Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (47 page)

“I’m no mad beast. I won’t hurt you,” he
said.

She nodded nervously.

When he began to recite the words of the
spell, the unknown language provoked all her superstitions. She
covered her ears, afraid that each syllable spelled out her
damnation. Her curiosity had brought her to this terrifying
moment.

She came to her feet when the transformation
started. Valentino held her back. Thal’s painful cries made her
want to help him, but then his manhood was enveloped by wolfen
monstrosity. When it was finished he rose onto his back feet.

The flopping and groaning during his shift
had summoned a pair of servants. They were banging on the door,
begging to know what was wrong with their mistress. Thal dropped to
all fours. He approached Carmelita. His claws clicked on the wood
floor until he reached the rug.

“Go away! I’m fine!” Carmelita finally
responded to her servants’ pleas. Her voice was shrill, but she
cared nothing of what her servants might assume she was doing
locked away with two men.

Thal’s huge head reached to her chest even
when he was on all fours. His wide nostrils sniffed her. She
reached out with a shaking hand. His fur was reddish brown, much
like his human hair, except that more streaks of silver and black
were in his coat. His animal eyes gleamed with an intelligence
perfected during the long ages of Creation.

Gently she ran her fingers up his snout and
then along his fluffy cheek. He was equal amounts fearsome and
beautiful. He was worthy of the Devil and God all at once.

Valentino touched him too and marveled at
this rare privilege that let him glimpse the mysteries of Nature.
Thal left them and circled the room. He stopped at the door.
Pistol’s little nose was sniffing at the bottom. After reassuring
his loyal friend, Thal went back to the clear space and
relinquished his power.

“You’re bleeding!” Carmelita blurted when it
was done.

Thal felt the many stings where his healing
scratches had been torn open during the stretching alteration of
his body. He was trembling too. Shifting back so soon had left him
edgy and unsatisfied. Slowly he put on some pants and staggered to
a chair. He held his fur across his lap and tried to clear his
mind.

Overcome, Carmelita collapsed into her chair.
Valentino took some cloths from her scrap bin and brought them to
Thal so he could dab the fresh blood off his scratches.

Standing over him, Valentino was stricken
anew with awe. “You could achieve greatness, Thal,” he finally
whispered. “With your power and the right resources you could
control powerful people.”

“I don’t want to control anybody,” he
said.

“You will always be hunted. You must think on
how you will live among us with your power,” Valentino said.

Thal had trouble focusing on his future. His
thoughts were consumed by the need to avenge his mother. But
Valentino made good points and Thal considered how best to exert
his influence.

Carmelita remained silent in her shock.
Valentino had been right to warn her. What she had just witnessed
segregated her from most of humanity. Miracles were no longer the
purview of just the Church or even a reformed one. There were
powers beyond the priests and their prayers.

Thal finished dressing. The others’ silence
was not unexpected. He had given them much to contemplate. As for
himself he felt liberated. He was proud of himself for trusting
people. It was a big step for him. He knew it was dangerous, but a
man should not live taking no one into his confidence.

Deciding to find out how much influence he
had gained over Carmelita and Valentino, he said, “May I suggest
something to you, my Lady?”

“What?”

“Plotting war against your enemies is not the
only way to promote your cause. You could befriend more important
people. The Court and jails are important tools for controlling
people. At your next party you should invite someone like the
Magistrate. It could not hurt to soften up someone like that with
your charms.”

“Oh,” she said and looked to Valentino.

The Condottiere opened his hands
permissively. “I say do it. Thal is likely to get arrested any time
he walks down the street and he’ll need help getting out of jail
alive,” he said, admiring Thal’s forethought.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Carmelita
wondered.

“The Court can always use another wealthy
patron. The hope of that might tempt him,” Valentino reasoned.

“I could invite the Burgomeister and Aldermen
too,” she added, warming to the subject. “At the very least it will
confuse everyone who suspects I’m in league with Protestants.”

