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ENTER THE WERE-FOXES
All of them looked like the boy who had been taunting her at school, but bigger. Freya took an involuntary step backwards. She’d been so busy worrying about storm sprites that she hadn’t paid enough attention to her surroundings, thinking herself safe from the mundane.
As she eyed the group warily, wondering how to get around them, she realised that in fact this was not a mundane encounter. Every one of the large boys in front of her had lengthening hair on their exposed forearms. And curiously, she could see their nostrils flaring as they took a threatening step towards her. She had a sudden wild thought that perhaps this was simply a meeting of the ginger society on steroids, before shaking herself back to reality. She had to find a way home. And she didn’t want to get entangled with what was looking worrying like a pack of weres. Were-what, she didn’t know and didn’t want to have to find out.
She eyed the feral grins of the boys. Were their canines lengthening? One of them stepped closer with a swagger in his step.
“Are you listening, Freya? This information could save your life one day.” Her mother’s remembered voice made an unwelcome counterpoint.
“So, new girl in town, eh? We heard about you and your sister.”
Freya gritted her teeth and forced out a reply (not easy, through gritted teeth, but that was the way these boys made her feel).
“I’m just getting home before the storm. I’m not looking for trouble.”
“Don’t keep reading your book, you need to know how to deal with weres.”
Not helpful, Mum.
“Well, looks like trouble found you first,” sniggered the leader. Freya wondered how long he’d been waiting to say that - or if he said it every time he and his friends cornered someone.
“Don’t you want to avoid the storm too?” she suggested in a reasonable tone.
“Keep them thinking, not acting.”
Good advice, Mum, Freya thought. How about some specifics?
“Nah, it’s more fun out here, ain’t it boys?” The red-haired leader looked back at his red-haired cronies and winked. “If we stay out a bit longer, we can fight the sprites. But-” his attention turned back to Freya. “You are in our patch here. And you’re not one of us. If you wanna use this way, you’re going to have to fight for the right. Yeah, fight for the right!”
“Whatever you do, avoid large groups of weres.”
Too late, Mum. Now what?
The group began to clap in time, grinning at each other and chanting. Freya was sure their canines were longer now. She needed to know what they were in order to deal with them. Werewolves? No, none of the re-wilding movements had managed to get wolves approved yet, so anything wolf-shaped that turned up would be shot by angry farmers protecting their stock. Were-polecats? That would be weird. And they’d be able to climb. These guys didn’t look especially agile though. Maybe... she cast her mind about, trying to think of what animals were gingery around here. Ah! Foxes. She sniffed, suddenly aware that her movements were being copied by the figures ranged around her. A rank odour met her nose. Yes, foxes seemed about right. Didn’t they smell bad? Right on cue, the ringleader wrinkled his nose at her.
“You’re not just new, you smell weird. Boys, don’t she smell weird?” His cohort nodded obediently. They didn’t seem to bother thinking for themselves.
“Yeah, she stinks. Stinks worse than the singletons round here. What is she?”
“We’ll have to have a bath after we beat her up, Tobes.”
“Nah, Lachy, it’s gonna rain. Don’t fuss your fur.”
“I reckon we’ll need deodorant after her.”
“Nah, put the deodorant on her, man. Keep it real.”
Ugh. She didn’t care for their banter. She was pretty sure of her identification now. Were-foxes. They stank, not her. It was worrying that they seemed to think that she smelled different though. Could they tell demis from regular humans? That might be a problem, one day. If they were weres, she supposed that they would have a better than average sense of smell. That would also explain the ginger fur starting to cover their arms, and the incipient beards on previously beardless faces. Also, foxes hanging out in an alleyway, how typical. Really, the only thing that was odd if she judged them by fox standards was the way they were hanging out together. Maybe that was something weres did differently. She couldn’t recall. Right now, she needed to know how to escape a pack of were-foxes, and she didn’t have hounds and horses to help her out. Or did she?
She snapped her fingers involuntarily, a sudden movement that caught the attention of the whole group. They all focused on her hand. She moved it to the right, and their eyes followed it. She crouched briefly, picked up a random piece of rubbish - a half-eaten packet of crisps, it turned out to be, and tossed it to the side, away from her, hoping to divert attention away from herself. The group pounced after it as one. She was startled by their reaction, but quickly took advantage of it by starting to run back the way she had come. Back one block and over a street there was something that just might help - if she could get that far. The wind was whipping about her face now, the few trees on the grassy slopes above the town being blown by great gusts. The sky was darkening rapidly, although it was not nearly sundown. She pelted down the alley and took the corner faster than was sensible, grabbing the rough brick corner of the greengrocers building to help swing herself round faster.
