Trapped underground with a supernaturally strong wolfen beast, Bill-E and Loch wouldn’t last five minutes.
“Look,” I snap, “we have to go. We’ll come back tomorrow and explore fully. But it’s dark up top—it’s night. We said we’d go when the moon rose.” I stop, gather my thoughts and try a different approach. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. If we come home late, caked in mud and dirt, what will everyone think? If they start asking questions…”
“He’s got a point,” Bill-E concedes. “Gran and Grandad put Sherlock Holmes and Watson to shame. We should play it safe, act normally, especially if we’re going to be coming here a lot.”
“OK,” Loch sighs. “But one more search before we leave.” He points to the top of the waterfall, where it comes gushing out of the sheer rock wall fifteen metres above the cave floor. “Up there, those large holes. We can climb up pretty easily. I want to have a peek at them. Then we can go.”
“I dunno,” Bill-E says. “They’re fairly high and that wall’s steeper than the one we climbed down.”
“What’s a wall to three hardy explorers like us?” Loch laughs. “It won’t take long. And if the treasure’s there, we can go home on a total, triumphant high.”
“Grubbs?” Bill-E asks.
I shake my head violently. I think I’m going to throw up. I’m trembling helplessly. Climbing’s the last thing on my mind.
“Are you all right?” Bill-E asks, training his twin lights on me.
“Some kind of bug,” I gasp. “I’ve had it for the last few days.”
“Maybe we should get him home,” Bill-E says.
“Sure,” Loch grunts. “Right after we’ve explored above the waterfall.” He slaps Bill-E hard on the back. “Come on, Spleenario—last one up’s an asswipe!”
The ploy works. Bill-E forgets about me. They race to the wall and climb. Loch’s laughing, teasing Bill-E, roughly urging him on. I turn my back on the pair, leaving my torch pointing in their direction, to provide some extra light for them. I stumble away and sink to my knees. Lean my head against one of the smaller stalagmites and groan softly. I feel like a corpse that’s been stuck in a microwave to defrost—half frozen, half on fire. I try to control my breathing, to think calm thoughts, but my head’s full of wild, animalistic images—running, chasing, ripping, fangs, blood.
I stare at my fingers—they’re curling inwards. I can’t straighten them, no matter how hard I try. I search within for magical warmth, the energy I’ve drawn upon over the last forty-eight hours, but it doesn’t seem to be there for me now. Maybe the cave’s got something to do with that. Or maybe I’m just out of fighting spirit. Out of resistance. Plumb out of luck.
“Not… going… to… turn,” I snarl. Thinking of Loch and Bill-E, what I could do to them. Cursing myself for being so slack, not going to Dervish when I had the chance, allowing this to happen. I see now that it was fear, plain and simple. It didn’t matter what state Dervish was in—I should have told him the minute he got back. I kept the news to myself because I was scared of what he’d do. I was hoping the charms of the moon would pass, that I was just ill, imagining the inner struggle. The same fear which kept me from learning the ways of magic stopped me telling my secret to Dervish. Grubbs Grady—coward of the county. And now Bill-E and Loch are set to pay the price for my cowardice.
I try yelling a warning, telling them to stay up high where I can’t reach them. But my throat won’t work. The vocal cords are constricting, thickening, cutting off my air supply. I guess since wolves can’t talk they don’t need all the throat muscles that humans do.
I pull my head back from the stalagmite, meaning to run, get to the surface if I can, before I change. Put space between myself and my friends.
But then I see the face again. It’s in front of me. Bulging out of the stalagmite, as though carved out of rock. A girl’s face. Similar to Gret’s, as I noticed before, but not hers. Different. Younger. Darker hair. Smaller. Eyes and lips closed. Like a death mask.
The whispering, stronger than last night, more insistent. Certain words break through, but they’re not words I know. A foreign language. Harsh and fast.
