"You made an agreement, son of Cassandra," Methuselah snarled. "Keep to it."
Erik held up his arm and sliced through it with the clawed fingers of his other hand. Blood flowed from the wound and dripped down his arm onto the ground.
"Master!" Greg yelled.
"What the hell are you doing?" Marge snapped.
"You'd better not get an infection," I scolded him.
Methuselah straightened and grinned. "At least Cassandra taught you some self-sacrifice."
Erik didn't get a chance to reply before Methuselah leapt forward and grabbed Erik's arm. He sank his fangs deep into Erik's wound. Erik started back, but Methuselah wrapped one of his arms around my mate and kept him near. The blood flow down his arm ceased. Every instinct told me to jump at them and separate the pair, but there was something mesmerizing about watching the feeding.
Also, it only lasted a few seconds. Methuselah lifted his head and showed off his blood-stained lips. He released Erik who stumbled back. Greg and I rushed forward and caught him before he fell.
Methuselah slipped his tongue out and caught a few loose drops of blood on his lips. His lips curled back in a sneer. "Ruined," he commented.
"Because of the fog?" I guessed.
"Yes." He used the back of his hand to wipe the remainder of the blood from his lips and fling the droplets to the ground.
Erik steadied himself on his legs and waved us away. His narrowed eyes turned to Methuselah. "Why are you so concerned with our destruction? What does a vampire care if a clan of werewolves vanishes from the earth?"
Methuselah dropped his arm and tilted his head back so he looked down his long nose at us. "I am not the monster you take me for, boy."
"Then do you know how to break this curse you profess to know so much about?" Erik questioned him.
Methuselah shook his head. "No."
Erik pursed his lips together. "Then can you tell us where you gained this information? Surely not from mere observation."
"Where I obtained my information is my own business," Methuselah replied.
"Your own business?" Marge spoke up. She marched up to the vampire and stuffed her fist under his nose. "You're trying to tell us that we're dying, and where you're getting info to help us isn't our business?"
"If your current goal is to stop one of your kind from breaching the fog then it is unimportant to you," Methuselah commented.
"He is right, my Master," Greg spoke up. "Are we to go or stay and argue the point?"
Erik scowled at Methuselah, but turned away from him and looked down the foggy forest path. "We will go, but once this trail has ended-" his eyes flickered to Methuselah, "-we will discuss other matters." Methuselah didn't acknowledge the pointed glance, and Erik turned to Greg. "Lead on."
Greg bowed his head and hefted his backpack over his shoulders. We followed in single file down the foggy road with questions on our minds and a heavy weight of responsibility for all the islands on our shoulders.
CHAPTER 3
We marched down the path in sullen silence. Marge, who walked in front of me, occasionally glanced over her shoulder and shot a glare at Methuselah who showed no signs that he noticed her. Erik walked behind me and ahead of our undead acquaintance.
I half-turned to him and looked over his wounded arm. He clutched the wound in his other hand. "How you doing?" I asked him.
"It's nearly healed," he assured me.
"And you're not going to faint on me?" I persisted.
He managed a small smile and shook his head. "I'm fine."
I glanced past him at Methuselah. "So how often are you going to need to make a meal out of somebody?"
"Once every two nights," he replied.
"So no snacking in-between?" I added.
A sly, crooked grin slipped onto his lips. "Only if the need arises."
My face fell. "So does that mean we'll be the snacks or someone else-" My side collided with Marge's back. She stumbled forward and I slipped off her and tumbled into the brush to the side of the path. I floundered for a second before Erik pulled me out. I whipped my head to Marge. She'd stopped rather suddenly. "What's the big idea?" I questioned her.
She nodded at Greg. "He stopped, so I stopped."
Greg faced the trail ahead of us and nodded. "We have reached the end of the trail."
I looked past him at the path. It did stop abruptly in front of a thick patch of brier bushes. There was a small clearing like before, but without the comfortable fire and logs. There was a stand of tall rocks on either side of the trail, but nothing to show people traveled along this part of the path.
