Moonscorn

Chapter Nine

At the bottom of the field the trees closed in. The shadow leapt into the blackness of the copse. No branches snapped back and no twigs broke under paw. It melted into the dark like cigarette smoke into the choke of a burning building.

Raven arrived at the edge of the trees fifteen seconds or so after the shape had. His feet were already crying murder; his shoes were black and laced and not meant for pelting down grassy slopes. He couldn't see where the wolf had gone, and the moonlight had yet to reach full strength, so he holstered his gun, took a torch from his belt (regulation to have it strapped to you at all times was something he'd thought stupid until now; why not just use your phone's light?) and plunged into the trees.

Despite the torch beam giving him some sight, Raven still had to pick his way through. Underfoot was uneven and treacherous, with endless thick roots and loose rocks threatening to send him to grazed hands and knees. Shadows danced at the corners of his vision. The slight wind rustled the carpet of brown leaves underfoot, the cold air turning them slightly crispy with the first touch of frost. A smoky cloud of breath moved like a ghost in the white light.

When he came to a small burbling stream that fed into the river not far away, Raven stopped. He cast the torchlight around him but the shadow of the lycanthrope had merged with the gloom. Backing himself against a sturdy tree trunk for safety, he took out his gadget (Really need to give it a proper name because Moonbeam isn't great) and scanned. The screen took a moment to get a read of the area, and then the sensors started kicking in. Up on the display came a vague map, not detailed enough to show every tree or stump but the stream was there, the edge of the forest roughly marked. Far off ahead of him was a road that led up and away towards a marked-off area with a large building in the middle, a few more clustered around. Raven hadn't checked the area in detail enough to know what it was. Could be a chicken factory or an outdoor pursuits centre for all he knew.

On screen were a few flashes of trace lycan scents. Once again, however, the readings were strange. It was as if the readings were of something only half werewolf.

Theoretically, that shouldn't be possible. He'd programmed the thing himself and had fed it the possible inputs based on the known information on lycanthropy. It was always possible the software would come up with something unusual, but the signs suggested something which, according to the biologists, didn't exist.

Snapping branches off to the left. Raven shone his torch in the direction of the noise. Nothing. Empty blackness.

What the hell is going on? Nothing makes sense, nothing works, nothing is right.

As if anything could be 'right.' In the time he had worked for The Conservatory, he'd come to learn that 'right' was a relatively flexible term, as was 'reality', 'law', and 'sense'. The world was constantly throwing up strange definitions of all his previously held beliefs, and he had to constantly pause and bring himself back to some sort of calm. If he didn't, he knew he'd lose any form of sanity remaining tucked away inside his head very quickly.

He checked the screen again, and when nothing seemed to have changed, refreshed the parameters. This time he widened what it was searching for from strictly lycanthropic life to any life forms big enough to pose a threat. Hopefully this would help him pick up on whatever it was that he had run after.

It was a wolf. I'd stake my reputation on it, not that that would count for much. I've spent enough time with Hysteria by now to know what a werewolf looks and sounds like. I recognised that shape. I must have made a mistake in the coding for this thing, because that was a wolf, whatever it says. I know, because I got cold. I always get cold in a specific way when I see a wolf. Even Hysteria.