Tension mounted in the room and Brian held out his arms in front of Freddie and Roger like mother goose.
John, fully shifted into wolf form, stood in the middle of the circled up werewolves. They peered down at him and mumbled amongst themselves in savage awe. Their Alpha stood like a shadow-ridden mountain over him, but his furry legs stood firm and determined.
John let out a low warning growl and Brian gulped.
The Alpha raised one hand and the room fell silent in attention.
"Get me his heart!" she commanded.
Before a quarter of a second could pass, the werewolves pounced on John like hyenas, laughing and tearing at him.
Brian jumped to John's defense, completely abandoning Freddie and Roger behind him. He pounded on the backs of the werewolves like drums and a few of them quaked under his strength. His eyes glossed over in fury and desperation.
Freddie and Roger joined him at his side. Freddie managed to annoy one of the werewolves enough by hitting it with the mic stand that it turned to and attacked him.
Roger pulled one of the werewolves away with a grunt and slammed his half of the mic stand into its face like a gong.
Brian pealed away the rest of the werewolves. A flash of mousy brown fur flew past his eye. John was freed and ran around the room dodging werewolves that tried to catch him. Their blundering gait and disproportionate bodies were no match to John's superior agility. A sliver of intelligence all-too humanlike gleamed in his eyes as he led the werewolves around like they were the village fools.
How much of him is there with a forced shift? Brian wondered as he continued to battle the distracted werewolves. John led each one of the unoccupied werewolves farther and farther away from the Alpha who stood barking orders at her minions.
With the Alpha exposed, John slipped behind Brian and pounced onto her in surprise.
The Alpha yelped and fell backward onto the ground. John pinned her down in effortless might and she squirmed in vain under his grasp. His paws were planted firmly on her arms and her legs were twisted into a heap from the awkward fall.
John's hackle bristled like a lion's mane doubling his size. Drips of drool slid down his fangs like the venom of an Amazon viper. His tail twitched with irritation and a snarl steamed past his lips. His eyes glowed with anger and Brian shivered at the unnatural power that radiated from him. Now that is the wolf that turned me, Brian thought.
The Alpha trembled underneath him and let out a soft whimper.
Suddenly, Roger yowled in pain. Brian spun around and saw his friend collapse to the ground holding his side. Freddie smacked away the closest werewolf and stood over the blond with one foot on either side of him.
"I've got you, Rog, hang in there," Freddie consoled.
Brian rushed to Roger and Freddie and demanded, "Tell me what happened!"
"He was clawed by one of them!" Freddie answered, "He's bleeding bad!"
Red leaked from between Roger's fingers and he squeezed his eyes in pain.
"Go help John," Brian said, "I've got him."
Brian knelt down beside Roger and cupped his face in his hand. He trailed his fingers down to Roger's side and gently lifted up his hand. Four deep claw marks sliced through Roger's shirt and his skin. Blood trickled steadily onto the floor. Brian gently pulled back some of the torn fabric to expose the cuts and Roger winced. The room slowed around them and Brian felt like he was dreaming.
Freddie stepped away off of Roger and paused in his tracks.
"Erhm, darling," he whispered.
Deep violet mist filtered through the air in coarse clouds. The stench of wolfsbane tickled Brian's nose and he sneezed. A soft sizzle crept away from him and a werewolf shrieked in pain. Flashing lights shone behind Brian like an electrical storm was creeping up on his back. The Alpha cried and John let out a grunt of confusion.
"Bri, sweetie, I think we've got company," Freddie murmured under his breath.
The purple cloud trickled through the air in deeper saturation and Brian heard the nails of the werewolves squeal against the floorboards as they crawled away. He continued to peel away the torn fabric of Roger's shirt. The claw marks deep enough that Brian was sure he could see Roger's white ribs peaking out against the torn flesh. As Roger started to pant, more of his life dripped out of him. Brian's eyes felt like someone blew campfire smoke into them and tears welled up in them. Roger gave him a worried look.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Roger wheezed.
Brian squeezed Roger's hand as he worked and replied, "Everything is going to be alright, Roger. Don't worry."
Freddie poked at Brian's shoulder with the end of his mic stand and said, "Uh, Brian, there's someone—"
Brian's fingertips gently brushed over the surface of Roger's wounds and Roger's breathing hitched. The Lycan squeezed his eyes shut in remorse.
