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©® KAYCEE** Pseudonym 2012

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4

No matter how many times I come back home, I still see things that intrigue me. Gran's house was one big, magical storehouse of information and goods. You just had to know where to look. It was spelled so that all mortals wouldn't 'see the forest for the trees'.

Heading to turn off the living room lights, I saw that Gran had left an incantation book that dealt with lycans. She obviously had spelled it to keep it invisible until Kyle had left. I grabbed it, tucking it under my arm as I made one final stop in the kitchen before plodding up to my room to read before getting some shut eye. Locking the backdoor, I waived my hand over the threshold and activated the spell that prevented any supernatural element or mortal to enter the house, through any opening, without actively warning us. Think of it as a spelled security system, but we didn't have to pay forty bucks a month to some company to monitor the house.

Flipping off the kitchen light, I headed upstairs. Part of me wanted a shower, but the part that won out was the one that wanted to drop back into my old bed.

My bedroom hadn't changed much from when I was a kid. My teddy bear, from my Grandfather, still lay on the bed, old books spell books mixed with newer ones on the shelves hidden by incantations to make them appear and read like a normal child's reading material above the old desk where I did my homework before Mom moved us up towards Monterrey. I'm thankful that it had only been my last two and a half years of high school that I had to spend away from what I considered my real home. Sure, I made friends in Monterrey and college was fun but home was where my Gran lived. Mom was more of the modern woman. I took after Gran and enjoyed the forest and living on the coast. The problem was work.

I still hadn't declared a major and it was beginning to bug me more than my Mother. Gran told me not to worry, "It'll come to you dear," she'd say to me.

Flopping down on the king sized bed, I wondered if it really would.

I concentrated, clearing my mind to allow myself the fear the 'ether'. This book held something important, something that I needed to read. Magic led me, as I pulled the book open and found two spells that I wasn't familiar. One was a shock spell. A few minutes of memorization and it was locked into place in my brain. It was pretty powerful. Plus it had an added benefit that you could increase or decrease the amount of power you used along with pulling extra electricity from the sky if there was a nearby thunderstorm.

The second was more impressive. It was written in my Grandmother's hidden handwriting. Only a 'Red Cape' of our family line could read it. Spelled for our eyes only, I marveled at its simplicity, yet intricacy.

It was a modified healing spell adapted from three sources: Witchcraft, Druid healer and Lycan blood. The spell was written in the blood from a lycan and, along with using the healing words of the Druid right combined with Gran's witchcraft, created a spell that prevented any witch or warlock that may get bit by a lycan from being turned. The implications were astounding. It was something that anyone dealing with a feral would be susceptible. One bite and your world would change.

That issue was something of a problem back in the earlier centuries. Random attacks by feral lycans. You never knew when or where they'd attack and since it would usually happen during the full lunar cycle, many stayed inside, including witches or warlocks. If either were bitten, the combination usually led to the witch or warlock going mad because of the incompatibility of the two.

Ok, 'mad' and 'incompatibility' might not be the best choices. Let's try, 'psychopathic'. The incompatibility issue arose because witches and warlocks back in the day were solitary. If they were bit, they could lose their sense of humanity and start to lose themselves and control over their powers. The feral part of the wolf would lead them to move towards more mortal enclaves and thus the nature of the two would be revealed. It is one reason why there are so many stories involving witches, warlocks and werewolves cavorting together historically. The early 16th century woodcut by Hans Weiditz was taken from those problems firsthand.

It must have been the reason that Gran had developed this spell and why she set this book aside for me to read. Why the hell it was still written in Latin was beyond me but at least she put a translation to the side. Taking a deep breath, I sat up on my bed to lean over and light one of the nearby protection candles before turning off my bedside lamp. I knew full well that this spell required my utmost concentration and wasn't something that a novice could undertake. If Gran thought I was ready... clearing my mind and opening the book further I began the incantation. The incantation required two readings.

"Loqui incantatores sanitatum ... Lycan sanguinem, druidae sanitatem Veneficas verba, ducta et sentiens Protegens me a nocentibus Fiat quercus, cicutam et aconita mixta in sanguine Tueri castorea de hoc incantatores a accipiens forma mox!" (*Author's note... see below*)

The air in the room began to get heavy and crackle with energy as the words of the spell began to glow and emanate light. I could begin to see the 'Ether of Life' surround the book then begin running up my fingers. I reread the incantation again and as I finished the last word 'mox', the bluish glow of the 'Ether' grew deeper in colour and spread across my body, encompassing it and then, in one large flash of light and breeze that blew out the candle, seeped into my own being.

For a moment it felt as if I was covered in a heavy coat; like that of fur. My eyes could see in the dark as I turned towards the mirror. I could see but they held no glow.

