The Werewolves Who Weren't

  For Wilfred and Amira, kiss kiss,

  and Hazel, Beatrice and Boo. Always.

  CONTENTS

  Fairy Dust

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  FAIRY DUST

  Fairies are creatures of pure mischief. The common myth that they are good is both naive and dangerous. Fairies are amoral, having interest in neither good nor evil, only fun and pleasure. They might save a life because it gives them pleasure, but they would just as easily let someone die. Their interest in humans is powerful, yet short-lived. A fairy may be as enthralled by a human as a human under the influence of dust may be enthralled by a fairy, but their devotion passes and they often leave the once-adored human lost and longing for their fairy lover. These humans will die from a failure to look after themselves, often wandering the places they had walked with their fairy, and refusing food and water until they fade away. This is a result of long-term exposure to fairy dust.

  Fairy dust is a by-product of the fairy body, as sweat and dandruff are by-products of the human body, although far more magical and powerful. The greatest source of fairy dust is fairy wings. Like butterflies, fairies have beautiful dust-coloured wings. Unlike butterflies, fairies’ wings shed their dust, making it suitable for spells and charms.

  Fairy dust can be used for everything: bewitching, manifesting, destroying, travelling, inventing, reinventing, protecting, disarming.

  Fairy dust is highly valued in many human occupations. Wizards, magicians, rulers, healers and hunters alike trade great wealth for fairy dust.

  From Lowri Fach ferch Cystennin’s The Book of Earth (translated by David Evans)

  CHAPTER 1

  Sam huddled between three gargoyles on top of the courthouse roof and peered down over the court steps. One gargoyle was a winged lion, one a winged bull and one an eagle, but they all had the same serious expression.

  Sam pulled at his stiff collar and tie. ‘I hear crackling. What is it, Bladder?’

  The lion-faced gargoyle cocked his head and screwed up one eye. ‘What … ? Oh, that? That’s the arthritis in the judge’s neck. It crackles when he nods.’

  The stone bull chuckled. ‘Even down to the arthritis in the judge’s neck. Only a real gargoyle can hear like that.’ The bull ran a hoof under one overlarge nostril. ‘You’ll still be part of our pack, won’t you, Sam? When this is all done. You won’t be entirely human?’ He sniffed. ‘There’s still a little gargoyle in you, right?’

  ‘Of course there is, Wheedle.’ Sam hugged the bull and kissed his friendly face.

  The eagle squawked.

  ‘That’s right, Spigot,’ Wheedle replied.

  Sam returned his attention to the courthouse. ‘Do you think they’ll say it’s all right? They won’t send me back to Children’s Services? They’ve been talking about my mental health for a long time now. What if … ?’

  ‘Ooh, look what I have.’ Bladder grinned, his stony face turning pink in the reflection of the red roof tiles. ‘This is my favourite.’

  The other gargoyles pointedly turned their attention to the newspaper clipping. Even Spigot ‘oohed’.

  ‘You’re trying to distract me,’ Sam said.

  ‘Is it working?’ Wheedle asked. ‘No, look, you’ve really got to read this, it’s very encouraging.’ He pushed his bull head between Bladder and Sam.

  The article showed a photo of Sam’s face, so dirty and mucky it was impossible to recognise him. It was the only photo the Kavanaghs had given the papers. Michelle had wanted one of him clean and neat, but Richard had said this one showed Sam at his best. Sam saw it everywhere: newsagents, bookshops, on those digital boards that rolled through various ads outside shopping centres. At first, Sam had been embarrassed, but he had grown to like the photo because it made him unrecognisable. He’d been near people discussing him and slipped by them unnoticed. The only time he had to deal with people’s attention was when reporters showed up, which reminded him of a monster stampede.

  Bladder caught him thinking. ‘Come on, read it,’ the stone lion said.

  Sam read aloud.

  Hero Finds a Home

  by Olivia Webb

  The adoption claim for the boy who captured the country’s imagination when he rescued baby Beatrice Kavanagh has been fast-tracked by legal agencies.

