The wolf couldn't be physically certain that there were no license plates on the U-Haul tearing up his lawn to drive around the rear for loading in Marcy. He was, however, reasonably certain that it did not and likewise sure he wouldn't be able to get close enough to confirm. So he trotted out quickly, a definite limp in his step; he was nearly hopping on three legs, and stood at the weeds on the edge of the yard, looking back toward the house. Zakar had shifted forms- there was no easy glimpse of the driver to be had- and pulled open the back door. As soon as Marcy had clambered inside, he'd jumped in after her, the door slammed shut and they reverse down his yard into the main road and tore off.

In the lowlight Caelan judged the distance, decided no one without a flashlight was catching sight of a black wolf after dark, and slid from one form to the next. It was easier, going back. Still uncomfortable and painful for joints to shrink and pop into human frame, but the wolf simply fell away like a furry hurricane, and there was nothing to mask or bury, though he did have a shop vac in the garage to clean up. Probably a werewolf's best friend, a good wet/dry vac.

The other thing a good werewolf needed on nights of transformation was a very subdued sense of embarrassment as pertaining to nudity. Unlike a wendigo or other, more magically infused beings, werefolk of all species did not pop back into human existence with a polite pair of undies to render awkward, unexpected or abrupt conversations a bit more modestly.

Caelan was comfortable with that- he couldn't count the number of times he'd had a serious conversation where of the nearest twenty people around, they didn't have a pair of pants to split between them. Sure, things sometimes got hairy when children were involved and if anyone of any fine upstanding morality really stopped to think about it- but pups were encouraged to change separate. Modern pack dynamics had shifted to condensed family units or in recent generations they formed unrelated packs, and being part human, they shared a lot of similar philosophies. Nevertheless, it was rare to find a shy werewolf. Naked was just a natural state of being- it wasn't often viewed sexually.

So he transformed without a stray thought towards what Toby would think. What bothered him were the injuries.

Upon receiving wounds that took longer than a couple minutes to heal, a normal werewolf would typically find a place to hole up and heal before transforming. Injured bodies didn't generally fare well when subjected to a turn in either direction. Things didn't always get put together correctly. Caelan had seen instances where a broken bone or dislocation had resulted in a perfectly normal human arm say, growing out of the hip or reversed in direction from the elbow down. Wounds didn't always line up, either. They lingered, shuffled as the wild fled for the more mundane posture of a human. He himself wasn't eager to jump into a shift when a good half hour or so might've healed him proper, but Caelan suspected there was not much time, especially with Marcy now off the property and able to be pursued.

The cut across his eye had shifted positions back into his hair line, and was running freely. If he reached his hands up to touch, he'd find himself pressing a loose flap of skin over his skull. It was stitching itself over in time, but for the time being it was weeping a lovely shade of red down the side of his face. He wiped it away from his eyes, felt blood slide along his chin and drip against his barefeet. There were other wounds and scrapes, big bruises over his shoulders and several cuts along his chest, but none bleed quite so much. With a hand pressed to his skull, he proceeded back towards the thing working against Zakar.

Caelan guessed Toby waited about a yard from the edge of whatever line Zakar had drawn. Neither himself nor the jaguars would approach any closer, and while Caelan could cross at will there was no reason he'd bother to, expect to possibly clock him.

"She wanted your help," Caelan said, picking a comfortable position to stand amongst the thorns and grasses composing the end of civilized maintenance and a return to the forest. "I don't know what she was planning on asking for, but you should've heard the lady out."

Toby was quite for some time. The cats around his body, what had Marcy called them, Pax and Chel? Sat reclined behind him, eyes fixed on Caelan, who had bits of fur and dust stuck to the blood on his feet.

"You belong to her?" Toby asked.

"No."

"Ah," the old man said, lifting his cane. The cane shrunk in his grasp, became a delicate wooden pipe. Toby took something from his pocket, a pouch of something dark and smoky, and poured it into the pipe. He set it alight, and in a matter of time was smoking. The fumes were purple in the starlight, and as he looked back to Caelan his eyes reflected that same, nebulous hue. "So she belong to you?"

"No."

More smoke. The man seemed thoughtful, pointed the end of the pipe at the house. "You let her go back. Why this?"

Without skipping a beat, Caelan replied, "Marcy's a good person. She didn't deserve what happened to her. She doesn't deserve to have any of this happening to her."

"May be so," Toby replied, "But she is in now. If make feel better, not personal. She is Zakar's doll. She is modeled after trouble now."