Up the street again, the way she obviously should have gone the first time round. The streets were deserted now, shop fronts covered by roll-down frontages or locked metal grids. Soft footsteps followed her, their lack of sound scarier than the clatter of boots would have been. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. While she spent plenty of time walking, she didn’t do much running these days. She’d need some breath for what she planned to do. Just a bit further...
A clawed hand grabbed at her arm, slowing her as she twisted away from it. But she reached out in one desperate lunge and grabbed the stone fountain with both hands. She vaulted into the shallow water that surrounded the leaping horse sculptures at its centre and started to sing a song-web. She didn’t know for sure that anything inhabited this fountain, but it was an unusual thing to grace a square in such a small town. Maybe just once in her life she’d get lucky. And if nothing else, there was a chance of a water deity.
Red-furred weres tumbled to a halt at the edge of the fountain, circling round it and growling. None of them seemed inclined to speak now. She added a couple of extra notes to her song and circled the horses herself. It wouldn’t do to have a raging grindylow or nixie grabbing her rather than grabbing her foes. The fountain was only just big enough for this spell. Reaching the end of her circle, facing the ringleader again, she completed her song.
There was a tremendous cracking sound as the hooves of the fountain’s horses broke free. A smell of chill, dank caves rolled forth, making Freya gasp for fresher air. The stone horses leapt out of the fountain, battering were-foxes with their stony hooves, their mouths opening in silent neighs. Water splashed over Freya, making her gasp. The weres ran back the way they had come in dismay, yelping when those hard hooves came into contact with them. The sound of stone hooves on asphalt was a dull clatter, quickly receding.
Freya didn’t wait to see what happened next. She climbed soggily out of the pool, muttering a quick thanks, and ran up the street and homewards as best she could. She left a trail of wet footprints at first, but as she ran the storm broke over her, a deluge of heavy raindrops that obliterated her trail. She could smell ozone as the rain hit the concrete.
Freya glanced upwards. The clouds were too close now to see if sprites accompanied them. Sprites were mostly found above thunderclouds; they only descended to pester mortals when the clouds lowered. She increased her pace. She had no idea how long the being that had inhabited the fountain’s horses would keep the were-fox pack occupied, but she needed to get home before the storm reached its full fury.
Of course, foxes were supposed to be cunning, too, so she shouldn’t discount further problems from the weres. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get in her way now. All she had to do was run a couple more streets and she’d be on the home stretch. Of course, she wasn’t used to running far at a time. She could cope with doing school sports within the limits of what was perceived as acceptable (that meant running slowly and complaining about it afterwards). Running from a were-pack was a misadventure that hadn’t come her way before, and she didn’t feel like she was fit enough for the challenge. Right now, she was gasping for each breath, she had a stitch in her side, and her legs were sending extremely negative messages her way. Assuming she got out of this mess in one piece, she was totally going to add some running training into her weekly schedule. Sadly, the limited repertoire of things that worked for her as a demi did not include superhuman strength or agility. Or growing things. Frankly, she was amazed her song-web had worked, without the support of her sister.
Freya risked a glance back, and was encouraged that she could not see any of the red-haired were-fox boys.
Just one more street now, she told her heaving lungs. A flash of russet glimpsed from the corner of her eyes was the only warning she was given. All at once she was at the centre of a flurry of kicks, bites and punches. The physical assault was stunning, so unexpected and rough. Freya tried to battle her way out of the middle of the brawling weres, with little effect.
How did they catch up with me? I suppose four-legged creatures can run faster than two-legged ones.
For a few, horrible minutes, there was nothing but pain - first individual pain points as one punch was succeeded by a kick. Then there seemed to be no discerning each blow from the next. Were those teeth in her leg?
Yuck, I hope they brush those canines. Who knows what diseases they’re carrying?
The thought was irrational, but helped to focus her mind away from the pain. What could she do? She wasn’t trained as a fighter, and there were more large were-foxes than she could cope with. Freya was quickly overwhelmed and pinned down by the fighting weres.
It was an entirely unexpected relief when a sudden flash of orange light lit up the area, leaving a smell of singed fur in its wake. The were-fox boys sprang back in confusion, out of the path of the being which had burnt its way through them.
“Home time, boys. Leave off, Lachy, Tobes.”