I’m staring at the face, listening to the whispers, held firm to the spot, feeling myself change, when suddenly—
A scream. Behind me. At the waterfall.
As I turn towards it, there’s another scream. Then a very loud thud.
Then nothing.
I race across the cave, grabbing the torch on the way, lycanthropic fears momentarily forgotten, blocking out thoughts of the face and sounds of the whispers. There’s a figure on the ground and it’s not moving. That’s where all my concerns focus now.
I reach the figure and gently turn it over. It’s Loch. Face ashen. Eyelids flickering. Mouth opening and closing softly.
“Loch?” I murmur, holding his head up, trying to see how bad the damage is. I feel something wet and sticky smeared around the back of his head. I don’t have to check to know that it’s blood.
Scrabbling sounds. Bill-E hits the ground hard, feet first, having jumped from a spot two or three metres above. “Is he OK?” he shouts, panting hard.
“I don’t know. What happened?”
Bill-E gulps, kneels, stares at Loch’s head and my bloody hands. “He fell,” Bill-E croaks. I almost can’t hear him—the whispering’s louder than ever, the words coming fast and furious. “We were climbing. He slipped. I… I reached for him. He wasn’t far away. I grabbed. But he fell. I couldn’t catch him. I tried but I couldn’t…”
“Just as well you didn’t,” I comfort him. “He’d have dragged you down with him. Take off your coat.” Bill-E gawps at me. “For under his head.”
Bill-E shrugs off his jacket and balls it up. While I hold Loch’s head, he lays it underneath, then I softly lower Loch down. His eyes haven’t opened. He’s breathing raggedly. This isn’t good.
“I told him not to go up there,” Bill-E says hollowly. He’s crying. “I warned him. But he wouldn’t listen. He thought he knew it all.”
“Hush.” I’m calmer than my brother. I’ve seen worse things than this. Blood doesn’t alarm me. “One of us has to go for help. The other needs to stay here, sit with Loch, look after him.”
“I’ll go,” Bill-E says quickly. “Please, Grubbs, I don’t want to stay. Not in this cave. It’s too dark. Please don’t make me—”
“OK,” I shush him. “You can go. Find Dervish. Tell him what happened. He’ll know what to do. But run, Bill- E. Run!”
Bill-E nods, stumbles to his feet, stares at Loch’s face, opens his mouth to say something, then races for the exit. I hear him scrambling upwards—but only barely, over the sound of the whispers—then turn my attention on Loch and the dark pool spreading out from beneath his head and Bill-E’s blood-soaked jacket.
Talking to Loch. All sorts of nonsense—school, the treasure, holidays, girls, wrestling. I’ve put my coat and jumper over him. Have to keep him warm.
His breathing comes jaggedly. His eyelids have stopped twitching. His heartbeat’s irregular. I keep on talking, rubbing his arms and chest, but I don’t know if I’m doing much good.
The sickness is still in me. My head feels ripe to burst. Sometimes my words come out as growls, and my fingers clench while I’m rubbing Loch, digging into his cold, clammy flesh.
I fight it. Search within for warmth, energy, magic—anything. I can’t change, not until Dervish comes, not until Loch’s in an ambulance on his way to hospital, safe.
“Won’t turn,” I snarl, slapping my cheeks one after the other. “I’m not a wolf. I can control myself. Won’t let the moon…”
Loch shudders. His breath stops. I thump his chest hard—then remember first aid classes at school. Opening his mouth, I press firmly down on his chest, then release him and count. One, two, three, four. Press and count again. A third time. I place my lips over Loch’s. Breathe out, so that his cheeks puff up. Withdraw. Press— two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Press—two, three, four. Mouth-to-mouth.
Trying to remember if I’m doing it right. Was it three presses on the chest, or four, or five? Should I blow air firmly down Loch’s throat or—
Loch coughs and breathes again.
I sink back, whining with relief and fear. That was too close. This can’t be happening. We were looking for
