In most parts of the world, the most hated day is usually the humble Monday. This is not so on the fair isle of New Carinthia, where this rather ignoble accolade was presently occupied by the full moon. It is a truth universally acknowledged among teachers, employers, and the upper management of virtually every sector of New Carinthian society that no work will ever be done on a full moon. Everybody will be at their desks, staring intently at their devices, but nothing of value will be achieved. Everyone's mind is already laser focused on the night ahead, the shifting, the things etc, etc, etc...

It was no different at the Corviston Intelligent Neighbourhood Co-Operative. It seemed that half of the workforce had already changed into athleisure, ready to head for the proverbial hills the moment the clock hit five o'clock. Nobody seemed even interested in the usual topics of discussion. They went through the motions, but not with much enthusiasm. 

As did Brendan, who was counting down the minutes as well, looking out the window. The anemic sun struggling to force its rays through the mid-afternoon haze only compounded the feeling of drowsiness. 

 He was not intending on joining in the after-work drinks, which would be held 10 floors underneath in a bar inside Briarleaf Plaza that overlooked the railway lines, but he didn't intend on being caught in the mad rush out of the city either. He had a bit of time to kill before he found Adrian and attended the damn thing. Maybe he would just walk around the old town soaking in the sights, of which there were always plenty of. He had done this many a time after school. Aimlessly wandering around with no plan in mind. For a time in his youth it had been the only thing he had wanted to do. That was also the time when things were at their most stressful. 

Brendan watched the minute hand of the clock slowly tick up towards the 12. He was thinking of the night ahead. It was getting close to the winter solstice, so it would literally be the longest full moon of the year. Brendan couldn't really remember the last full moon he had shifted, mainly because people rarely remembered what happened while they were in wolf form; the hours preceding were generally also hard to recall, mainly because they were usually drunk. The people who could were few and far between, and had been widely studied, but no conclusive reason had been given to why this was. Most people did have memories of the memories, and if they were vigilant they could pinpoint the exact moment when their memories of their time evaporated as they shifted back, as the tantalising feeling of lost memories flooded their conscious system.

 He had already shifted on the previous full moon, anyway. A rather boring romp in his own backyard, but it had fulfilled its purpose nonetheless. This one he could wait out. 

Once upon a time, werewolves had no safe way to prevent their urges, short of magic. The many who were suspicious of wizardry simply had no choice but to put everything down every full moon and heed nature's call, or risk life and limb downing a potentially deadly concoction of wolfsbane. The over-the-counter pill had only been patented and put on the market sixty years ago, but now there were patches, nasal sprays, enemas, vape pods and even gummy candies. 

Brendan, on the other hand, intended on used an easy spell, one of the first he had learnt at Carleton. That was still the most popular use of magic. Helping werewolves avoid the pesky ritual of reverting to wolf form for one night each month. Especially now that people wanted a 'natural' solution to the often rather inconvenient chemical sources of relief, the side effects of which were still coming out. Magic had its own drawbacks, but it was still appealing to the type of people who tied themselves into knots over the chemicals in their food. 

Then there were the many people chose not to for health reasons, or to take advantage of the lucrative penalty rates on full moon. While he had been at uni a lot of his classmates had forgone shifting for extended periods of time to pick up casual shifts. In his days as a chosen one Brendan had spent many full moons under a spell, working. Full moon was no time to stop. While the rest of his year level went on their camp, he would remain on the grounds, slaving away. He thought about the times he had lied to his parents about his experiences at camp. Thankfully they were more interested in how his grades were going. 

Five o'clock came and went. People packed up their things. As always, Selwyn was the first one out of the door. He lived all the way out in The pall over the room heralded the first signs of the dusk falling. 

The group that was going for drinks were waiting for the lift. He wondered if he should join them. There might be time for it. He could work it out. If time really was tight he could just leave early. 

Brendan decided that he would rather be early for the event. He didn't have the energy for drinks anyway. Too much of his mind was laser-focused on what was happening later that night. 

He headed down the fire escape. He'd go down to the station, catch a counterpeak train to Central, and catch a tram to the conference. Simple.

***

Brendan had changed his mind and caught a tram from the stop on Briarleaf Rd directly to the Old Town. It was slower than the train, but he didn't have to brave the crowds at Central and it was more scenic.