"The lycan blood!" it hit me as I sat in the dark, "that's why I can see and feel like I do." The Druid healing ritual combined with the Witchcraft had essentially taken the blood the spell was written in and transformed me into a lycan but, at the same time, 'not' a lycan. The Druid healing and Witchcraft had prevented me from going feral from the anonymous blood. If I get bitten, since the blood of the lycan now runs through me, I can't be turned. It was one ingenious spell that my Grandmother had developed and why our family had never been turned in all the centuries after being tasked with hunting ferals! It might have been passed down heretically but didn't manifest until you invoked the spell!

I sat there a moment looking in the dark and watching the world around me. It was a moonless night, the new moon, and glancing out the window I could see the world in the dark. The starkness of the night amazed me. I sat there for how long, I don't know. Sleep began to call me as I put the book on my nightstand before undressing down to nothing and crawled into the warm cotton bedding.

Settling in, I heard the faint call of a coyote and smiled to myself. That is, until I heard the even more distant call of a wolf. I somehow knew he wasn't close but the thought of what I was about to go up against seemed to sit a bit easier on my mind as I nodded off.

*** Outside the house, a lone animal prowled the area. Unaffected by the magical wards and spells, he slowly strode around before beginning to shift and change into a more upright form. Spine stretched, face reformed to a shorter muzzle and teeth reset as the beast became bipedal. Three soft jumps, one from the ground, then to the covered, detached carport and finally to the overhanging eve that ran up against a small balcony that faced the ocean.

Its' steps quiet and muffled for such a large creature. It stepped into the balcony and silently sat staring through the simple and rather plain, single door that opened inward. It never tried the knob. It only sat for over an hour listening to the rhythmic sounds of sleep that emanated from the man within.***

Warm rays of the sun coming in one window and the incessant pounding of the surf through the other slowly woke me out of my slumber. The warmth of the bed really pulled me in, that and the dream that I was having of Kyle and myself seemed to draw me further back into slumber. That is until I heard a clatter of pots in the kitchen.

Pulling myself out of bed and sitting up, a quick breeze off the Pacific chilled my body and reminded me that I needed to put on clothes. "After a shower," I yawned moving towards my bathroom. That was one nice thing that I had been given as a child; my own private bathroom. First some morning business... "And... DAMMIT!" looking down at the empty roll beside me.

Snapping my fingers, I sat waiting for the package of TP to arrive from the closet downstairs where I'd left it yesterday. "I can't believe I forgot it," I grumbled to myself. I sat there waiting and waiting wondering why it was taking so long for the damn stuff to levitate up to my bedroom. Moments later there was a soft 'thump' at my bedroom door. Waiving my hand, the door opened just a few inches to let the package in and float towards me as I sat on the porcelain throne. Attached to it though was a sticky note, "Sweetie, hurry up and quit playing with yourself! I'm hungry!" I flushed red and yelled, "GRAN!"

I could hear soft chuckles emanating from downstairs.

The warmth of the water rushing over my body as I began to soap myself up made my embarrassment at my Grandmother's joke wash away. However, touching my own body and scrubbing my body soon had my hand on my seven inches and my mind switching back to the early morning dream of Kyle and me standing in the same shower. It was nothing more than standing under the warm water and kissing. Simple and romantic... I hadn't gotten to the hot and steamy part in my dream when I was awakened.

I heard thumping around downstairs and opened the shower curtain to look out towards my bedroom door. "Oh hell no!" I grumbled and threw a locking spell on the door before returning to matters at hand.

"Nnnngh!" I panted as the remainder of my spent desires hit the side of the tub and swirled down the drain. Licking the remaining bits off my fingers, I wished that I hadn't needed to make it so quick. If there was anything I despised, it was a quick 'touch and go'. I was an edger that loved to take my time with my record of three hours being my best. A quick soap up and rinse and I was out of the shower.

"I'll shave and brush my teeth after getting Gran and me breakfast," as I dried myself off. Pulling on my jersey shorts and a black 'T', I hurried down the stairs towards the kitchen only to find the coffee going on the stove along with the spatula flipping pancakes in the frying pan.

"I was going to cook breakfast Gran," I harrumphed at her.

Looking up from the London Times she had spelled up, she moved the other two papers she always read as well while waiving her hand at the telly on the kitchen wall to turn down the volume. "You," she smirked over her coffee cup before taking a sip, "were rather preoccupied."

I think I turned seven shades of pink; progressively getting deeper in colour.

"I could hear you all the way down here," she giggled. That didn't help the situation as I dropped my head. "Son of a..." I began before catching myself. "Bitch?" she finished making me look up and catch her twinkling eyes.