  The boy, who answers to ‘Sam’, the name his future family gave him, has been widely praised for his efforts in relocating the kidnapped infant. Yesterday, in interview, the prime minister said that ‘Sam’s behaviour is an example of all that is good in British children’. Although Sam has no memory of his own history or how he came to be in Brighton, he returned the baby to her family in a healthy state, while he was malnourished, exhausted and in desperate need of medical treatment. Experts believe his experiences have resulted in trauma. Laura Marcinkus, a psychologist from Worthing, says, ‘His stories help him make sense of his experience, which we have managed to unpack to find useful information. Regardless, he is nothing but brave and kind. His imagination may have been essential in helping him.’

  By translating Sam’s story code, the police believe they have discovered valuable information about a crime ring working in Sussex. D.I. Noah Kong says, ‘We’ve established there is an organisation which goes by the name of “The Ogres”. This is led by a male and a female. Sam calls them Thunderguts and the Crone. It is believed that the male is possibly dead, but the Crone, whose real first name is Maggie, is very much alive. We are looking into her whereabouts. She is red-haired and green-eyed. Our young hero refers to her as a “witch” and a “banshee”, which, considering her activities, is mild language indeed.’

  The police refuse to confirm if this has anything to do with the recent rise in missing person reports from families across Ireland, Scotland and Wales, although one source suggests there seem to be striking similarities between the crimes. They have asked the public for help locating these individuals.

  Sam also identified at least two people who helped him, including a tall, fair-haired man known as Daniel, and a wide-faced, big-toothed individual Sam calls Bladder. The latter appears to have risked a lot to help Sam. ‘We are hoping these two will come forward and help with our investigations,’ D.I. Noah Kong says. ‘Sam put himself at great personal risk going up against these criminals and, as heroic as his actions were, the Sussex Police would caution anyone against doing the same.’

  No information about Sam’s birth family or origins has been established, but the adoption process looks to be finalised this week. Our local hero will finally have a home.

  ‘Well, I know why you like this one best,’ Wheedle said. ‘“… Risked a lot to help Sam”.’

  Sam stroked Bladder’s mane. ‘You did, Bladder, and you deserve notice. You all do. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have survived.’ Sam kissed each of the gargoyles in turn. Bladder last. ‘You deserve more than one line.’

  ‘It’s just nice to know you mentioned me, although I don’t know why you described me as “wide-faced” and “big-toothed”.’

  ‘I said you loo
ked like a lion. I also mentioned Wheedle and Spigot too. They thought you and Wheedle must be brothers, because he’s wide-faced and big-toothed too.’

  Wheedle bared his teeth. ‘Yeah, but mine are cow’s teeth. Not sharp or nothing.’

  Sam continued. ‘And they kept asking me how big Spigot’s nose was, and I said it wasn’t a nose, it was a beak. They found that funny. Maybe Wheedle and Spigot will make it into the next article.’

  Bladder’s voice dropped as if he thought someone might be listening. ‘What I can’t believe is they think Thunderguts is part of a crime ring. Good thing for them he’s dead, or he’d turn up to show them what the king of ogres looks like.’

  They went quiet for a second.

  ‘There’s not been any mention of you destroying the Vorpal Sword and letting all those souls go,’ Wheedle said. ‘I mean, that was seriously important.’

  ‘They didn’t seem much interested in that.’

  An angel appeared on the courthouse steps. He stood taller than the high doorway. His smiley eyes fixed on Sam and he waved. His face and posture appeared calm and angelic, but the feathers in his startling white wings poked out at odd angles.

  ‘Oh, look, the Plucked Chicken is waving you down,’ Bladder said.

  ‘Daniel,’ Sam called as he waved back.

  Sam clambered down the side of the courthouse and pulled a plastic rectangle from his back pocket. He held it in front of his mouth.

  ‘How long now?’ he shouted at the rectangle.

  ‘You don’t need to be so loud. Right here next to you,’ Daniel said. ‘Stop worrying. It’s all under control.’ He shifted his wings. ‘It’s hard to get comfortable. My quills keep poking me. What can you hear?’