Marge frowned. "I'm sure the men must have kept going."
"Perhaps they did, but we will have an easier time searching for their trail when we have had a proper rest," Erik suggested. He shrugged off his backpack and settled himself on one of the rocks.
"I could go for some food," Marge agreed.
"Then I will supply such as I can," Greg offered as he removed his own backpack.
"That's music to my ears," Marge commented.
Greg and she dug into his bag for food while I settled myself on a rock near Erik. My eyes flickered over to Methuselah. He stood on the path and stared straight ahead at the end.
"I don't think it's going to get any longer with you staring at it," I teased him.
"Perhaps it will," he enigmatically replied.
I rolled my eyes and turned to Erik. His lips were pursed together and his eyebrows were bunched together. He didn't look like talking was what he wanted. I shifted on the rock and something inside my cloak caught my attention. I reached into my coat and pulled out a strange bag. The contents jingled a little like dried stones, and I recalled what they were. I held the little bag out to Erik.
"Why do you think your mom gave me dried beans?" I asked him. The bag had kept them dry during our fun in the water.
He shook his head. "I cannot fathom, but she is more familiar with traditions on the islands than I."
A thought struck me and I grinned. "So we might be able to trade these things for a cow or upgrade to some magic beans?"
Erik blinked at me. "Magic beans?"
My mouth dropped open. "You're not going to tell me that with a library that large you never read Jack and the Beanstalk, are you?"
"I must confess I am," he admitted.
I turned to Greg and pointed at Erik. "You brought him up wrong, Greg," I scolded the old servant.
He glanced up from the bag and bowed his head. "I am sorry to hear that. How could I have improved my efforts?"
"By telling him some good bedtime stories," I suggested. I waved my hand at Erik. "He doesn't even know Jack and the Beanstalk!"
Greg smiled. "I see. I will have to remedy the situation when we return to the Den and find a good book of fairy tales."
Erik's lips turned down. "Isn't it a little late for those?"
"As the old saying goes, my Master, 'better late than never,'" Greg commented.
I snorted at Erik's unhappy face. The beans jingled in my hand and I looked Erik over. "So what about what your mom gave you? That book?" I asked him.
Erik's eyes widened and he searched his cloak. He pulled out the book and turned it over in his hand. "How strange."
I scooted to the end of my stone and closer to him. "What is?"
"The book shows no signs of water damage," he revealed.
I shrugged. "Maybe it's got a good plastic cover."
He ran his hand over the cover and shook his head. "The cover is leather."
"Maybe it's made from a duck or something, but what's in it?" I persisted.
"I have no idea. The only peace I've had in which to read it was while I was in the Braille," he mused.
I snorted. "Just our luck, but open it now. We've got time." I gestured to the brier patch in front of us. "The path isn't going anywhere."
Erik chuckled. "I suppose not." He opened the cover and read a few of the first pages. His smile slipped off his face and his
eyebrows crashed down. He flipped through more pages and his eyes swept over them.
I stood and moved to stand beside him. "What is it?" I asked him. I inspected the pages and saw they contained words written in a bold, cursive hand. The blocks of text were interrupted and surrounded by a few hand-drawn pictures. "Is this some sort of recipe book or something?"
He shook his head. "No, this is the business diary of a witch."
"Business diary? What's that?" I questioned him.
"It is where a witch who sells her services records her fee and task," Erik explained. He flipped through the pages faster than I could read, but stopped at a chapter with a particularly large chunk of texts. There was a map to accompany the record. The map showed a large lake with a multitude of islands.
I pointed at the map. "Isn't that-"
"Wolf Lake," he agreed.
By now we had Greg and Marge's attention. They abandoned their plan for food and joined us by the rocks. Even Methuselah forsook the path and moved over to us.
"So what did this witch have to do with Wolf Lake?" I asked him.
Erik's fingers glided over the map. "Everything." His eyes swept over the page and he stopped at the last paragraph of text. He looked up into our curious faces, and his eyes were wide and wondering. "This is the business diary of the witch who created the fog and cursed us."
