

A wave of spores and ash and embers hit James and Em, and behind the wave, a glowing red iron pike- and their choice was simple: dodge, or inhale.

Em saw the pike coming and brought up a stone wall. The pike hit the stone and shattered it; then hit James, and shattered him- ribs snapped, and the pike tore a hole from one side of his chest to the other and he fell to the ground. Em went with him, and they gasped air, and inhaled spores, and coughed, and their death was quick, though not painless- moss spilled green out of their bodies into the ashes.

Claire gasped air and grabbed the water skin off her side and poured water over his palm- his skin hissed, and steamed. She tore her shirt sleeve off, wrapped his hand, poured water on the sleeve, and added the smallest bit of ice.

Beverly stepped from the burning woods, ash and embers at her sides, and looked into her coven, and saw her dead husband; she saw Soph and Beverly and Em and Emma. She saw the burned skin, and the moss, and she saw the wolf and the witch. The priestess lowered her eyes- goddamn these two. Oh goddamn them to hell. She had lost her husband, and her son, and her assistant, and her land was ash, but she at least had some of her witches left, and at least the packs were dead. The forest sounded like peeling paper falling off a plaster wall, cracking, tearing. Beverly reached under her dress, pulled a long black knife from her thigh, and ran magic up her body, to her eyes, and she followed the light of glowing embers, and moved with it. One second she stood in the trees with her witches, and the next she was behind the wolf, the six-inch blade inserted to the hilt into his back.