The room fell silent save for the sound of a few songbirds flying overhead.
"Brian?" Roger asked.
Brian ignored him and kept his eyes shut. He was fearful of what he would see next.
"Brian?" Roger asked again, "Where are we?"
Brian furrowed his eyebrows and grazed his fingers over the ground beneath him. Instead of the old wooden floorboards of the abandoned bakery he felt grass and cold soil.
He opened his eyes and saw Roger on the ground in front of him. Roger had rolled up into a sitting position from laying helpless on the ground. His face was completely clean and Brian's eyes trailed down his friend and widened in surprise. Roger was wearing a toga.
They were seated in a grassy meadow hill underneath a hot and humid sun. About two hundred feet behind them stood a tall forest that smelled of citrus. Brian held up his hand to his brow to block out the bright sun and squinted at the land in front of him. A humble farm about half a kilometer away met his eyes. This farm was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its barn house was in the ancient in style but its newly placed red shingled roof led Brian to the conclusion that the building was new. A few rows of grape vines stretched out in front of the barn house like welcoming arms.
Brian jumped up to his feet and looked down. He too was wearing a toga.
"Nice dress," Roger teased.
"You're wearing one too," Brian responded without looking back at him.
Brian heard Roger shuffle to his feet and mutter, "What the fuck?"
Brian enjoyed the view for a second and then remembered.
"Your side!" Brian gasped as he turned around.
Roger's arm flew defensively to where his wound was. He patted the area a few times and tilted his head in confusion. He held up his arm and pulled out the collar of his toga and looked down.
"It's gone," Roger said in confusion.
"What do you mean?" Brian asked.
"It's gone. The claw marks are gone," Roger said.
Brian scoffed, "That's impossible!"
"Oh, do you want me to take this thing off for you to see for yourself?" Roger questioned.
Brian threw up his hands and replied, "No, no. I'll take your word for it."
"Good," Roger replied with a smirk, "Because I haven't got the slightest idea how I would get it back on again."
The blond looked around and then back at Brian.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked.
"No," Brian answered, "But there is a farm down there. Maybe we can ask them."
"Alright. I'll follow you," Roger said.
Brian walked down the hill and slipped in his footing. He picked up his foot and stared at it. Sandals. Interesting, he thought as he gazed at the shoe that was adorned upon him.
Roger cursed under his breath as he made his way down the hill.
"We certainly ain't in England anymore, Brian. And I'm pretty sure I've got a rock in my shoe and I don't know how that's possible because there is barely any shoe for a rock to get in," Roger complained.
As Brian approached the barn house, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been there before. He passed the rows of grape vines and felt a feeling of home as he approached the wooden front door.
Roger asked, "Think anyone's home?"
Brian knocked on the door and it creaked open under his strength. He looked back at Roger and shrugged.
"Looks like no one is home," Brian observed. He walked inside.
The farmhouse was furnished with clay pots and wooden chairs. Below Brian's feet was a dusty rug riddled with extravagant but faded coloured designs. His eyes wondered around the room and fell upon a mosaic on one of the walls. The mosaic depicted a large white wolf and a young man with curly brown hair in a toga beside it. They stared welcomingly at Brian and he swallowed hard.
"Brian!" Roger scolded from the doorway, "This is clearly someone's house! We can't just walk in!"
Brian beckoned his friend inside and said, "Hey, Rog, take a look at this."
Roger reluctantly walked in and the wooden door closed softly behind him.
"Can you turn on the lights?" Roger asked.
"I don't think there are lights," Brian responded.
"Fine. I'm opening up the shudders," Roger grumbled. He stepped over a few clay pots on the ground and flung open the shudders.
Sunlight flooded the room and illuminated the mosaic.
"Woah," Roger awed, "What is that?"
Brian ran his hand over the artwork. "A mosaic of a wolf and a man," he replied.
In the better lighting, Brian could make out fine details of the mosaic. The wolf's face seemed proud and feminine. Its eyes were as light as its fur and reminded Brian of the moon. It stood tall next to the man beside it. The man was dressed in a toga not much unlike Brian's except for a red sash that was draped diagonally across his body. In his hand he carried a bushel of dark maroon grapes. He had a dark beard and a fluffy mane that reminded Brian of his own hair. The pieces of the mosaic turned the man's lips up to a soft smile.