Half an hour in and he was already deep inside the Old Town. There was only one lane of traffic in either direction here and the sidewalk here was barely wide enough for people to walk single file. Brendan watched the heads of the people as they walked past him. Not a metre away with only panes of glass and the pall of dusk separating them, people dined under the atmospheric glow of dimmed lamps, and brightly lit shopfronts projected their wares onto the street. 

Brendan drank it all in from the warm glow of the bullseye lights, relishing the sense of being alive that it seemed to reinforce, the adrenaline rush before the sensory overload. Corviston was coming alive. The sidewalks buzzed with life. Restaurants spilled out onto the street under umbrellas and patio heaters, essential now that winter was settling in. It was not as hectic as usual as half the population had headed for the proverbial hills, but it was still properly busy by any measure. The people who planned to go out in the Botanic Gardens later on were having a feast as the tradition went. 

Going into the old city for shopping had been a rare treat in childhood, and seeing the old buildings and the cobblestone streets was always a welcome experience. He rarely went into the old city, even when he had been at school. And then only on excursions and work experience. He had done plenty of 'work experience' here. But most he had just shuttled between his house and Briarleaf, although he was well versed enough in getting around the city to not be inconvenienced on the rare occasion he did venture out of his usual travel patterns. Yesterday's trip across the river had been a rare aberration. That trip to Laidlaw had been the longest he had taken in years. Well, on his own anyway.

 Most of his fellow passengers were commuters from the business part of Corviston heading home in the Old Town. Also heading home were the motorists who had them in gridlock. 

The sea of red tailights ahead signalled the presence of an intersection. The tram stopped short, behind a line of cars waiting to turn right. Outside the pedestrians marched on, oblivious. 

A few more cars turned right. The tram inched along a bit more. Then the right-turn arrow turned red again. A half-block ahead a veritable crowd of people was waiting at the next stop. He could see the orange glow of the information display above their heads. 

The coat obscured as much of him as possible. It was not really out of place given it was ten degrees outside and it was forecast to snow tomorrow. This was essential if he was to remain unnoticed. He doubted anyone would give him a second look if he had a media pass, but it helped to be careful. He felt more secure this way. 

Brendan looked at his reflection in the darkened window of the tram. He imagined he looked like an eccentric reporter from some faraway pack. He had changed a lot since his days as a chosen one. His face had filled out. He hoped he would be able to blend in. He couldn't imagine he would be high on their radar. Who would even be? 

The tram finally cleared the last right-turning cars and rattled across the intersection. It was not even fully dark yet, but there were wolves out already, darting across the intersection to the honking of cars. The story for the tourists was that they were urban wolves that had grown tame, but only a few people knew the truth. Most people were too caught up in petting the tame wolves to worry about the sudden lack of staff in shops. The night also disguised the smell hanging in the air.

He decided to get off here. He would walk the rest of the way to the Old Pack House. Pushing through the people waiting to get on, he merged into the unseeing crowd of people on the sidewalk, blending into the chattering of a thousand conversations. In the midst of the throng of not-quite-humanity, he felt at ease. He felt a wolf brush against his leg. The wolves blended perfectly in the shadows, their peculiarly textured coats absorbing any light that caught it, flitting through the legs of the people, barely noticeable. A human tourist would have had no idea what was going on. 

He passed Chinatown, the brightly lit gate a beacon in the night. Sorely needed, as this stretch of street was a bit dark. The craggy shadows of the old houses seemed even more pronounced here. Night seemed to make the sounds of the city more mellow. Distance seemed to contract and expand with the intensity of artificial light. 

There was something going on in the square outside the Old Pack House. The fountain was all lit up in neon purple, and a stage had been set up in the middle. No doubt the performers had taken their pills. 

He scrutinised them closely for any sign that they were having side effects. In any case he was fine. He felt better than he had for years. It was past seven o'clock and he didn't feel a thing. 

He cast a glance at the Old Pack House. People were already starting to gather outside. He could see security guards. They were obviously worried about one thing. Hopefully that meant they were not too worried about the other thing. 

He watched the performance for a short while. He couldn't make head or tail of it. It was some kind of abstract interperative thing. He decided it was probably time to go.