"You need to put a witch muffling spell on that room of yours sweetie," she laughed. I grumbled to myself remembering full well that I hadn't reactivated the damn thing when I arrived a couple of days earlier.

A loud whining/buzzing sound accosted my ears. Turning left and right I struggled to find out what the hell it was as I watched the spatula flip the last of the pancakes on to the plates that were beside the stove. Gran waived her hand at the stove and turned off the gas while the plates made their way to the table.

I got up to get the maple syrup while still trying to find the source of the noise. "You know," she paused taking a pat of butter and slapping it on her pancakes, "You don't have to do things the moral way."

I turned around looking back at her, "What did you say again?"

"You don't have to do it the mortal way," she reiterated while waiting for me to find the syrup in the cupboard and returning with it.

"I know Gran," I said as I took my chair again and handing her the syrup, "but when it's ingrained in your head for nearly twenty years that you have to fit in..." as I trailed off. My empty coffee cup drew my attention. Without looking up from pouring syrup on my pancakes, I snapped my fingers in my left hand. The percolator levitated off the stove and moved over to my empty cup. Tipping forward the warm, brown/black liquid filled the cup near the rim, "That's enough," I said. The coffee pot tipped back and returned to its' spot on the stove.

Taking a sip of my black coffee steadied my nerves at being busted for whacking off in the shower.

"THAT'S IT!" I yelled slamming the cup down.

"What's it dear?" Gran asked.

"Where in the hell is that obnoxious whining noise coming from?" as I looked around the kitchen. "That had not better be you!" raising my voice loudly towards that cantankerous dishwasher. It shuddered once and then slammed its door shut with a snort.

"You found the book and used the incantation, didn't you Jesse?" Gran asked sipping her coffee.

Turning back towards her and watching her sly smile, I nodded, "I believe you left it for me, right?"

"Yes," she spoke softly while setting her coffee back down. Clasping her hands together and getting a serious look on her face she spoke with 'teaching' tone, "With you going out in the woods in my place, it was necessary for you to discover the spell within sooner and what it means to really be a 'Red Cape'."

"There are going to be things you need out there that I wanted to teach you on my own," letting out a deep sigh, "but time and the circumstances are limiting our time. The longer the feral remains out there and able to change people the more trouble we're going to have on our hands. Every feral we fail to calm or, the Seven Muses forbid, return to the ether, means one more that's capable of changing the mortal population. This feral is clever and crafty, more than any I've ever encountered in centuries," her tone and seriousness evident.

"After we began losing 'Red Capes' to ferals, many of us decided that it was time to stop being solitary and begin to mingle with the human population. Your Great-Great-Grandmother was a lone holdout. It was from her and your Great-Grandmother that the story of 'Little Red Riding Hood' came to be around the mid 14th century," rehashing old history.

"Yeah, I know Gran," I broke in, "the 'Wolf' was actually a feral lycan and they basically stylized the story for a lesson to children about going out into the woods alone."

"Correct," she said, "but still we would continue to lose our people and mortals. Mortals were bad enough but to have a witch or a warlock turned was worse especially since many refused to merge with society. We were still being hunted even until the late 17th century here in America where those poor mortals were tried and convicted," she started to remember back during that time period.

"Anyway," she continued, "again, we were still having trouble convincing the general witch and warlock population to merge and meld with mortals. We'd ended up having one mad witch where the blood thirsty lycan part wasn't appeased during her transformations. She'd get itchy to change and would. It led to children being taken and eaten. I remember your Great Grandmother rescuing a couple of kids... Now what were their names? Han... Handle? No," she began to ponder, "That's not it," as she started on another random segue.

"GRAN!" I yelled, "Focus!"

"Oh, yes," she paused taking a bit of her pancakes, "Ugh! These are cold!" Snapping her fingers the plate flew over towards the stove and the oven door dropped, "Here give me yours dear," as mine flew through the air and into the oven. "Ten minutes on low should be good," she murmured.

"So? Where was I?" she started up again after wiping her mouth, "Oh yes," remembering her place, "Your Great Grandmother and I started working on the incantation. I finished it around 1734. Your Grand Gran had already returned to the 'Eternal Ether' about twenty years before. She was old when I was born. I wasn't even supposed to happen. They're still not sure how your Great Grandfather got it up to even have sex."

My face palm caught her attention and she stopped prattling about the family sex drive for a second before looking at me, "You should be proud Jesse. I think you take after your Great Grandfather in that regard."

The loud banging sound that reverberated across the kitchen was my head repeatedly slamming itself against the dining table.

"Gran," I grunted in exasperation, "Please!"

"Ok, ok," she smiled at me as I peeked up to look into her eyes, "I'm just saying." "GRAN!"