“It could also encourage those who haven’t
yet dared to act upon their misgivings for Church tyranny,”
Valentino added, imagining that many sympathizers could be found on
the City Council.

“Will you be inviting their families?” Thal
said.

Carmelita nodded. “Naturally. I’ve already
got a ball planned two weeks hence. It’s just popped into my head
to make it a masquerade. I’ll send out revised invitations plus a
few new ones. It should be interesting,” she said, anticipating the
results of the work she did best.

“No storming up to your room, you ingrate
girl,” Martin thundered.

Altea was already at the stairs as he stomped
in the door. A sheen of sweat on his forehead attested to the warm
day and the state of his temper.

“Not one more step!” he bellowed, banging a
hand on the wall. The meaty slap of his palm on the thick plaster
emphasized his point.

Defiantly Altea hopped onto the first step
before she stopped. Martin puffed down the hall until he caught up
to her. His sons straggled in, hanging back from the volcanic fume
of their father’s mood. Elias regarded his half sister with worry,
but she knew he could not save her. She could not undo her behavior
at the Alderman Bulwic’s garden party nor the bitter words spoken
with Martin during their trip home.

“Enough of your lecture. I shan’t marry that
toad if Christ himself returned and commanded it,” she said.

Martin gaped at her blasphemy. He swung at
her hard. Altea dodged the blow and landed against the wall. Martin
seized her wrist and jerked her off the step.

“Father!” Elias cried.

Martin whirled on his eldest son. “You heard
her!” he said. Elias wavered, realizing Altea had earned
punishment. He could only hope that his tepid intervention had
dampened some of his father’s fury.

With Elias under control, Martin shoved
Altea. “In my study!” he yelled.

She had little choice but to blunder into his
study. She grabbed a chair and yanked it in front of her as she
backed up to a window.

Martin shut the door and the ominous privacy
squiggled upon Altea’s nerves like wet worms. She thumped the chair
on the wood floor like she was trying to scare an animal.

“Thank God your mother isn’t alive to hear
you speak the Lord’s name in vain like that,” he said.

“I’ll never thank God my mother’s not alive,”
she snarled.

Martin clutched his forehead. “Enough! This
is not an argument. If you ever embarrass me like that again, I’ll
ship you off to a convent. You hear me?!” he said.

The threat gutted Altea, but she did not
surrender. “That man was older than you!” she screeched.

“Foolish girl, he’s rich and the Alderman’s
brother. It would’ve been a grand match,” Martin insisted.

“For you,” Altea said.

“I’m who this is about and you know it,”
Martin reminded.

“He had a disease of the skin,” Altea
hissed.

Even a lawyer had trouble debating that
point, so Martin said, “You could’ve at least hidden your disgust
for the sake of politeness.”

“I was civil,” Altea said. “Until he touched
me.”

Martin retrieved his schnapps bottle,
deciding a drink was better than assaulting his stepdaughter. After
taking a gulp of the liquor that sped hotly down his gullet, he
wondered how his meek and perfect wife had ever birthed this
maenad. Her half-barbaric Kardas blood had to be the source of
it.

Altea watched him soothe himself with
alcohol. She wrung her hands against the back of the chair, trying
to think of what to do, but she was in uncharted territory. She had
not meant to be so rude at the party, but when the old wretch had
put a hand on her hip from behind, she had reacted with hard words
without thinking.

Martin faced his unruly stepdaughter. “At
least you showed yourself to be such a shrew, he’ll surely not
express any interest in taking you off my hands again,” Martin
said. Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself what a pity it
was.

She bristled to see how her stepfather
thought only of himself. She had not been satisfied with his
attempts at matchmaking so far, and today’s social engagement had
been a new low. She needed to take better charge of her quest for a
husband. Since he had started shopping her around Prague, she had
learned that she had no lack of appeal. Young gentlemen often
sought her attention at parties. And the envy in the eyes of other
women proved that she should be desirable to more than old lechers
seeking a good groping session before the grave.

