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                Maggie

dropped out of sight. There was concern over what she was doing, but I had

faith in the little beast. She was street wise, and with the internet at her

disposal, I think she was smarter than she ever let on. When she came back to

the suite a few days later, climbing in the window, she was dirty and tired. I let her sleep for hours,

checking in on her to see how she was doing. I had never seen her sleep so

soundly.

                When

she awoke, she hit the shower, giving me a come-hither look. I politely

declined, and I think it might have been the right thing to do. She shrugged it

off and got washed up. Still, she came out totally naked and sat on the couch

next to me.

                "So

young lady, where have you been? I was getting worried about you."

                "No you

weren't. I never got a call from you."

                "Of

course you didn't. You left your phone here."

                She

smiled in that way that said, whoops, I

was just found out. "I know. I didn't want to have anyone trying to call me

back. I needed to satisfy my curiosity."

                "Curiosity

killed the cat they say. What were you looking for?"

                "I was

looking for our mystery cousin. I've been cross referencing murders and

disappearances here in New York for the past ten years. I found a trend that I

think no one else noticed. So I went back twenty years. Then thirty.  Farther back than that gets to be problematic.

But I found something very disturbing."

                "Well,

you are looking up murders and such, now aren't you? What do you expect?"

                "I

expect any self respecting werewolf to cover his or her tracks carefully and to

restrict their feeding to those who deserve death."

                "OK."

                "I

found evidence of someone killing indiscriminately. And I mean in a bad way.

Little kids, boys and girls; ladies and men of all walks of life. I don't know

if the killing in the park was this person's doing or not, but I think that

there is a true murderer on the loose." She actually shivered.

                I

fought the urge to hug her. I knew where that would lead. "So you think, and I

say think, you found someone with werewolf. What makes you think that over this

whole time, it's the same person?" Then I made a connection. "You're not saying

it's Verona are you?"

                She

made a face. "I don't know. She claims that she didn't kill that other guy in

the park. I know who I took down, so that leaves us still with a mystery. But

if you want my opinion, I think that some of the killings are probably hers,

since they fit her M.O. She seems like she's a nice person, so no; I think that

there is someone else out there, and that that person is very evil."

                I shut

my mouth until the feeling that came over me passed. I had thought that all

werewolves were evil, but that was only a myth. They killed to live because it

was part of their nature. That made them (me?) more like any other predator out

there. It was a matter of survival. But taking the weak and the innocent was

indeed evil. For one thing, it was unsporting. Secondly, it was despicable.

                "I'm

not sure what I'm supposed to say about this Maggie. This is a huge city.

Verona has been here for years and no one is any wiser. What makes you think

that you can find some other werewolf that has been here for years?"

                "Because

I did."

                I felt

a sinking feeling creep up into my bowels. I felt the urge to vomit. It wasn't

her words, it was the way she said them.

                "You

found this other werewolf?"

                "Yep.

He's got to go father. I have done things I'm not proud of, but this man is

sick. I don't know who he is, but he smells like death. He's old, so very old,

and his place reeks of horrible deeds. "

                "That

isn't up to us Maggie. We can't be judge and jury for his crimes, assuming you're

correct about him."

                "I

thought you might get all noble on me. It's so like you. I think this matter  needs to be discussed with the others and see

what they think. For all we know, they might know who this guy is."

                I had

to agree with her. We went over to Verona's apartment. There was food on the

table, and I will say no more about it except that I wasn't into it yet. I didn't

ask, and no one volunteered the information.

                Maggie

told them about her findings. After receiving reprimands for going out by

herself, the conversation settled down as to who the mystery man might be.

Maggie asked questions that strove to get at the heart of the matter.

                'Has

there ever been a werewolf who went off the deep end?"

                "The deep

end?" asked Alupenia. "If you mean mentally unstable, then yes dear. It happens

a lot. Being in feral form is directly opposite of being in control of one's

human  mind. If the feral mind leaks into

the sane brain, then it causes madness."

                Reynaud

spoke up. "It happened in major way back in France a long time ago. I'm sure

your grandparents knew all about it. Here in the states, there have been

isolated incidents where someone loses control, but nothing recently."

                Maggie

was not convinced. "Do you know every werewolf out there?"

                I think

they were about to say yes when it hit them that they knew nothing about me, or

Maggie, or our family lines. "I guess not dear. So you may be correct. What can

you tell us about his man?"

