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Jacques Dubois was born in 1991, the sixth child of what would eventually be a family of nine children. The fourth son, he had no real standing in his father’s eyes—he was neither the firstborn nor the lastborn, and he was neither the first son, nor the last. Jacques, for all intensive purposes, was just another child to add to the list of Ava and Hugo Dubois; another child to prove how fertile and fruitful Hugo Dubois was.
Ava was an attentive mother and took great care in schooling all her children herself. But, as is often the way with any mother, the youngest children, especially when they are still babes drinking from their mother’s breast, will naturally receive more focus than the elder children.
With Jacques being an adventurous, curious child, this would work against him. His natural need to delve into everything and sneak off into places he really shouldn’t go would eventually land him in big trouble with nosey men from the neighbouring village of Dalmellington.
The village folk knew that people lived in the wild woods, and they also knew the truth of the people that lived in the woods; the dark secret of the creatures they could turn into.
For young shifters, their strongest night to turn was that of a full moon, but even then, they couldn’t draw the power they needed until they turned thirteen.
Unfortunately for Jacques, the night of his thirteenth birthday would be the beginning of a sad life for him.
Excited to be finally like his dad and able to shift into a powerful wolf, Jacques practiced his turn several times in front of his delighted family. Finally feeling like he had his father’s approval, Jacques was pumped full of joy.
Not far from their home in the woods stood a great hilltop that overlooked a beautiful valley. Being born and raised inside the vast expanse of Galloway Forest Park gave Jacques the ability to not only admire such stunning scenery but also know the best places to view them.
Under that night’s full moon, Jacques knew if he stood on the particular hilltop he had in mind, he would be able to fulfil his lifelong dream of being the perfect silhouette of a wolf howling in front of the moon.
Urged on by nothing but that ideal, Jacques galloped off to his perfect setting when his parents started putting his younger brother and sisters to bed. Keen excitement rose inside him, eager in his new mission now his father had been impressed.
What Jacques hadn’t considered was the men from Dalmellington knowing when the shifters were most likely to turn, and also using that same hilltop as a vantage point to spot such a feat.
Dalmellington had grown from a small hamlet into a village over the centuries, all of its inhabitants accepting of the fact they lived in peaceful harmony with the beasts in the woods. They did not bother them and vice versa.
However, that didn’t mean that rumours of magickal properties coming from such people weren’t rife.
To the village folk of Dalmellington, to catch one of these shifters would be fulfilling an ancient prophecy that promised untold riches and fortune for the native families from there.
Aware that one adult shifter was more than a match for twenty human adults, ten men banded together and decided they could take on a child between them; all they had to do was watch and wait.
Unbeknown to Jacques, the men had already spotted his eldest brother Louis, who had been running over the landscape chasing deer.
Louis had been caught but after biting one of the men, had managed to break out of their flimsy net. As Louis fled back home to warn his father of the danger, Jacques was already on his way out to the hilltop, only a mere two miles behind his brother as the crow flies.
Jacques reached the hilltop and took just a minute to gain his breath. Then, with the full moon bearing down on him in all her silver glory, he closed his eyes and imagined himself changing form.
Just as he’d done several times that night already, his body moved with such fluidity, the transition was all but painless. And there, just as he imagined, he stood at the peak of the hill and bayed to the moon.
Lost in his echoing howls, Jacques didn’t hear the quiet breaths of the men in the treeline. They’d been about to pack up and go home, figuring it best not to anger the people from the woods anymore, but then, as if their very prayers had been answered, there had appeared Jacques.
As they watched Jacques tilt his head up to the lunar delight on display, they quickly picked their way across the dewy grass; two nets, two ropes, and two pitchforks in hands. Before Jacques knew what was happening, a rope tightened around his throat, cutting off his joyful howl. Another rope gripped the base of his tail, painfully seizing him to the spot.
One man stuck his pitchfork against Jacques’ ribs, warning him to behave. Within ten seconds, the happy thirteen-year-old shifter boy had been caught and detained by the people of Dalmellington.
Shocked and stunned, Jacques didn’t fight. The biting agony from the rope around his tail was enough to freeze any escape attempts. The humans had learned their lesson with Louis it seemed.
Jacques was taken to the village hall and down into the cellar they used as brief holding cells for any unruly citizens. The men stood guard, all ropes, nets, and pitchforks in place, until the message for their generous donator was delivered.
Offered little water and no food, Jacques only grew weaker and weaker throughout the dozen hours he was held prisoner.
When a booming voice of authority bounced off the walls around him, Jacques knew something had been planned for him. The question was what.