There was silence among us for a moment. We stared back at Erik with surprised, disbelieving eyes.
"You're pulling our tails, aren't you?" Marge asked him.
He shook his head. "No. The very date and spell are written here, as is the curse she performed when payment wasn't received."
"Wow, a thorough a witch to write that down," I quipped.
"Does it say anything about undoing the curse?" Marge questioned him.
Erik flipped through a few pages and shook his head. "Nothing."
Marge frowned and half turned away. "Then it's no good to us. We already know about what she did."
I furrowed my brow and tapped on the open pages. "But how did your mom get a hold of her diary?"
Erik snapped the book shut and stood. His eyes flickered to Greg, and the old servant turned his face away. "That is a very good question." He moved to stand in front of Greg, and the older werewolf kept his eyes averted. Erik held the diary in front of Greg. "Did you know my mother held this in her possession?"
Greg shook his head. "I cannot say."
"Do you know where she found this book?" Erik persisted.
"I am bound to secrecy, and cannot say," Greg repeated.
Erik grabbed Greg's collar and pulled them face-to-face. His yellow eyes shone bright in the dim light. "If you know where she procured this then tell me."
"I'd like to know, too," a voice spoke up.
Everyone froze except Methuselah. He was already still, and stayed that way as our heads turned this way and that as we tried to find the source. Erik caught sight of something at the end of the trail and released Greg. I followed his gaze and my eyes widened.
A figure with a pointy hat stood at the edge of the clearing. The fog wrapped around their form and gave them a phantom-like appearance. The person stepped from the fog and revealed a beautiful face but for a huge wart that grew an inch from her chin. She wore a lavender cloak that was open at the front and revealed a plain black dress. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders and her skin was as pale as the belly of a fish.
She held out a bony hand to Erik. Her fingers were stained with a multitude of colors, and her dark, angry eyes dazzled in the gloom of the fog. "Give me that book!"
CHAPTER 4
"You know, I don't think it's Halloween yet," I quipped.
The woman snarled at me, but kept her attention on Erik. "Give me the book or else!" she demanded.
Erik frowned and held the book to his chest. "What is it to you?" he questioned her.
"I have more right to that book then you, boy, so hand it over!" she growled.
Erik's eyes narrowed as they swept over her form. "Are you a witch?"
The woman rolled her eyes. "What a foolish question. Of course I am a witch, now give me that book!"
"Do you have dealings with a man named Tyrone Blackwood?" he returned.
The witch's eyes narrowed and her lips curled back in a snarl. "Who are you to ask me that?" she snapped.
Erik straightened. "I am Erik Greenwood, son to the-"
"-to that blowhard of a werewolf who sits in his crumbling halls," the woman sneered. "So you're that pathetic fool's son, are you? If I were you I wouldn't be bragging about that connection. He's ruining everything for everybody, and nobody knows about it except that smart young man, Blackwood."
I snorted. "Smart and young, maybe, but he's still an asshole."
She gave me a sharp look. "Who are you?"
"I'm one of the people he's trying to kill," I quipped.
The witch narrowed her eyes and studied me. "Oh, you belong to him." She jerked her heads towards Erik. "You can always count on a werewolf's mate to make herself known."
I glared at her. "Jealous, old hag?"
She took a step towards me and balled her hands into fists. "Not likely!" she snapped.
"Ladies, I believe we have reached an impasse for insults," Greg spoke up.
"Stay out of this!" the witch and I growled at him. He held up his hands and took a step back.
Erik held up the journal. That caught the witch's attention. "We wish to trade information. Your knowledge of Blackwood's intentions for this book."
The witch's eyes flickered between the journal and Erik's face. "How do I know I can trust you?"
"I give you my word as a Greenwood," he swore.
She snorted. "Not good enough." Her eyes flitted to me and she jerked her head towards me. "Swear on her life."
