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Later that evening, Katana arrived at the small hunting lodge her family owned. Nestled right next to Loch Trool in Dumfries, the stunning grey stone building resembled a downscaled castle.
A small round tower housed the front door and a window near the top. To the left and the right of the circular stonework were two regular looking miniature ‘wings.’ It slept eight people and was entirely self-sufficient with its own hydro-electricity and water supplies, and a fully functioning wood burning stove.
Feeling rather worn out from the travel, Katana rolled her eyes at the orange sunset on the horizon, refusing to give in to her body screaming for rest.
Desperate to make some progress on the case, she pulled out a heart-shaped bloodstone from her hand luggage and closed her fist around it.
As the driver unloaded Altair from the trailer, Katana took a brief moment to close her eyes and feel the power of the stone re-energising her whole body.
By the time Altair clattered off the loading ramp, snorting like a wild mustang, Katana felt like she’d had a power nap.
The beautiful lodge was in the shadow of Robert the Bruce’s stone. It was quite a tourist attraction which meant good news and bad news.
It was good for Katana in that she would never be far from help if she was ever in dire need of it. It was also good because it meant it was more than likely the attack happened near the lodge.
However, it was bad news because it meant more civilians could be in harms way. The acres of barren hills, mountainsides, small woodlands, and damp moorland provided the perfect landscape for adventurous hikers—and werewolves.
With hundreds of trees and wild bushes for cover, stealth attacks were going to be an easy feat for any creatures out here. The sparsely populated area meant their tracks would be virtually undisturbed but also hard to find. This was going to be a tricky first case.
Katana waved goodbye to Morgan, the driver who had brought her up here, and saddled Altair up.
From the maps she’d studied on the journey here, they weren’t too far from the crime scene. She threw her luggage into the picturesque house, saddled up, and headed out.
With Jacques trotting out in front, picking up the scent of the trail, Katana let Altair pick his way over the rough, uneven ground to find the path better suited for him.
As Altair walked over the summer grass, Katana took a moment to revel in the wild beauty surrounding her. Trees, shrubs, and bushes were in full bloom, colouring the mounds and hillsides with dots of yellows, pinks, and purples.
Katana allowed herself to be lulled into a romanticised setting of riding her horse for pleasure across the remote landscape, the wind in her hair and the evening summer sun warming her skin. It was a small moment of heaven found within a dark foundation.
A large expanse of woodland splayed out across the land in front of them. Jacques headed straight inside the treeline, his nose to the floor and his ears pricked forwards.
“I can smell him already,” Jacques said, stopping around six feet inside the treeline. “He’s not been gone long. Half an hour tops.”
“Great,” Katana replied. “Would be a male, wouldn’t it?” She sighed as she urged Altair on in the direction Jacques was now going. “Wait, Jacques—isn’t the crime scene that way?” She pointed to her left.
“Yes, but this way has the freshest trail. Have you got your bait?”
Katana sighed and rolled her eyes. She reached inside her left-hand saddle bag and pulled out a small spray bottle. She dowsed herself in the scent of freshly baked meatloaf and scowled. “When haven’t I?”
They carried on in silence. Katana mused over the basic werewolf bait—meatloaf. It tickled her considerably that a beast so huge and powerful could be lured in with something so trivial. It seemed that old fairy tales did have some standing in their details.
The practicalities of carrying freshly baked goods had been ditched with the compulsory uniform, resulting in a ‘perfume’ replacing the actual food itself. It worked just as good as the real thing.
As they reached an area where the trees started to close in and block out the dying light, Katana felt her Arab gelding tense beneath her. He stilled and started quivering from head to hoof.
Immediately, Katana drew her wakizashi, the middle sword of her full Samurai set.
Her tanto and her wakizashi were always settled against her right hip whilst her katana nestled in its own vertical sheath just behind her saddle. With its length and how its end dangled below Altair’s belly, it always made her giggle as it could easily be mistaken for something else if anyone looked at him from a funny angle.
Jacques froze. His tail pointed out behind him like an arrow as he stuck his nose in the air, twitching it from side to side.
When he realised what he’d caught scent of, he turned to Katana and Altair to shout a warning to them, but it was too late.
A pair of bright yellow eyes were already homed in on their target; the ultimate prize of a female hunter. The bear-sized beast crashed through the trees, running at Altair on its back legs. Both of its black hairy arms were outstretched towards the tender meat sat on the horse’s back.
Altair ran towards the huge creature, momentarily startling it. He darted to its left, using the precious few seconds he’d bought to zig zag through the trees like a deer.