"No shit, Sherlock," Roger retorted.
Brian sighed. He reminded him, "You are the one who asked."
"Yes, but I wonder who it is of," Roger clarified, "If Freddie were here, he would know. He'd say that he saw it in the Louvre on a damn Friday painting trip or something."
Brian took a look around the barn house. "Do you suppose it is who lives here?" Brian asked.
Roger sat down in one of the chairs and shrugged.
Suddenly, Brian heard rustling outside. Roger looked at the front door and back at Brian with wide eyes.
Oh shit, Brian thought, they are home.
Roger mouthed, "What do we do?"
"I don't know," Brian whispered.
The sound of footsteps grew closer and paused at the door. Brian motioned Roger to stand up. As Roger got up to his feet, his chair toppled over with a clatter. Roger quickly bent down to pick it up and set it back. He looked up at Brian and grimaced. Brian face-palmed.
The front door swung open with a bang.
The sun behind the man casted a shadow over his face, but Brian could tell by the man's curly hair that he was the man depicted in the mosaic.
The man called out in a stern voice, "Quī estis? Hic mihi domus est!"
Oh fucking hell, Brian internally cursed, we just broke into this bloke's house and I don't even know what language he is speaking!
He took another step into the house out of the poor lighting and Brian gasped. The man's face looked near identical to his. He had the same nose, same eye color, same cheek bones, same hair though a little shorter. The only major differences were that the man had a short beard and a weatherworn face.
The man looked at Brian and narrowed his eyes. "Quī es? Cur en mihi domum es?" he asked.
"We don't understand," Roger said, "Do you know English? Do you speak English? Or, erhm, parlez vous français?"
The man blinked in confusion.
Brian slowly raised his hand and pointed at himself. "Brian," he said. He pointed over at Roger and said, "Roger."
"Brian?" The man asked with a thick Italian accent.
"Yes, Brian," Brian replied as he nodded his head.
The man's face scrunched up in curiosity. He repeated, "Brian."
I think we are getting somewhere, Brian thought.
Brian pointed back at himself and said, "Brian," and then pointed back at the man and raised his eyebrows. Please get what I am trying to say, Brian prayed.
"Lycanus!" a light female voice rang from outside the barn house, "Ubi es?"
Then a petite woman stood beside the man. She wore a blue dress that went down to her knees and she wore no sandals. Her wavy brunette hair was streaked with caramel highlights from long days in the sun and her grey eyes gleamed at Brian. Her smile faded away from her face, yet Brian felt drawn to the couple like he would his own parents as a child.
"Brian," she said in perfect English, "You and Roger need to go back."
"Who are you? How do you know who I am? Where are we?" Brian asked.
"How do you know English?" Roger added.
She walked over to Brian and gave him a hug. Brian stiffened for a moment, but soon melted into her safe and comforting grasp. He lifted up his arms and returned the hug for a moment before patting her back to signify he wanted space.
"You need to get back to unfortunately clean up my mess," the woman answered.
"Who are you?" Brian demanded, "I don't understand!"
She pointed over at the mosaic of the wolf and the man and then it clicked. She is the wolf, Brian realized.
"I am Lupa," she answered, "We will meet again, but hopefully under less dire circumstances."
She gestured toward Roger for him to come over and Roger joined Brian's side.
"Quī sunt?" the man, which Brian figured was Lycanus, asked.
"Sunt filii nostri," Lupa replied, "Nos familiā, Lycanus Familiā, et ii amābimus."
"Sorry? Are you putting a spell on us?" Roger asked.
Lupa laughed and said, "No. Now it is time for you go back."
She placed her hand on Brian and Roger's foreheads. Brian squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for what was to come.
When Brian opened his eyes again, he was back crunched down on the dark and dusty floor of the abandoned bakery. The violet mist continued to spread around the room and the cries of the werewolves filled his ears. He was back in his trousers from the Varndean show shirtless and clogless.
Roger was on the ground in front of him motionless. His wound had disappeared.
"Roger? Roger!" Brian yelled.
