It had been a week since the incident in my room and I still hadn’t gotten word from Sarah. When I tried asking Dr. Johnson about it, he’d reassured me that she had been relocated to a different branch of the hospital temporarily. And so, while I was left to my own devices for a week, I finished all the books in the ‘Definitely gonna read’ and ‘Maybe I’ll read if I’m bored enough’ piles save one book: ‘Werewolves: Children of the Moon’ by Marianne Ellisson.

I looked down at it with apprehension, I was afraid to open this book because I didn’t want my thoughts confirmed. Werewolves were fictional creatures made to scare children. And even if there were real, they would never be in a small city like Ellensburg.

Heart racing and sweat rolling down my neck, I opened the book.

***

Lady Marianne Ellisson

April 1898

Our search took us to the vast Northwest African Savannah, deep into the low grass mainland where nothing but beasts and savages roamed. With a party of four, plus servants, we had embarked on a journey, each with their own agenda but a unified goal—to investigate the myth of the Wolf-Man.

The organizers of this exploit were William and Abigail Johnsons, newly wed christian missionaries who planned to use this oppurtunity to bring the faith to the uncivilized. They had solicited the aid of one Harry Radcliff—a hunter and tracker—who was well familiar with the terrain. Or so he claimed. Fortunately, we had also picked a local interpreter, a man named Mbaye, who seemed to know the area much better.

For days, the procession of pack mules and donkeys moved through fields of green grass, searching for the rumoured village of wolves. And for days, we saw nothing but wild beasts and grazing herds, most animals drawing away at our approach. Henry assured us we were close, though he seemed far more concerned with showing off his guns and hunting skills.

Just when I decided that he was indeed a hack—and we had gotten lost—we came across a village. The settlement wasn’t large. Twenty crude mud huts at most. The remarkable part was that in the centre of these man-made structures was the largest tree I had ever seen. A baobab that must have stood there for ages, now venerating its settlers with a well-deserved shade.

At first, the natives were suspicious, regarding us with hostility. That was, until Abbie unravelled the gifts she had brought. Cloths, and beads, and sweets and tools. Those fortunate enough to get a first pick left with grins, the rest inviting us with eager gestures to their village.

Offerings, Mbaye told me, showed a great respect for the host and we would be gifted the protection of the village spirits in return. The locals viewed the world as living and every soul under the sky as sacred. They saw a spirit in every tree, a new beginning in every death, an eternity where most expected an end. Above all creatures, these people revered the golden wolves—or jackals as Mbaye insisted on calling them—naming them guides and protectors of the land.

But when we asked about specifics, we were greeted by silence. Was there indeed a secret behind the myths?

At night, we were forbidden to leave the village. It was for our own sake, Mbaye told us. Nighttime was the domain of Jaaniiw, the spirits and the lost, and the Moon was their Queen. Mortals had no place in that world.

When the full moon rose above the Savannah, the villagers would dance and sing around the central fire under the guidance of primitive instruments. Late into the night, howls would fill the air, powerful, haunting…beautiful.

There was a beauty to this land, a serenity to its deceptive emptiness. Because that’s what it was, deceptive—in every bush lay a critter, in every tree, a bird. The landscape held many secrets waiting for a watchful eye to unravel them.

These were the lands of the savages that my father so dreaded me visiting. The land of wolves.

***

I gasped and almost jumped out of my skin when someone grabbed my shoulder. I glared at the culprit and he grinned.

“Yo!” Jesse waved at me, causing my glare to intensify.

“Couldn’t you get my attention like a normal person?” I asked, closing the book and putting it on bedside table.

“Nope,” Jesse said, popping the ‘p’, still smiling. Sighing, I turned and swung my legs off the bed to give him space to sit. Jesse Fuller was taller than I was, standing at 6’4.5”. He made sure to rub it in every chance he got. He was blonde—he acted like one too—with black highlights in his hair, which was long enough to pull it into a low ponytail. His face was angular and he had a bit of stubble above his lip. His eyes were his most striking feature, being a startling shade of green that earned him the nickname Harry Potter despite his hair. He was bubbly, always happy and energetic. He was my bestfriend—I would go as far as to call him my brother—and my roommate at CWU.

Jesse sat beside me and glanced at the book. “Whatcha reading?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Oh, just a book I got from Sarah,”

His brow furrowed. “Sarah? Sarah, Sarah…Oh! The cute nurse right?” he asked, snapping his fingers.

I rubbed my eyes and sighed. “Yes, Jesse, the cute nurse.”

He nodded and hummed, probably thinking about her.

“No dirty thoughts.” I glared and he quirked his lip.

“Didn’t know you laid claim,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want Jesse?”

“What? Can’t I come check on my roomie?” He grinned and scratched his cheek. He always did it when he was lying, though no one bothered to tell him.

“You came to check on me yesterday.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I added, “What happened?”

“Fine, fine.” He blushed and looked away. “Angelina met Taylor, so I need to lay low for like an hour.”

I sighed. That was another thing about Jesse, he was a playboy and changed girlfriends at least twice a month. And sometimes he dated a few girls at a time, like now.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

Jesse grinned, throwing himself back on my bed, completely carefree. “You mean you don’t know what to do without me.”