Authors: Lynde Lakes
After she told them of Damon’s heroic deeds and explained
how they rid themselves of their curses, she said, “The moment you see a
change, you must come to one of us immediately. We have ways to help you, and
your dad’s been working on a serum to control the changes. Perhaps by the time
the curse shows up, he’ll have found a cure. Do you have any questions?”
They were smiling like Cheshire cats and exchanged amused
looks.
Valerie grinned at Victoria. “Should we tell her?”
“What’s going on?” Angela asked, feeling a prickling along
her nerve endings.
“We’ve been experiencing mild signs of morphing since we
were thirteen,” Valerie said. “It’s a real kick.”
Victoria laughed. “I found the journals when I was ten and
we read all about it. We didn’t believe it until we actually started changing.
It was only a partial change, thickening hair, astonishing nail growth,
superior hearing—and we could run like the wind. It was a trip.”
Angela’s stomach knotted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you. You know how you get all
paranoid about us sometimes.”
“Why haven’t I seen it happening?”
“We stayed in our room during the morphing. And we washed
our hair a lot with frizz-tamer conditioner. It was easy to keep our hands
behind our backs and out of sight, but we had trouble with our sharp incisors
and had to keep our mouths closed more than usual.”
Valerie grinned. “And that was especially difficult for
Victoria. Not for me so much. Since I seldom get to talk around her.”
“This isn’t something to joke about. Until your dad and his
team of scientists find a cure for this, you must master the challenge of
sublimating and channeling your lycanthropic impulses into positive and
constructive outlets.”
They laughed and, in unison, asked, “Say, what?”
“Control your actions. You may have desires and needs—”
A sharp intake of breath from the doorway stopped her
mid-sentence. She looked up. Damon stood listening, his expression dark. He
scowled at the twins. “You should have told us. We can help you. Your Auntie
Nola is a spiritualist and she has the power to lift your curses and free you.”
Angela noticed he didn’t mention the curse would have to be
transferred onto him.
“It’s okay, Dad. We don’t change that much.”
“You will. You’re apparently in the early stages. Until all
this is settled, from sunset to sunrise, during any full moon, you’re both
confined to your rooms.”
Victoria shot to her feet. “That’s not fair. We haven’t
done anything.”
“It’ll be temporary. I’ll make an appointment with Madam
Nola right away.”
“Geez, Dad,” Victoria said. “That’s why we didn’t tell you.
You always make a big deal of things.”
“It is a big deal. And we’re going to handle it before it
gets worse.”
Chapter Six
Lazar pounded the lab table with his powerful fist, making
all the colorful glass vials rattle. Damn it, he had to control his flash
temper. But since the contractor and his crew sealed off the tunnels, he hadn’t
had an opportunity to get close to the girls. The night he siphoned blood from
Valerie years ago had proven his suspicions. But he needed current information
and samples of their ripened blood.
Fortunately, the twins’ friends could come and go like they
owned the place. If Damon and Angela only knew that the loyalty of one of
Valerie’s trusted friends could be bought so cheaply, so easily. Yesterday,
he’d hired a three-day sober alcoholic to approach the boy for him. Using the
alky-dupe, no one could ever pin anything on him. And once the boozer completed
the simple task of go-between, he’d put him out of his misery.
The derelict paid the pimple-faced hotshot fifty bucks to slip
a microchip listening device into the twins’ room. The bug picked up the
conversation loud and clear. He hadn’t expected to hear such an illuminating
earful so soon. The girl’s morphing had begun. One way or another, he intended
to get blood samples of both lupine twins. It was vital now that they were
experiencing symptoms.
From what was said into the micro bug, Madam Nola might
have the power to lift the curse from the girls before he could run his tests
on them. He was too close to a breakthrough to let her foul up his studies and
keep him from his goal—success and unlimited money. Two foreign governments
were in a bidding war for the serum.