                "Well,

he's old. I mean, you look old, but he looks and smells ancient. The age seems

to flake off of his persona and fall to the floor like dandruff. It makes my

nose hurt. His clothes seem quaint, if that's the right word, like something

from a gone-by era. I know this is New York, but even he has to stand out at

times. The weird thing is he seems to have no care for silver. He has a cane

topped with it at least, and I swear I heard some jingling in his pockets."

                "He

lives in a back alley apartment. I can take you there if you like. But mostly,

he walks around the city, keeping to the shadows when he can. It's like it's

old instinctive prowling. I'm not even sure he notices that he does it."

                "Sounds

creepy." I said. "But did you see him change?"

                "No

need to. His smell is strong. I told you the odors seem to drop off of him like

solid matter. I don't know why Verona never smelled it."

                We turned

to her. She was white. "I did. I stayed away from it. There are thousands of

smells here, and I never tracked down each and every one. This smell was

horrifying, and my sense of preservation said to stay as far away as possible. So

I think I know of whom you speak, yet I find it hard to believe. His scent

vanished a while ago."

                This meant

little to me. My nose wasn't nearly that sensitive. "What kept him from finding

you?"

                She

shivered. "Probably nothing. But he would know in his mind that tackling

another werewolf wouldn't be worth the bother. It sounds like he prefers easy

marks."

                Her

parents were speaking to each other in whispers. Maggie snapped her fingers. "If

you have something to add, then please do. I may not be perfect in anyone's

eyes, but this guy is horrid. The urge to kill him is growing very strong

inside me."

                Reynaud

looked sick. "There is a possibility. To think that there exists even the

remotest chance that he is alive is frightening beyond belief. There was one of

ours who once lived in this city. He did terrible things without remorse. If he

had stuck with criminals and such, his career as a murderer would largely have

been ignored. But he was sick and ruthless. The lunacy took him over entirely."

                Maggie

was listening with rapt attention. "Well, what happened to this guy?"

                "He was

put to death dear.  Back in nineteen thirty

six"

                That wasn't

much help. A dead man wasn't our man. So it had to be someone else. "I suppose

then that there isn't much point in bringing him up, is there."

                Verona's

mother pulled Maggie closer. "What can you tell me about this man you saw?"

                "Let's

see. He had a droopy mustache, piercing eyes, he was thin and gaunt, and his

clothing looked like he got them at a thrift store. He stunk of death and

decay. And I think you know what I mean. If I make a kill, I smell like fresh

blood. This guy smelled like he has blood clinging to him from long ago."

                She

then looked at her daughter. "Is this what you smelled in the park?"

                "I don't

know mother, but I have smelled him before. I kept my nose out of his business

so that he might keep his out of mine."

                "Wise. Still,

I think you should have mentioned this long before now. It may represent a

legitimate problem. But now there are a group of us here. It would seem an

intervention is in order. I say Maggie dear; did you happen to get a name on

this man?"

                She

pulled a piece of mail out of her pocket. I hadn't seen it before. She unfolded

it and handed it to Lupenia. The woman looked at it and blanched. Her husband

snatched it out of her hand. "Oh God! This has to be a joke."

                Verona

grabbed it, but her reaction ended up being about the same as mine. There was nothing

special about the envelope. It was addressed to Albert Fish, or Present

Occupant."

                "Who is

Albert Fish?"

                Her parents

were talking rapidly. I could see in their distraction that dark fur was sprouting

from their exposed skin. When they realized they were in the midst of a transformation

they collected themselves and quieted down.

                "Albert

was the one I mentioned. He was a dirty, stinking blot on werewolf history. He

did things that make even that hardest among us cringe. We do not talk openly about

him."

                Maggie

was always so subtle. "But if he's dead, how can he be alive?"

                "That's

an excellent question dear. I wish I knew."

                "I

thought silver killed a werewolf permanently."

                "It

does dear. But he was electrocuted; twice. We had no idea if the human way of

dealing death would work on our kind, but we were assured that he was dead.

They buried him in an undisclosed location."

                "So

what you're saying is that maybe, just maybe he recovered from his punishment

and clawed his way out of the grave?"

                "Yes!"

                I felt

shivers of horror running down my spine. This went from being a matter of

werewolves to now, undead werewolves. No wonder this guy smelled bad. I would

too if I had been declared dead over seventy years before!

                I had

to ask. "This man, this werewolf of whom you speak. Was it known that he was a

werewolf? I don't think I've ever heard of him before."

                Reynaud

was shaking his head. "Oh, he was quite well known in his day. He got many

nicknames in the press leading up to his execution; the Gray Man, the Brooklyn

Vampire, the Moon Manic, the Boogey Man."

                Lupenia

added one more."He was also called the Werewolf of Wysteria."