spider's web, and in an instant I was transformed into a raging, furious beast, knowing only that it was being attacked, that it must kill to live — and that it lived only to kill.
I remember, though, as if my human mind was looking out through those blood-rimmed eyes. I saw what was trying to hold me. A round body larger than an ale barrel, coated with crimson hair. From its bulk eight great legs grew like small trees, wrapping themselves around me, drawing me closer and closer to the hideous head. Two rows of shiny eyes glared at me, and gleaming fangs protruded from two hairy sheaths.
Suddenly the head thrust itself toward me, and before I could pull away, the fangs buried themselves in the thick fur of my neck. Poison that would have killed a man instantly pumped into my veins, and it was as though my blood caught on fire. All my beast-mind could think of at that moment was escape, and ease from the pain that burned every inch of my flesh, muscles, and bowels.
With a tremendous burst of strength, I hurled the hideous thing from me and screamed until my pain was bearable. It took but a few seconds, and I can only guess that my lycanthropic blood, already tainted by unimaginable evil, could not fall prey to the red widow's otherwise fatal poison. But all I knew then was that I must destroy whatever had hurt me, and I leapt toward the giant spider-thing.
It was quicker than I and scuttled on its eight great legs into a corner, displaying the telltale black hourglass on its bloated back. It didn't pause, but went right up the wall until it reached the thirty-foot ceiling, where it hung looking down, as if wondering what to do next.
I didn't wonder a thing. I simply acted without thought, following it into the corner and using my steely claws to climb up the tapestry, shredding the sturdy cloth as I went. When the hangings stopped, ten feet beneath the clinging spider, I leapt at it. My preternaturally strong legs carried me up into the corner, where, at the apex of my jump, I sank my claws into the red, rotund ball and dragged it from its perch, so that we both fell heavily to the stone floor. I did not let the monster escape again, but grasped it with both of my feral hands, and kicked the claws of my feet against it, spraying yellow ichor over the gray stones.
It gave a screech pitched so high that my human ears could not have heard it. But my animal ones did, and the sound drove nails into my brain, distracting me just long enough for the thing to break my grip. It scuttled away from me toward the fireplace, dripping whatever it used for blood.
Again I launched myself at what Gabrielle had become, and caught it just as it reached the stones in front of the vast fireplace. I was on its huge, bulbous back now, but within seconds its wiry legs threw us both over. Those legs cut through the air like steel whips, and the fat, obscene body twisted, pressing me cruelly against the floor. But still I would not release my savage hold. At last the red widow rolled to the right so that we were both on our sides, and turned so that her multieyed face and leering mouth were nearly against me. The fangs came toward me, but I dodged them even more quickly, opened my own great muzzle, and closed my fangs upon the giant spider's head.
My reward was a mouthful of foul ichor and a scream that made the others sound melodious. I kept my jaws fastened upon that section of the head that comprised several of the eyes and a corner of the mouth, and bore down even harder, until more of the vile fluid gushed over my mouth. The momentary limpness of the widow's body told me that I had struck a mortal spot, perhaps even what served the monster as a brain. And as its body slumped, I relaxed for a split second, just long enough for the creature to yank its head away from me and scuttle back blindly, directly into the flaming logs of the fireplace.
There was an awful hissing sound, like that of a large chunk of fat falling into a fire, and the red flames became one with the crimson hair of the spider's body. The legs burst into flame as well, igniting like dry twigs, and the creature tried to scramble out of the fire. But the burning legs crumbled beneath her like sticks of charcoal, and the flames mounted as the body fell full upon the blazing, wrathful coals.
The fire licked up around her, making the fluids within her sizzle, and she twitched as though she were already being prodded by the cruel spears of all the fiends of the pit. Her rotund shape began to diminish, burning greasily away, the hot ichor spitting in final defiance from the mouth of the fireplace. Within minutes, she had been reduced to a smoldering, sparking mass of crusted fur in a puddle of bubbling putrescence.
My enemy defeated, I felt myself becoming human again, and mortal relief flowed into me as beastliness flowed out. The transition took only seconds, and as I stood, my clothing ripped and torn by the expansion of my frame, I happened to glance in one of the two large mirrors that hung on each side of the fireplace, and saw behind me a pale, ghostly face at the glass of the doors that led out onto a terrace.
I swung around and saw that the shocked visage belonged to none other than Jacques Legrange, the soldier at the inn. My true nature had been discovered, and I knew I could not let him flee. So I dashed to the door and yanked it open. He stood there, possibly petrified by fright, not knowing what to do. Nor, to tell the truth, did I. I could not kill a man for his knowledge, but if he made any rash move against me, I might have no choice.
Then his hand tentatively started to move across his body toward the hilt of his sword, as though he intended to attack me, but feared to.
'Do not fight me,' I said as sincerely as I could, trying to keep down the killing rage. 'As you love life, man, do not anger me or try to fight me, for I may do what I would not wish to.'
He seemed to understand, then nodded and let his hand fall back to his side.
'You followed us,' I said. 'You were the one hiding.'
He cleared his throat roughly. 'I was. I suspected her. There was a look. . between her and my brother. .and that night he rode out and did not come back.'
'You suspected her, and you didn't say anything? '
'I could not be sure, and to accuse a lady. .'
He left it unfinished, and I shook my head in disgust.
'You fine gentlemen of Dementlieu,' I said scornfully.
'So did what you saw this night confirm your suspicions well enough?'
He swallowed heavily and nodded.
'A red widow, was she not? '
'A red widow,' I agreed. 'One of that hellspawn that mimics the appearance of a scarlet-tressed beauty, lures men to intimate privacy, and then reveals her true, hellish self, killing the poor love-struck fools, and then draining their corpses over several days until not a drop of fluid remains. Such indeed was Madame Faure.'
'And. . and you. . 'Jacques said, his voice trembling.
'A lycanthrope,' I said. 'What good to deny it after what you've seen? '
'And will you. . slay me now? '
'I slay only the evil — or have been able to until now.' And I told him how I had acquired the curse, and how I had been using it. 'So keep the secret to yourself,' I concluded,' and live. And let me live.'
'I think you speak the truth,' he said. 'If not, you would have no reason to let me remain alive. 'He gave his head a sharp nod. 'I swear that your secret is safe with me.'
'Glad to hear it,' I said gruffly, annoyed that I had to depend on this man's silence. 'Now let's find what that hag didn't want me to see.'
It didn't take long. What remained of the corpses of the missing men were in the large attic of the mill, whose locked door I easily battered in. 'In constant use, indeed,' I said, remembering Gabrielle's words as we entered.
Jacques uttered one word only,' Louis. . 'and then was shocked into silence. I could well understand why. His brother's dried and desiccated husk lay on the attic floor amidst the others. There was still enough left of their faces to tell who they were, but I knew Jacques's brother from the uniform that still clung to the fragile, husklike body.
For a long time we stood there among the dead men, and then Jacques stepped forward and looked into each withered face in turn. At last he stood up and spoke. 'My brother. . the cobbler, the smith. . they're all here but one.'
I nodded, for I knew. 'Her husband,' I said. 'He was the first one chosen here. He would have been the mate. So we'll seek him somewhere no one would ever have reason to go.'
I led Jacques straight to the dry well, remembering the smell that had come up from it. There I looped a plain hemp rope under my arms, and Jacques lowered me down into the pit. I clung to the rope with one hand, and with the other held a lantern at my side.
As I suspected, Roger Faure was at the bottom. At first I thought that he had not suffered the fate of the other victims, for his body seemed full and plump, almost swollen. But when I drew my sword and prodded his