Lazar shook his fist in the air. That screw up Dudley had
failed to get rid of the gabby spiritualist. Now it looked like he’d have to
handle her himself. An added bonus would be the acquisition of the crystal
ball. It’d be a help to know events in advance. He had to act soon.
He opened his private journal, which he shredded nightly.
Writing his thoughts down helped him zero in on the steps to a solid plan of
action. He extended an arm and looked at his long fingers. For him, each finger
represented a path about two degrees apart, and each would take him in a different
direction. His little finger was crooked from a childhood disease and
epitomized the most often traveled path. Reviewing the fingers now was a bit
like hiking to the top of Mt. Baldy and then looking down at all the different
paths he could have taken and noting that, as usual, he’d taken the most crooked
and treacherous.
He laughed to himself. Funny, how he kept getting on the
crooked path. He was lucky he’d made it this far in life with the risks he’d
taken. He chuckled again. As long as luck remained his partner, he could do
whatever the hell he wanted.
* * *
*
Damon made the appointment for first thing in the morning. The
news about his girls and something in his bones warned him it was imperative to
see Madam Nola right away.
When he, Angela, and the girls met with the medium, she
gestured for them to take a seat around the small, round table with the
black-lace tablecloth. As usual, she touched something under the table and the
room darkened and incense sprayed from a nearby plant. The girls giggled. Damon
sent them a warning look. They choked off the snigger as Madam Nola slowly and
ceremoniously slipped the velvet cover from the crystal ball sitting in the
center of the table. She muttered Egyptian words as she floated her hands
across the globe. Flames and blackness licked at gray shadows. Sounds of ghastly
cries and moans swirled around the room. Then a cascade of flaming ash hovered
over a faceless man and morphed into him. “What the heck is that?” Victoria
asked, her eyes as wide as her sister’s.
“I don’t know what that means,” Madam Nola said with a
trembling voice. “But it looks like an evil spirit has taken over a body.” Her
painted face paled, making her look like a sad clown. “Something devilish and
evil is brewing against your family.” Whispering voices swirled around the
room. Madam Nola’s eyes widened. “Now the whispering spirits are warning me
that the evil is against me as well.” She was silent a moment, as though
gathering her courage, and then she said, “It will be risky to try to lift the
twins’ curse onto Damon, and it may not work. I’ve never worked with a triad
relationship. The love is different and the circumstances are different.
However, I’ll give it my best shot.”
Victoria opened her mouth to speak, but Damon stopped her
with a sharp look. “I have faith in you, Madam Nola,” he said.
Madam Nola laughed. “I think Angela would agree that you
have faith in everyone until they fail you. Sometimes giving your trust so
easily can be fatal.”
Damon forced a smile. “I still have faith in you. I know
you’ll do your best.”
“Absolutely. And since I’ve taken the girls into my heart
and accepted them as my adopted nieces, I won’t charge you for the ritual. But
I need two days to plan and gather the needed materials.”
Damon was dying to ask whose ashes she would use this time,
but a comment like that would unglue Angela and encourage the girls to ask
questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Perhaps it was best not to joke about
this very serious situation.
Madam Nola’s eyes glistened as if she knew what he was
thinking. “For safety’s sake, due to all the evil in the ground behind your
mansion,” she said, “we shall perform the ritual up at Lake Arrowhead. Come by
with your family and pick me up at four tomorrow morning. I want to arrive at
the lake early and be set up by dawn.”
After they left Madam Nola’s home, Victoria said, “I love
Madam Nola, but do you guys really believe all that mumbo jumbo?”
Before Damon could respond, Valerie said, “Why would you
doubt her after what’s happened to us?”
“She proved herself to me long ago,” Damon said with a
growl. “And it’s crucial we give this a try. We’re probably months away from
perfecting a serum to help you girls. So this is the best option at hand.”
“What will the serum do?” Valerie asked.
“It won’t cure you, but it will help you control the
morphing and, if we’re lucky, eventually fight off the symptoms of the curse.
But that could be years away.”
