CHAPTER TWENTY
Fears
THAT NIGHT
After dinner, I locked myself in my room. Cramming for my retake chem exam had eaten up most of my time last week, and I was still struggling to keep up with my other classes. With finals looming, I knew I was in trouble. I’d tried to study with April and Jude after school, but April had still been so giddy about Jude asking her to the dance, I realized it would be more effective if I worked on my own. But after a few hours of history and calc and a little Ralph Waldo Emerson, my weary gaze kept drifting down from my textbooks to the drawer in my desk.
I took the key out of my music box and unlocked the drawer. I removed the book from the box, curled up in my comforter and pillows, and carefully turned to the second marked page.
A little bedtime reading couldn’t hurt anyone, right?
I am increasingly convinced that Alexius’s stories of the Death Dogs are not mere myth. I wish to document as much as I can about this phenomenon.
Father Miguel says I am obsessed. But I fear he is the one with the obsession. He has persuaded large numbers of our campaign that they must punish the Greeks for their murder and betrayal. Even many of the Templars and Hospitalars are convinced by his inflammatory words. I find Alexius’s stories a welcome distraction in all this plotting and persuasion.
Alexius took me to a blind prophet who taught me more on the subject. While some Urbat, as he called them, are born with the wolf essence, others are created when bitten by an existing Urbat—much like the spreading of some terrible plague.
It may be that an Urbat created through infection, rather than birth, is more susceptible to the influences of the wolf. The curse may progress much more swiftly in the infected party if he is not vigilant in controlling his emotions….
Daniel hadn’t mentioned that his wolf condition was contagious. I couldn’t believe that I had actually wanted to be like him, and now it made my mind spin to realize that it was as simple as a bite from his teeth—almost as simple as a kiss.
I looked at my hands and couldn’t help picturing them covered in shaggy fur. My fingernails grew long into pointed claws that could rip flesh from bone. My mouth suddenly felt like it was full of razor-sharp teeth and long, tearing fangs. What would my face look like with a long snout and muzzle? What if my eyes turned black, with no inner glow—reflecting only the light around me? What if I became a monster, too?
I shuddered and pressed my hands to my face. My skin was still smooth and hairless. I was still human.
I picked up the book, hoping to find solace—to find answers. But the letter stretched on for several more pages, and most of it documented how the Dogs of Death had come to exist—how their blessing became their curse. It confirmed what Daniel and my father had told me but didn’t teach me anything new. I skimmed until I came to a portion that mentioned moonstones.
It is strange, dear Katharine, but the blind man says that the Urbat have much greater difficulty controlling the wolf possession during the night of the full moon. As if the moon itself has power over them. Because of this, I think there may be a way to manage these beasts. Perhaps if an Urbat were to keep a small piece of the moon close to his body, it would act as a counteragent to the effects of the larger moon, helping him keep the wolf at bay while still retaining its mythical strength. Much like how the ancient Greeks treated disease with the idea that like cures like.
I have heard tales of rocks that fall in fiery glory from the heavens. What if some of these rocks have fallen from the moon itself? If I were able to fashion a necklace from one of these moonstones—if finding one was possible—perhaps I could help the Death Dogs reclaim their blessings.
However, such a necklace would be no cure. It would only offer control. I fear that these Urbat have lost their souls to the clutches of the wolf, and unless they are freed of it before they die, they will be doomed to the depths of hell as demons of the dark prince.
My eyes no longer felt weary. I hadn’t thought of what might happen to Daniel if he died. Would he really be doomed to live in hell as a demon forever? No wonder he was so desperate to find a cure. It would be one thing to live with a monster inside—it was a whole other thing to be damned for all eternity.
I skimmed a few pages farther, looking for anything that might tell me more.
The only things powerful enough to deliver a mortal blow to an Urbat are the teeth or hands of another demon, or if he is punctured through the heart by an object of silver. It is believed that silver is poisonous to the beasts….
I didn’t want to think any more about death, so I turned to a new letter.
My Dear Katharine,
I wish to take an expedition into the forest. The blind man says he will find me guides who can get me close enough to observe a pack of Urbat without being discovered. The journey would cost twenty marks—all that I have.
Father Miguel says the winds are shifting in our favor. He thinks tomorrow the armada will be able to move in closer to the city walls. Perhaps the only good that might come from our forces taking the city is that I might be able to search the books of the great library for more texts on the subject of the Urbat. What jewels of knowledge must lie therein.
If not from the library, I must know more about these Hounds of Heaven. I will make preparations for the journey. My dear Alexius is reluctant to join me, but I will persuade him to go, for I need a translator.
He seems to fear the Urbat more than any of the local boys. When pressed about the issue, all he utters is, “The wolf seeks to kill what he loves the most….”
I dropped the book. It skittered across the hardwood floor. I leaned out of bed and gingerly picked it up. Little particles of yellowed paper sprinkled from the binding. I opened the book and found that the page I had just been reading and a few others had disintegrated under my absentminded handling. But my guilt for damaging the book was nothing compared to the other thought that crumpled my insides.
The wolf seeks to kill what he loves the most.
Did Daniel love me? He said I was special. He said I “did” things to him. He said he missed me—sort of. But he hadn’t said he loved me.
But he’d kissed me like no one ever had. He made me want to tell him how I felt.
But I couldn’t forget how he shook and the way his eyes glowed when I did. He’d lost his necklace momentarily, and he looked more frightened than I’d felt. Had I been in danger then? Had the wolf wanted to kill me? If Daniel didn’t have that necklace, would I already be dead? Or would he have just turned me into a beast like him?
I put the book away. I could not handle any more questions—or answers—for a long time.