  ‘Last time I listened all I could hear was paper rustling and lots of nodding.’

  ‘Try again.’

  Sam listened to the building behind him, his gargoyle hearing reaching beyond the gaggle of lawyers and their nervous clients, through solid doors right into the wood-panelled room where Richard and Michelle Kavanagh waited for an answer. He heard Michelle’s heavy breath as the judge spoke.

  The judge had a warm, old voice.

  Sam cheered. ‘He says I can live with the Kavanaghs if my real parents don’t show up,’ he reported, grinning. ‘They are my real parents. Woohoo!’

  ‘Hey, Sam. What ya doing?’

  Sam turned to see an older, dark-haired boy, his twin in all but age, and pointed at the shiny rectangle. ‘Hi, Nick. I’m talking on my mobile phone.’

  Nicholas Kavanagh sidled next to Sam, handing him a drink bottle. ‘Really? So, who, other than us, do you know?’ He took the mobile and placed it against Sam’s ear. ‘If you want to look normal, you might want to try holding it like this, and –’ he pressed the screen, then the large button at the bottom of the phone – ‘it would be more convincing if you charged it.’

  ‘Charged it?’

  Nick laughed. ‘Yeah, the weird pluggy thing they included when Mum bought this for you. You put the pronged end in a wall socket and the other, smaller end in this hole here.’ His finger pointed to the bottom of Sam’s mobile. ‘Do that and you may even be able to use it for what it’s for.’

  Sam laughed too. He couldn’t help it. His happy spilt over everything.

  ‘You’re talking to your invisible friend, right?’ Nick asked.

  Sam blushed. ‘Yes.’

  Nick laughed. ‘It’s certainly going to be fun having you around.’

  Daniel grinned. ‘Just a little job for me to do. See you at the house.’

  Sam tried to sulk as he watched the angel leave, but he heard the noise of the Kavanagh parents clattering towards the door and all other bother faded. He turned as Richard and Michelle came out of the court, their faces pink and laughing. Richard spread his arms as he descended.

  ‘Samuel Kavanagh?’ he called. ‘Is there a Samuel Kavanagh out here?’

  Sam raised his hand. ‘Me?’

  ‘You, my friend …’ Richard stopped and exhaled. ‘You, my son, are now legally a Kavanagh. The adoption’s been approved. You’re all ours.’

  Nick reached out and grabbed him. Sam giggled.

  The lawyers, children’s services attendants, the Kavanaghs, even Great-Aunt Colleen kept saying how quickly everything had moved to this point, but Sam had waited more than half his life for this day.

  ‘Can we see Beatrice now?’ he asked. With the baby, he would have all the Kavanaghs together. Sam liked the thought.

  Michelle kissed him. On the side of the forehead. Above his eye. Sam closed his eyes, he was going to live with that, finally going to be able to live in it day after wonderful day without someone signing another sheet of paper, without another stranger in attendance; and he was ready for all of it.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ Richard said.

  Sam thought he had never heard a more beautiful sentence in his life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sam found himself on the front steps of his forever home and couldn’t remember getting out of the car. He grinned – maybe he’d floated. The other Kavanaghs had gone in, and he too would be inside soon. He wanted to see Beatrice. The babysitter congratulated him as she passed him on the footpath, and all Sam could do was smile. He looked up and down the street. He studied it. It was his street now. On which his family lived and his house stood. He looked over into the next garden, the garden of his neighbour, Mrs Roberts. Her dog, a brown-furred pug, yapped feebly at him. Sam had met a few dogs; they usually barked, swore at him, then ran off, which was a shame. Daniel had said every child should know one good dog. As Mrs Roberts’s dog was now the dog next door to his home, Sam hoped he could make friends with it.

  The pug normally ran away, but today it stood its ground on short, shaking legs.

  ‘Go away, go away,’ it yapped, one eye staring at Sam, one at its house. Was the dog even barking at him?

  Sam headed to the short concrete wall and knelt. He was still twice the pug’s height.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘I’m moving in permanently now.’