“I reckon if the sprite wants her, it can have her.”
“Yeah, he might like the smell.”
In a burble of voices, the were-foxes retreated.
Ugh! thought Freya. They think they’re funny. Despite the beating they had given her, Freya watched the sprite, if that’s what it was, rather than the weres. She did not trust this last-minute saviour. Also, one of her eyes had been hit, and it was already swelling and hard to see in the direction the weres had gone.
The sprite seemed to solidify, and as Freya struggled to focus, it became apparent that it was a tallish boy, or possibly young man, rather than a sprite, with a pack of assorted dogs on leads yelping and struggling to run after the vanishing weres. The figure held something bundled up in his arms. Whatever it was, was squirming around. And the man was rather familiar. Not a sprite after all.
“Lio? Is there a storm you don’t turn up with?”
“It looked like you were having a bit of trouble with the locals,” said Lio. Was it only her imagination that projected an undertone of thunder to his voice? Lightning flashed over the hills, and Freya decided that yes, it was her imagination. There was plenty of real thunder around, no need to imagine any extra. Lio’s dark hair was plastered to his head by the rain, which was now pattering down in huge drops. The bundle leapt out of his arms and disappeared into the unnatural twilight. Freya couldn’t quite tell what it had been. Lio’s shoulder’s slumped.
“Oh, Thor’s balls. I’ll have to catch him again, now. I’ve seen those weres off for now, but you should be careful not to go about alone in this town. It’s a were-haven, you know.”
“That’s news to me. Although I was just getting educated about it, I guess. How about next time we move, you let me know in advance what sort of place we’re heading into. That’d be much more helpful than after I’ve had a run-in with some unpleasant type or other.”
“Maybe if you tell me when you’re going and where...” Lio trailed off suggestively.
“Yeah, right. Because you’re so reliable in your appearances.”
“It’s not easy when you’re at the beck and call of the storm gods.”
“Oh, so that’s your excuse? Well, I’m not buying it.”
Freya kept up her show of snark in self-defence. She had missed having Lio to talk to, but she didn’t want to admit weakness. Why on earth had they moved to a town with weres anyway? Surely their previous experiences should have made this town a no-go area for them - if they’d known.
“How do you always know so much about who lives where, anyway?”
“Oh, you know. The answer is blowing in the wind.”
“That is the worst pun.”
“It wasn’t meant to be one, it’s a song,” retorted Lio.
“Oh. Sorry. Umm. So, thanks for getting rid of those weres.” Apologising to people wasn’t like her at all, but then, getting beaten up was a new experience too. Come to think of it...
“How did you see them off? All I saw was a flash of light. I thought maybe we’d been struck by lightning; except we aren’t dead. And you’ve never had dogs with you when I’ve met you before, either.” She moved her hand out of the way of a questing muzzle.
She saw Lio’s teeth reflect another flash of lightning as he grinned. He had rather a nice smile, she thought, irrelevantly. How come she’d never noticed it before?
“Oh, foxes don’t like my dogs. I acquired them recently. Part of growing up in my world, you know. Though they were rather foisted on me when I inadvertently proved that I was capable of looking after another living being. You’ll like that part - at least you will when I’ve retrieved it. These are the hounds of winter, or of war. Storm-hounds. It turns out that no matter what they’re called, they still don’t get along with cats. As for lightning... I suppose there was a bit of lightning as the dogs went after the foxes, maybe that’s why you thought of it.”
Freya was not convinced - she was sure the light and burnt fur smell were not her imagination - but she certainly didn’t want to stand around debating it with Lio in a storm. No matter how dire the situation he had rescued her from, and no matter how nice his smile. The wind was strengthening, pushing her towards her house, and the rain on her face stung as it spat at her, such was its force.
“Well, thanks again,” she said. “I need to get home now. Thanks. Er... Bye.” Aware that she was repeating herself, Freya backed away a few steps, then turned and ran again, as an enormous peal of thunder split the air. Lio called something after her, which she didn’t quite catch. He did not follow.
One last effort took her staggering legs to the door of her house. The wind helped her, pushing at her back and whipping her hair into her face. Hail arrived before she got to the door, stinging her already painful skin. Luckily, she did not have to fumble for a key, as the door proved to be unlocked.
There was nothing worth stealing inside, anyway.
Old houses without storm defences are cheap... thought Freya, as she closed and locked the door behind her, thankful to have walls between her, the weres and the storm.
***