Roger opened his eyes and blinked. "What the actual fuck was that?" he asked. He looked around the room and paused when he laid his eyes on Brian.
"Brian," Roger said slowly.
"Yeah Rog?" Brian asked.
Roger pointed at Brian's side and Brian looked at it in horror.
Four deep claw marks identical to the ones that were on Roger traced his side. Upon realization of his wound, Brian felt pain surge through his body and he gasped.
"Wait. Brian, look!" Roger instructed. His friend pointed at his side again and Brian reluctantly looked back.
Slowly, but visibly, the wound was closing itself up like it was self-healing. The pain of the cuts started to subside as Brian's body stitched itself back together.
"Impossible," Brian muttered.
A bright flash brought Brian's attention to the action behind him.
In the doorway of the room stood a man with shoulder length dirty blond hair in a dark blue dress. He had a leather sash across his body that housed innumerable pouches and objects like crystals and dried flowers. In his hand was a large and twisted staff with an intricate and pointed tip. The man's face was unusual and androgynous. His eyes appeared to be different colours, one a light blue and one darker. He looked oddly familiar and his scent compelled Brian to move closer.
"Who's that?" Brian asked Freddie.
"I think he's the white duke from the library," Freddie replied.
Brian stood up and helped Roger up to his feet. His eyes shifted to a glowing amber as the man's smell seeped into his lungs.
The man had employed a wolfsbane laced mist that stung the skin of the werewolves. All of them besides the Alpha were huddled in fear in the corner of the room as boils and blisters erupted over their hides.
John allowed for the Alpha to wiggle out from under his grasp and join her pack mates in the corner of the room. He looked up at the man with a curious expression and walked over and sniffed the rim of his dress.
"He is the one who spoke in my head!" Roger exclaimed, "The one who spoke to me over the phone!"
"And here I am thinking he resembled Zigmund the librarian from Varndean," Brian said.
Freddie tapped the top of his head and chuckled. "He is the witch," he said, "He must have some sort of shapeshifting or disguise super power."
Meanwhile John wagged his tail in approval and walked over to the rest of the band. He stood by Freddie's side and was careful to keep his eye on the Alpha the whole time.
The witch raised his staff and announced, "Werewolves of Brighton, your reign of terror is over. You were fools to think that you could hide from your fate forever."
That is definitely Zigmund's voice, Brian thought, I could recognize it anywhere.
"Your wolfsbane won't last forever, witch!" the Alpha roared, "Just a few moments and I will have your heart!"
"No. By then you will be dead," the witch replied in a flat tone.
The Alpha retorted, "Dead? You cannot kill me! I am an Alpha turned under the fool moon, an Alpha old and strengthened by her numerous pack members. Even with your magic you could not pierce my heart. You do not have the strength that we have."
"No, but he does," the witch said. He pointed at Brian.
"Me?" Brian asked.
"I could not find you without their help," the witch explained, "I must give you credit, you covered your tracks well. However, you did not count on Lycans coming to town."
The witch gestured for Brian to come to him. Brian finally gave in to his compulsion and eagerly stood by the witch's side. He realized that he had seen the witch another time up close, but he could not recall when.
The witch continued, "Then again, neither did I. I also did not count on your own power, Alpha, and I must say that I am impressed. However, I must warn you not to flatter yourself. I don't have the strength to pierce your heart with my mountain ash staff, but Brian here does."
Brian gulped. "Me?" he asked, "I don't think I can—"
"I will guide you. We haven't got much time before the mist wears off," the witch said as he held out the staff for Brian to grab onto.
The Alpha violently shook herself and purple dust fell off of her. A wild look shone in her eyes and they glowed blue like a mystical poison.
"Time's up!" she crowed, "Now it is time to get what we wanted and you no longer have the element of surprise!"
She held up her fist in the air and howled. The werewolves charged at Brian and the witch, but John tackled one to the ground and tore at its throat. Freddie and Roger joined John in the fray swinging their weapons in a galant last stand like Defense of Arnhem Bridge.
The Alpha, full of pride, rushed at Brian and the witch. He gave Brian a look and softly nodded. Brian gripped the staff in his sweaty palms and watched as the Alpha transformed into an even more demonic creature and plow through the room in slow motion.
Just as she reached a few feet away from them, the witch shouted, "Now!"