Laughing she continued, "Such a prude at times. You take after your Mother in that regard." Hiking her ankle up onto the nearby chair she took on a bit of seriousness, "It took a while but I finally realized after studying the problem for decades was that we needed a way to prevent the bite of a lycan from infecting the 'Red Capes'. By that time, however, our coven was the only ones remaining. The others had tried counter spells only to have them reflected by the infected witch or warlock that they might be dealing. An infected mortal turned lycan is much easier to deal with than a witch or warlock that has been turned."

"The Druids had always been able to heal. We witches and warlocks only had limited training at the time and used the Druid's that resided near us to help us heal after battles. That was, until I convinced the Council to send a group over to England to study under them about 270 something years ago."

Taking a sip of her coffee she continued, "It was during one discussion with a Druid named 'Mathers' that it struck me that only a combination of the Druid healing, witchcraft and lycan blood would enable a witch or warlock to fight a feral without fear of being 'turned'," she paused a moment to look up towards the clock.

"It should be long enough," then snapping her right fingers. The oven door dropped and the plates moved across the kitchen to sit on two pot holders that she'd placed down in front of us on the tablecloth.

We began to eat when I chimed in, "So the incantation basically merges the blood of a lycan that has been changed by Druid healing and witchcraft to essentially infect us without the transformation issues or the problems that are associated with leading a solitary lifestyle thus keeping our wits, intelligence and the need of an Alpha."

"Correct; to an extent," she got out after swallowing a chunk of pancakes.

"What extent?" I asked.

"While we are not subservient to an Alpha, we still need them close to essentially 'please and support' the wolf that is within our bodies. That was something that neither Druid healing nor witchcraft could overcome. It's why I and your Grandfather lived here on the coast and near Blake's pack."

"What about Mom? I know of no packs up or near Monterrey," posing the next question that reverbed across my brain.

"Your Mother never chose to use the spell," Gran said with a shrug. "Don't get me wrong or think that I'm disappointed in her. She's been a great help in the past when we've had to deal with ferals and is one hell of an imposing witch in her own right but she never felt the call to use the spell. It's a funny sort of incantation. It literally has to call out to you to use it and not vice versa. It's as if the wolf blood is the one who chooses."

"There are also few other things about the incantation that you have now experienced. You could call them side effects but I would say they're more advantages over the average witch or warlock, for that matter, any of the older covens of 'Red Capes'," trying to calm my obvious concern that etched across my face.

"That would be?" I asked with a hint of trepidation.

"The buzzing you heard?" she asked smiling.

I nodded, "Its less now than before."

"It was the television," she laughed. "You're hearing the high pitch of the components. Most everyone can hear them but since you now have the blood of a lycan infused within your being your hearing is accentuated. You're getting more accustomed to your new hearing now so that's why it's not bothering you as much. You'll be able to hear things clearer and further away than you have before. You're going to need to practice not eavesdropping on people. I can hear everything that goes on in this house," she said flatly.

I almost choked on the thought of my Grandmother listening to me masturbating as a teenager or for that matter just a few minutes ago.

"I see you understand what I mean," she laughed at my obvious embarrassment and the flush the crept up my body. "Don't worry sweetie," still laughing, "Your Mother and I put all around your room beginning when you were about eleven years old. We knew your privacy was important. It's still in effect with the exception of your bedroom door. You used a muffling spell on that but all that does is making the words indiscernible, if you remember, so you might want to fully silence the room from the outside."

"That," she paused putting down her fork, "and..."

"My eyesight at night?" I broke in trying to change the subject.

"Exactly!" exclaiming and shifting her ankle off the chair, "It'll also be better during the day. You'll be able to see further than you had previously. Your agility and speed with be better. Since you're young and in good shape," she spoke as she stretched her body, "It's hard to say how much. The other thing is that you'll have better stamina as well. You're going to need it traipsing all over the forest trying to find any ferals and the one that's the cause of this situation."

"What about smell?" I asked. She shook her head, "No, it's the only thing that is not part of the change. To this day, I don't know why it didn't transfer over during the initial incantation creation but it didn't. So you're going to have to rely on your eyesight, hearing and clues found in the woods. There's a book of Druid earth signs that I have lying around here somewhere. I think it's in the kitchen cabinet next to the wormwood. I don't use the stuff and it probably got stuff there since I haven't used that book in ages. Although, it might help you and Blake."

A loud backfire from out front grabbed our attention. "Speaking of...."

**Latin Translation:

Speak the spell of healing...

Lycan blood, Druid healing

Witches words, drawn and feeling

Shielding me from harm

Let Oak, hemlock and aconite mixed in the blood

Protect the castor of this spell from taking form anon