* * * *
As usual, Dr. Simon L. Lazar, head of the science team,
remained after the others went home. It was the best part of the day, when he
could run his secret tests. Blood carried the very essence of an individual,
and he was very close to reaching his goal. The room suddenly felt icy. It was
as though the chilling winds coming off the San Gorgonio Mountains in dead
winter was blowing through the stone walls. He pulled on a jacket. Within
seconds, the air above him turned blast furnace hot. The heat entered his head
and curled down through his body. His skin burned as though licked by flames.
He stiffened as he felt an evil soul join his. Violent images swirled in his
mind—blood and the ripped out throats of many women. His greed took on a new
depth. Overpowering hatred grew within him like a cancer, and he lusted for
revenge. His goal was no longer merely money. He wanted Damon Lamont to suffer
a thousand deaths and then he wanted to tear his throat out. Was he going mad?
Reeves’s blackened soul, now sharing Dr. Lazar’s body,
laughed out loud at his host’s confusion. His evilness and stronger personality
now reined. But appearance-wise, and for all practical purposes, he
was
Dr.
Lazar. He looked like him, shared his talents, credentials. He knew his secrets
and where the bodies were buried.
The synergistic and more violent Dr. Lazar smiled. Damon
would be equally surprised to learn that, in spite of his deadly attack on the
former Reeves, his dissatisfied half-brother, death hadn’t been his final
destination.
Lazar scanned the room. The bottle of whisky on the counter
told him his host was a drinking man, like himself. He poured a shot to
celebrate his return to the land of the living. The slim, wide-shouldered body
the Devil provided suited him just fine. Smirking, Dr. Lazar surveyed all the
labeled vials about him. This was the perfect setup. He’d taken over the life
and mind of man destined to be very rich—and who had direct access to Damon and
his family. Now he could have it all, revenge, status, and money. Lazar looked
out the lab window at the full moon.
As his body began to jerk, he realized he was still
affected by the Lamont curse. He rubbed the bristly stubble on his face, ran to
the lab bathroom, and looked into the mirror. Intense feral eyes stared back at
him. He ran his hand through his thickening hair. Soon, he would think like a
wolf—attack like a wolf. And his new position had unexpected benefits. He could
run tests on his own cursed blood. He had to extract some now while in the
throes of morphing. He grabbed an empty vial, tied off his arm, and withdrew
two full containers. He marked them with a big X and placed them into the
refrigerator.
He curled his lip and snarled. Quickly, he drank an ounce
of the nearly perfected moon-poppy serum, enough to maintain control of his
thinking and keep his savage bloodlust under control. He removed his lab
clothes and shoved them into a drawer. He scanned his host’s database of brain
cells until he had a fix on their shared enemy. Madam Nola—the busybody who’d
burned his body and scattered his ashes when he was wolf Reeves—was causing
trouble again.
In the midst of his moon-heat, he eased out of the
laboratory into the night as his body strengthened and grew hairier. He felt
physically powerful yet he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was merely a
hostage controlled by devilish whims. He buoyed his confidence by reminding
himself he was not just a werewolf intent on mindless killing. He had an
agenda.
He became one with the shadows. In the far distance, a
train whistled, making the silence of the night more ominous and magnifying his
driving urge. He ran on. Lusting for blood, he slipped through the shadows and
bushes toward the darkened street with the gingerbread house. No lights were on
in the dwelling, but there were lights illuminating several neighboring houses.
His nostrils flared as he filtered the aromas floating through the biting air.
Following the medium’s cloying scent, he circled to the back of the property,
leapt, and crashed through the bedroom window. The psychic-dwarf began to
scream, and her Cockatoo flew at him screeching and trying to peck at his head.
He batted at it with a huge clawed paw and knocked it across the room into the
mirrored closet doors. Returning his attention to his victim, he ripped out her
throat. It was so easy. She was such a tiny thing. Before he left, he ate her
stunned Cockatoo, leaving a scattering of feathers on the dining room floor. He
felt alive, energized, and ready to take on his half-brother and the whole damn
world.