Through sleep-deprived slits of his eyes, Jacques made out the bustling figure of a man over six feet tall and with muscles that bulged like rocks. His entire demeanour screamed power and Jacques could do nothing but wait for his sentence to be heard.
“Excellent catch, men,” the man said, striding up to the iron railings keeping Jacques contained. “I have paid your Mayor already. Well done. I can take it from here.”
The men bowed and mumbled their thanks before rushing upstairs to their fruits and riches. The man unlocked the heavy chains keeping the railings closed and marched over to his prize. In his right hand he held a needle and syringe.
“Now then,” said the man, patting a weakened Jacques on the muzzle. “I think we’re going to become great friends. My name is Malaceia and I have an excellent job waiting in England for you.” He lowered his hand to Jacques neck, tilting the needle towards him. “Just a quick pinch and it’ll be a nice long sleep for you.”
Jacques yelped as the needle stuck his skin but then succumbed to darkness.
***
WHEN JACQUES WOKE AGAIN, he found himself underground. The damp earthy smell filtering through his nose told him this along with the lack of windows and the poor light served by candles and a handful of questionable filament lamps.
He scrambled to his feet, surprised to see he’d shifted back into a boy. He was inside a small cage made from steel railings. If he held his arms out straight, he would be able to touch the sides all around him. To his left and his right was an endless line of similar cages, all with young boys trapped inside.
The boy in the cage to his left whispered, “Hey, I’m Dylan.”
Jacques turned to him, surprised to see the blank emotion covering his dark eyes. “Jacques. What is this place? Where are we?”
“England. This is some kind of freaky lab. Don’t make him angry.”
“Who?”
“Gregory. He’ll hurt you, real bad.”
“Who’s Gregory?”
A door slammed shut. Dylan jumped and bolted to the back of his cage. He pressed his right index finger to his lips in a shush motion and stared forwards.
Footsteps echoed across the white tiled floor making it hard to pinpoint where they were originating from.
At the edge of the dim light, in the dancing shadows from the candles, Jacques could just make out the tall, gangly figure of a man in a white lab coat. Thick, black rimmed glasses framed his face and the stern look set on his features told anyone within a hundred-yard radius not to pee him off.
Jacques scuttled back in his cage when he realised the man was heading straight for him.
“Lovely,” the man said. “You’re awake. I’m Gregory.” He wrenched open the door to Jacques’ cage and stuck his arm in, reaching for Jacques. “No need to be afraid. I don’t bite.” Gregory chuckled. “Well, unless you make me.”
Jacques pressed himself against the steel railings, trying to stay out of Gregory’s reach, but it was fruitless. Gregory had made these cages with the intention of being able to reach every part of them with just an arm. He’d learned long ago not to stick his head and torso in the cage as well.
Before he knew what was happening, Gregory had a hold of his left ear and yanked on it, forcing Jacques to follow the movement.
“Don’t be awkward, now. The others will tell you it only makes it harder on you.”
Jacques looked across at Dylan. The other boy quickly glanced at Jacques and nodded before returning his deadpan stare back to the front again. It was at that point Jacques decided to just play quiet and follow what was being asked of him.
Gregory walked quickly through the dimly lit room. When he reached a single personnel door, he yanked it open and shoved Jacques through into another small room, lit only by a single, low powered light bulb. Three strides across this cold tile floor, up a set of stairs, and there was another door. This time when Gregory opened it, the bright light that streamed into Jacques’ eyes almost blinded him.
The cold, clinical feel to the lab chilled Jacques to the bone. The steady whirring and humming of machines filled the silence. Gregory hurried Jacques down a narrow aisle between several tables of test tubes, microscopes, and robotic arms.
When Jacques saw the big black leather chair facing him, panic immediately consumed him. All of his instincts told him to fight. Despite the other boy’s warning from only minutes before, Jacques scrambled for his freedom, all legs, arms, and teeth going for anything.
To his surprise, Gregory let him go. Jacques paused for a millisecond to find his escape route but was instead met with four seamless white walls. A low chuckle beat his joy down.
“Where do you think you’re going to go, hmmm?” Gregory said. “There is nowhere for you but this white room, my friend. Get used to it. Quickly.”
Gregory marched over to Jacques and grabbed a hold of his left wrist. He dragged the frightened boy to his chair of doom and strapped him in with two-inch-wide leather straps around each ankle, wrist, and around his throat.
And that was the beginning of Jacques Dubois’ life as a test subject in the lab of Gregory Kempe.