Brian and the witch lurched the staff forward and its tip dove into the chest of the Alpha. She gasped like the air was sucked from her lungs and she clawed at the staff. Brian gave one final shove with a grunt. The Alpha's eyes ceased to glow and her body went limp.
Brian let out a sigh of relief.
The werewolves shuddered in unison and their eyes glowed a bright blue before fading back to their natural colours.
"What do we do now?" one of them asked after she got hit in the head by Freddie.
"We have no leader, no one to feed us!" cried another before being kicked in the groin by Roger.
The witch turned to Brian and said, "I'll take care of them from here. You boys have done enough."
He placed one foot on the chest of the Alpha's body and pulled out his staff.
"I know where you are staying. I will have your things returned to you in the morning," the witch promised, "You led me to them and helped me kill the Alpha. Consider the rest of the night off as a thank you."
Brian blinked. The rest of the night off as a 'thank you?' He can't be serious, Brian thought.
"'Til we meet again, darling," Freddie said.
"Until we meet again," the witch replied.
He raised his staff again and the werewolves froze. Seizing the moment, Roger ran out of the room followed by John and Freddie.
"My guitar better not have a scratch," Brian warned, "And don't get me started on my clogs."
"They will be fine. Besides, I am curious to see where your musical journey takes you," the witch responded with a crooked toothed grin.
Brian followed the scent of his band members out of the bakery and down the street. The night was silent except for the sound of their feet (and John's paws) hitting the sidewalk as they ran back to their inn. Just a few streets over and then it will be a straight shot back to the inn, Brian thought.
Brian caught up to the group. John looked back at him and sleepily wagged his tail.
"Hey, Johnny boy," Brian greeted.
John yipped in response.
"Think he can understand you?" Roger panted.
John slowed down to a stop and stared at an empty taxi cab. I wish we could get in one of those too, Brian thought.
"John, sweetheart, bark once if you can't understand us and twice if you can," Freddie instructed.
John let out a series of grunts and groans. The Lycan sounded like a husky talking back to his owner. He grew continuously frustrated and quit making noises all together.
"That wasn't one or two barks..." Freddie mumbled under his breath.
John whined.
"Let's just get back to our room and wash up," Brian decided.
When they arrived at the Inn, the front room's light was still on and Brian let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. Freddie opened the door and Roger entered the building followed by John and Brian.
Margaret was sketching something in behind the counter and she jumped.
"Gordon Bennet!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, "You scared me!"
"Good evening, Margaret," Roger greeted.
Margaret playfully rolled her eyes and said, "Good evening, Roger."
She took a step forward and pulled her hair from her face. Her eyes widened and her hand flew up to her mouth.
"What happened to you? I've never seen such evidence of a rough night out!" she said.
"Oh, erhm, we got mugged after the show on the way back," Roger lied.
Freddie pointed at Brian and said, "Yeah. They took his shirt."
"And shoes," Roger added.
Brian resisted the urge to face-palm and said, "Yes, but most importantly, we lost our key."
"And I am guessing you want a spare for the rest of your stay?" Margaret asked.
Roger eagerly nodded his head and responded, "That would be wonderful, love."
Margaret leaned over the desk and peered down at John.
"And you have a dog now instead of the fourth that you were with," she commented.
Roger's mouth hung agape.
"John, erhm," Brian stuttered, "John is staying at another place for the night. He is completely fine and will be back with us in the morning. This here is the, erhm, dog that saved us when we were being mugged."
"Oh really?" Margaret asked, "And why is it in my inn?"
"It is house trained," Freddie defended.
Margaret arched an eyebrow.
Roger leaned on the counter and said, "Look, after all it did for us, we just feel bad leaving it to sleep outside in the streets. Could you let him in just for the night? We'll put him in the shelter tomorrow."
John's head snapped to look up at Roger and he whimpered.
"Fine," Margaret said, "Just one night. Don't let it stink up the room."
She dished out a spare key from a drawer behind the counter and handed it to Roger.
"Thank you so much," Roger said in a breathy voice.
Brian patted Roger's back and echoed, "Yes, thank you!"
The four practically ran up the stairs to their room. Roger jammed the key into the door and unlocked it quicker than lightning. He swung open the door and the band piled into the room in a relieved huff.