  The dog stopped yapping, as if shocked Sam had spoken to it. ‘What are you? You’re not going to hurt me, are you?’ the pug asked.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  The dog cocked its head and lifted its tiny, flappy ears a little higher. ‘You smell funny,’ it said. ‘Like a monster.’

  ‘Wow, good nose. To be honest, I do have a little monster in me, but that’s not all I am. Sniff deeper.’ Sam breathed in, showing the dog how to take a full whiff of him.

  The dog did so, its back fur shivering. It cocked its head the other way. ‘Well, that’s odd. Now you smell like chicken necks and Yummo Treats. I like those.’

  ‘I’m half fairy. It makes me smell of things you like. I’m not all monster, see? Just a little bit.’

  ‘My mistress says all boys are monsters.’

  Sam reached towards the pug. It trembled but leaned forward, sniffing his hand. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ Sam said.

  ‘What a relief. I’ve been all nerves and tingles since I heard you were moving in.’

  ‘Really? I’m sorry about that. I’m Sam, by the way.’

  ‘My name is One-Who-Bites-At-Heels, but my mistress calls me Hoy Poy. You’re –’ the dog breathed in again – ‘smelling more human by the second, how odd. You may call me Hoy Poy too.’

  ‘Thanks, Hoy Poy.’

  Hoy Poy’s curly little tail wagged back and forth. Sam had made friends with the neighbour’s dog, and he wanted to be friends with everyone on the street. He reached out, patted Hoy Poy’s head and the dog licked his hand.

  Nick called from the door. ‘Do you want some lunch?’ Sam peered back, Hoy Poy still licking his hand. ‘What are you doing?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Hoy Poy and I are making friends. He says he’s not scared of me any more.’

  ‘And why would he be?’ Nick laughed and stepped back inside. His voice carried to Sam. ‘It’s going to be a lot of fun having you around.’<
br />
  Hoy Poy yapped at Sam and trotted cheerfully to the side path of Mrs Roberts’s house. Before the dog turned down it, he wiggled his bottom again, his sturdy tail waving at Sam, and said, ‘Tell your friend to be careful not to fall.’

  ‘My friend?’

  Sam looked up. Daniel hung from the roof, upside down, his celestial garment miraculously staying in place. He had painted symbols down the front wall.

  Daniel waved. ‘My homecoming gift. Wardings. Angelic sigils,’ he called out in answer to Sam’s unasked question. ‘This round one here stops the Kavanagh smell floating about, and this one makes the house invisible to earth-based supernatural creatures. We don’t want Maggie sniffing around.’

  Sam sighed. Maggie was a banshee. She had stolen him from his family, tried to start a monster revolution and looked at humans as nothing more than tasty ogre treats, yet they had formed a bond and he thought of her fondly. Still, Maggie was dangerous, and she wasn’t the only monster he didn’t want finding him.

  Daniel continued. ‘This is a general blessing. It’ll cover most of the street … when … the last bit … is … drawn.’

  As soon as the sigil was complete, Richard stepped out on to the front stoop and a voice called out from the park opposite. ‘Good day.’

  Richard flushed pink and glowed at the speaker. The other man’s grin grew and he glowed a little too.

  ‘It is a fabulous day, isn’t it?’ Richard replied.

  ‘See. Working already,’ Daniel said. ‘Although it’s probably you being home that’s making everyone so happy. You made friends with the dog, then?’

  ‘Hoy Poy. Yeah.’

  ‘A dog is a great friend to have.’ The angel sat down on the footpath to admire his artwork and gave a deep sigh. ‘You’ll need some protection now. They’re recalling me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Upper management. The Power That Is. They say they have to retrain me.’

  ‘Why do you need retraining?’

  ‘My wings are giving me grief. Everything’s solid to me. Again. Walls, doors, even windows. Going into water gets my wings wet and –’ Daniel grimaced – ‘they sink. My wings never used to sink!’ The huge archangel slumped. ‘It’s the promotion.’ He said the word bitterly. ‘Becoming an archangel is hard work. They’re probably disappointed with me.’