Erik looked between the witch and me. "What has she-"
"Nothing but that she's your mate, and if a werewolf won't swear on his mate's life than he's not worth his weight in his fur coat," the witch retorted.
Erik pursed his lips, but nodded. "Then I swear on my mate's life I can be trusted."
I held up a finger. "Wait a sec. My life better not be-"
"Then I will tell you what Blackwood intends to do," the witch agreed. "Follow me." She turned on her heels and walked towards the ended path.
I whipped my head to Erik and glared at him. He kept his eyes on the witch. "You'd better not have just sold my soul to a witch!"
"We will see," he mused.
"Stop dawdling and follow me!" the witch called from the end of the path.
"We've got eyes. There's nothing there but bushes," Marge pointed out.
A sly grin slid onto the witch's lips. "Nothing more than bushes?" She turned towards the bushes and stretched out her hand in a wave over the thick fog. The mist blew away, and with it the illusion of bushes. The brush rippled as though made of water and disappeared into the air to reveal the rest of the path. The witch turned to us with a smile and gestured to the revealed trail. "You were saying?"
Marge's eyes narrowed. "Old hag. . ." I heard her murmur.
The 'old hag's' smile fell off her face and she glared at Marge. "I don't have to help you, you know," she snapped.
"No, but we will not grant your request for the diary," Erik reminded her.
The witch's eyes flickered to him and the diary in his hand. "Perhaps I shouldn't be so nice to you. I could take the diary by force, you know."
I folded my arms across my chest. "No, we don't know."
She sneered at me and held up one hand so her fingers were splayed. "Don't tempt me, girl. I have more power in my pinky than most witches have in their whole body."
"We are wasting time bickering," Erik scolded us.
The witch sniffed and turned away. "Then follow me." She stepped forward a few feet, then paused and turned around. Her eyes fell on Methuselah. "Don't I know you?"
Methuselah stared indifferently at her. "I do not have your memories to tell you," he snapp
ed.
Our new guide sneered at him and shuffled down the road. "Damn kids these days and their impudence. . ." she muttered.
Erik strode past me and followed the witch. Marge walked past me and shrugged. Methuselah joined them. I jumped when a hand settled on my shoulder, and I turned to find it belonged to Greg. He smiled at me.
"Trust Master Erik," he advised me.
"Why should I? He might've just sold me to a she-devil," I challenged him.
"He is your mate," Greg reminded me.
"We're not mates by choice," I reminded him.
"But you are mates in every other definition of the word. Even your personalities suite each other," he pointed out.
My shoulders slumped and I glared at him. "I hate it when you make sense that I don't want to hear."
Greg smiled and bowed his head. "I am glad to be of service."
My eyes flickered to Erik. His attention was on the witch. I looked back at Greg and lowered my voice. "Even service to Lady Greenwood?"
Greg's smile slipped off his face and he shook his head. "I am sorry you overheard."
"I'm not," I quipped. "I don't want to be left out of anything, especially anything involving my in-laws. A daughter-in-law has to have something to bitch about."
Greg chuckled and offered his arm to me. "I will be glad to offer my services in juicy gossip when all this is over."
I grinned and accepted his arm. "And I look forward to hearing about it."
Greg guided me after our companions and the hag. The witch led us down the newly revealed path and through the woods to a large clearing. The path widened to a lane and the brush on either side changed to wild flowers. The thick trees created a circular perimeter around the clearing, and in the center was a small, single-story shack with a porch that leaned to one side. Actually, most of the shack leaned to one side, and the porch leaned to the other. The only things I could see could that kept the place together was moss and the fog that lay thick around the building.
The witch stopped in the middle of the path and admired her hovel. "Isn't it wonderful?"
I noticed some of the porch railings were littered with holes. "The termites love it," I quipped.
The witch glared at me. "You can stay outside."
I folded my arms and planted my feet firmly on the ground. "Fine with me. When this place crashes down I'll be the sole survivor and tell everyone's story. Yours will be brief and full of insults."