"Oh, sweet safe small room, how I missed thee!" Roger sang.
"Sh! You'll wake someone else up," Brian hushed.
John dragged his paws to the far side of the room and curled up into a little ball on the floor. He gently put his head down and shut his eyes.
"Looks like someone is ready to go to sleep," Freddie cooed.
Roger grabbed a pair of his pyjamas and his toiletries bag. "I don't know about you, but I am ready to get changed out of this mess and get to bed," he said.
"Aye aye," Freddie agreed.
Brian grabbed the clothes on the top of his bag because he was too tired to fish through it to find something else to wear. Anything is better than this, he reasoned, I look like I am from an old Hollywood werewolf film. He shivered at the thought of werewolves.
He went down to the bathroom followed by Freddie and Roger.
Brian turned on the bathroom lights and found to his delight that it was empty except for him and his friends.
A cold hand traced down Brian's side and he jumped. He turned and looked at Roger who stood with an outreached hand.
"Sorry," Roger apologized, "The claw marks. They are already healed."
Brian lifted up his arm to look. "That's very interesting," he mumbled.
Freddie entered one of the shower stalls and started humming Doing Alright. As he got changed, he tossed his dirty clothes over the door. His old trousers landed on Roger's head and Roger slapped them off. Freddie turned on the water and the mirrors fogged up with steam.
Roger and Brian entered the two remaining showers. Brian climbed out of his trousers and his pants. He didn't care what terrible bacteria he subjected his bare feet to on the shower floor. After the show, fighting werewolves, somehow traveling to pre-Roman Italy, absorbing Roger's wound, and then killing the Alpha athlete's foot was at the bottom of his list of worries. He let the water from the shower pour over him and he let his muscles relax.
He remembered a time when he first met Roger and Freddie and was going over to Freddie's house for one of their rehearsals. He took a shower before hand because he was filthy from the night before when he unknowingly spent the night roaming the streets of London as a wolf. He remembered how terrible he smelled afterward like a wet dog and how he used his good cologne in an effort to hide it. Brian scrunched up his nose at the thought of the pungent smell of the cologne he dowsed himself in. He felt like he was about to singe his nose hairs.
Freddie's voice broke Brian out of his thoughts. "I know what I'm doing," he sang, "I gotta feeling I should be doing alright."
Brian smiled and took a deep breath in. "Doing alright," he sang along. To his surprise, Roger also joined in and the three harmonized.
He turned off the water and dried himself off. Roger climbed out of the shower in his pyjamas and plugged his nose.
"Bloody hell, Bri!" he complained.
Brian slipped on his shirt that he brought and shrugged. "Can't help it," he said.
Freddie turned off his water and asked, "Whose brilliant idea was it to bring Deaky down here and try to give him a fucking bath?"
"It's me, Freddie," Brian replied, "I can't help it."
Freddie emerged from his shower stall in his new set of clothes. He said, "You can transfer deadly wounds to yourself and heal them but you smell like rotting hell like a dog when you get wet? Go figure."
Brian laughed. "Speaking of John, we should probably head up and check on him," he suggested.
Freddie threw his arms in the air and said, "Oh, I am sure that the little puppy is fine. He was sound asleep when we left him."
Brian rolled his eyes and nodded his head to the door.
"Fine. I will just brush my teeth in the morning," Freddie resolved.
The three quietly crept back up the stares to their room. With every step he took Brian's feet grew heavier.
When they got to the room, Brian opened the door and froze.
John stood fully human in the middle of the room with a sheet wrapped around his waist like a maxi skirt. He looked disheveled like he just woke up from a long nap with the back of his hair knotted up and with dark bags under his eyes.
"Freddie," he said in a tired voice, "Why are you wearing my pyjamas?"
A/N- I am so sorry for the late update! I'm a high school senior and I literally only have like 2.5 weeks left of school until I graduate, so I have been really busy. It took me three days to write this chapter!
Expect the next update (and the final chapter of this fic) sometime this week! Don't worry, there will be more to come for this story this summer :)
As was with last time, if you correctly guess the identity of the wolf that turned John, you will get a shout out next chapter after the big reveal! and bonus points if you guess the identity of the witch! I believe in you guys!