Katana stuck to him like glue, allowing her body to relax and flow with his sudden movements. It was an art form that had taken years to master.
When they were hidden from view for the briefest of seconds by a chunky tree, Katana jumped down from Altair, leaving him to carry on through the woods without her.
Blinded by bloodlust, the werewolf ran straight past her, solely fixed on the horse slipping through the trees ahead.
As it hurtled past the tree trunk sheltering her, a gentle breeze slid through the woods, carrying her sweet meatloaf scent right into the werewolf’s path.
Katana lifted her sword, preparing to run at the werewolf from behind and deliver a paralysing blow to its spine.
But, it turned towards her at the last second, freezing her to the spot. Its evil beady eyes fixed on its prize and for the slightest of moments, it grinned. White foam hung from its mouth in thick globules, swinging from side to side as the beast galloped towards her.
A white blur dashed through Katana’s vision from the right, colliding with the dark monster in a yin-yang mix of mayhem. Snaps of jaws, growls, and angry snarls echoed through the empty area.
Katana snapped back into action. “Jacques, get out the way!” she yelled, running towards the fighting ball of wolves.
A yelp pierced the air. The two wolves parted, flanks heaving as they laboured in their breathing.
Jacques’ muzzle and chest were covered in blood. Panic flooded Katana. Had Jacques been hurt?
She dashed forwards to her friend, desperate to save his life.
When the werewolf stumbled backwards away from Jacques, Katana noticed a missing chunk of flesh from its left side, just above its hip.
Still standing on two legs, it looked at Katana and licked its lips. It took one step towards her before yelping in agony and holding the hole in its side with a dinner-plate sized paw.
Seizing her opportunity, Katana ran at the werewolf with both hands wrapped around her sword.
Before the beast could even register what was happening, Katana took a swing at its injury. In one smooth move, she severed the paw holding the wound and made the wound even deeper.
The werewolf howled in pain and fell to its knees.
Jacques bounded forwards and bit down on its good arm, soaking his muzzle in yet more blood.
Katana swung the sword above her head and brought it down across the beast’s broad back, splitting its spine in two. Now paralysed and no longer a threat, Katana stomped a foot down on its shoulders, grinning when it shrieked in response.
“Worthless piece of shit,” she shouted.
She raised her sword for a final time, ready to take its head, but the beast shocked her by laughing. Its deep rumble reverberated through her body so much, she took her foot off it, startled.
“Stupid girl,” the creature growled. “You’re just a pawn like the rest of us.”
Anger lit up inside Katana. “Fuck you!” With one clean sweep, she cut its head from its body.
Altair picked his way back through the trees just as Katana delivered her killer blow. Blood sprayed him right in the face as he emerged from the trees right in front of the dead creature. He shook his head and snorted before walking to Katana and rubbing his head on her t-shirt.
Katana pushed him off her and went to one of her saddle bags, wanting to find her fire lighting material—the final stage to killing the unsightly creatures.
The key premise from The Red Riding Hood training was that no werewolf was ever dead until the body was burned to ashes—after its heart, liver, and kidneys had been removed and burned in a separate pile of course.
Their taste for liver came from their own regeneration abilities. Nature had enabled werewolves to regenerate their own limbs, head included. It took six days, but the damn freaks could do it, apparently.
Katana had never witnessed it, but she had no desire to either.
Rifling through her saddle bag, she found what she needed and turned around, wood shavings and petrol lighter in hand. She started walking towards the body but had to jump back when it burst into flames on its own.
Altair skittled sideways away from the intense heat. Jacques ran backwards, some of his white fur singed black.
For two or three minutes, thick orange flames devoured the body of the werewolf. Then, just as if someone flicked a switch, a small ‘pop’ sounded through the air, leaving nothing but peace, quiet, and a small pile of smouldering ash.
“What the hell was that?” Katana whispered. She looked around for Jacques. “Jacques, did you see that?”
The white wolf padded out from the depths of the trees, a pensive look crossing his features. “It would be pretty hard to have not seen it.”
“Quit the sarcasm, Jacques, for once.” Katana turned and walked back to Altair, wanting her cleaning rag from her saddle bag. She stuffed her fire lighting material back in its home and pulled a blood-stained pillowcase from the leather bag. She wiped her sword clean before re-sheathing it on her right hip. “What the hell was that?”
“If I’m not mistaken, it was a werewolf—”
Katana narrowed her eyes at him.
“Sorry,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know would be the answer.”
Grabbing her canteen of water hanging from her saddle, Katana took a long, cool drink before resting back against Altair’s sturdy shoulder. “Well, I guess there’s one thing—we won’t be having a mini holiday after all.”