The bell at the front door rang. Altea
glanced hopefully out the window, praying that someone had come to
distract Martin. She did not recognize the servant on the front
steps. Martin finished his second drink while Hynek shuffled toward
the door.

Altea dashed to the study door and flung it
open.

“What is it, Hynek?” she asked.

The valet shakily held up a neatly folded
paper sealed with thick wax. He tried in vain to discern the
identity of the seal so he could announce its source. Altea plucked
the letter from his hand. She did not recognize the seal but its
character was definitely noble. Her imagination flirted with
fantasies about what it could mean for her, but she knew better
than to hope. The best thing about the message was that she could
use it to distract Martin.

“It appears to be from someone important,”
Altea said and proffered the letter.

Even from across the room Martin could see
the fine quality of the paper. He set down his glass and went to
Altea.

“Of course it’s from someone important,” he
said.

When he took the letter, he leaned into her
face. She refrained from leaning away, knowing that nothing
unmanned Martin like a stout heart.

“To the convent with you if you anger me
again,” he warned.

“Nothing to be gained from doing that,” she
said.

“Except peace and quiet,” he shot back. “Now
go to your room and pray for forgiveness.”

Realizing the terrible quarrel was ending as
well as it possibly could, Altea chose to retreat without any
parting comments.

Martin clenched his jaw while watching her
go. She was a lovely creature. That burgundy and beige gown had
come with an eye popping cost. She always knew how to keep more
than one claw in him. He was a bit too invested to shut her up in
some convent, he reflected, but the threat would stay in his
arsenal until he got her a husband to tamp down that female
fire.

Gratefully he shut his door and welcomed the
distraction of the interesting letter.

“Hrabe?” he mumbled, deeply curious.

Cracking the seal, he read that he and his
family were invited to a summer evening masquerade at the residence
of Lady Carmelita Hrabe. At first he was stunned by the sudden
invitation into a noble home, but he was the Magistrate after all
he told himself and certainly deserved visibility in high
circles.

He settled into his favorite chair and stared
at the artful script upon the fine paper, trying to read between
the lines. Rumors were abundant about Lady Carmelita, and he
frowned when he guessed at her reason for her sudden interest in
Court authority. She was a Protestant sympathizer and the
handmaiden to heresy.

Yet Martin could not toss the invitation. She
was hardly the only noble in Prague disgruntled with the Church. As
a sailor of political seas, Martin considered that dipping an oar
into these waters could be prudent. The Jesuits had suddenly become
friendly, so it followed that the Protestants might like to foster
the sympathies of the Court. He supposed they would need it
eventually. And the possibility remained that they would take over
the city someday, and he hardly wanted to be labeled uncooperative.
He supposed wheedling funds from both sides was the fairest thing
to do.

Lady Carmelita had been thoughtful to make
her event a masquerade. His presence there could not be entirely
confirmed if he needed to deny it.

Plus he would be able to show off Altea to a
new crowd. Perhaps with her looks she could even attract a lesser
noble. That possibility was tantalizing.

Altea was astonished by her own excitement.
The unexpected invitation to a masquerade party at the house of a
noblewoman made her almost grateful for Martin’s prestigious
position. She also recognized this as her chance to meet people
beyond his circle of stodgy men.

Her childish giddiness was not going to serve
her well tonight. She needed to be charming and unforgettable.
Although she had not had much notice about the party, she had
hurriedly designed and sewn a new gown. She had found a wonderful
yellow fabric with a golden sheen. For the poufy short sleeves she
had used a contrasting dark blue fabric. With the same fabric she
had added stripes to the golden skirt.

Since it was a masquerade she had selected a
mask from a crafter who specialized in them at the market. The bird
ones had not suited her, but a golden fox mask from the back of the
vendor’s stall had looked down on her with insistent sass.