"In what way?" Caelan paused. "Besides the cannibalism." That alone made Caelan hesitate- she was, and though he was quite certain it wasn't her choice, a murderer. At least a half dozen people had been discovered partially devoured. While the culprit had been pinned on anything predatory in that area excluding a Wereanimal, she had still killed. Trouble she was, and tainted she was, too. Not that you couldn't come back from such a thing, but after what she'd gone through he was entirely sure what came out the other side would be a stable young woman. He'd seen people break from less. Marcy was tough; he knew that, but tough had never meant you can't crack.

Toby extended his hand palm out, and a jaguar met it with a loud rumble. "Zakar is long removed from home. He sees her as way back."

"Why's that?" Caelan asked, wincing as he pressed a bit harder on the wound.It'd be a bit easier to clot if he had something, but such was werewolf life. He'd heal quickly enough, not that he wanted any of his blood near a creature that was likely every bit the practicing black magician Zakar was.

"Different stars here." Toby looked skyward, pointed at the flickering lights of Orion's belt. "Looked different long ago, too. Long ago rules were made for how he get back. Cannot banish forever; it is so long we cannot know this would ever be true. But Zakar as you call him believe these rules must be followed, and now it is so. Dangerous magic, the truth is."

"What do you call him?" Caelan asked, rocking on his heel.

Toby shrugged. "Whatever I like whenever I want."

Great, Caelan thought. He just loved dealing with supernatural entities that wanted to be funny and clever and cryptic. What was next, scribbling some nonsense on a wall that you have to stand on your head to read? He tried again. "Do humans have a name for him?"

Toby looked at him deadpan. "You are using one."

"But this one is new," Caelan said.

"All names are old."

How he longed for the days when all it took to catch most bad guys was an angry ex or a cell phone ping.

"Mister Werewolf, I not much interested in problems of yours. They very small compared to mine."

Unlike some other area, Caelan was about to say, but that wouldn't win him any favors so he kept his jaw closed and made the smile more resemble a grimace. "Very small," he agreed reluctantly. "But you don't want him back home."

Toby sighed. "Wish he had changed, but he worse. He should stay free much longer, learn many more lessons."

"I'd appreciate him not learning lessons at our expense," Caelan said. "Why don't you want him back? Can't you handle him yourself?"

"He is a tricky creature. Very smart, very . . . Wily, I think is word. You want spend night and day looking over shoulder for him? Is worse than child."

Caelan found room for an almost un-exasperated smile. "I want to know what Marcy has to do with all this, why you and Zakar both want her dead."

"The rules to get back say he must have a wife. Someone to temper the chaos of his spirit. You creatures of flesh are not made to live below. But there is a way his bride can." He tapped his chest with one wrinkled hand. "Involves the taking of her heart and giving her some of his."

"Isn't that just romantic?" Caelan caught himself about to perform an eyeroll and settled for spitting a tooth. A fang was growing back. His skin bristled with electricity. His mouth watered with the rembrance of the taste of Marcy's blood and the jaguar's and imagination of what Zakar's would be. In the right time or place a shared heart could've made for a beautifully tragic story. But it wasn't in Marcy's story; he wouldn't let that tale be written.

"Ideally, love is involved," Toby agreed. "She does not love him much. He does love her. He believes it, so it is true."

"Where is home?" Caelan continued, unwilling to string Marcy and Zakar and 'love' together in the same sentence. He checked his head again, felt a slow in the rush but a trickle was still a trauma as far as skulls were concerned. Give it another ten minutes and he'd have a wicked headache as the wolf brain and the human brain settled back into the proper rhythm.

"The place of fear. The place of creation, of imagination, of testing. The road is there," he pointed to the sky. Wisps of light purple smoke danced like an aurora up toward the heavens before dissipating in the wind. With his other hand he indicated the earth. "The home below. We are far off it."

Unlikely to get much more specific at this point in time, especially considering both their eyes kept returning to the now completely dark street (baring a light in the window of his neighbor's). Caelan set one bloody hand on his hip. "And you want to kill Marcy not because she is wrong for him, but because he is not ready to go home?"

"Yes. A few more centuries and maybe we try this experiment again. She good for him, but not ready we are for them."

Something in the way Toby spoke sent the gears turning in Caelan's aching skull. Zakar had run, yes, was afraid, most certainly, but he had kept Toby out. And Toby did not want Zakar to return- something problematic in that. No one wanted their boss back from an extended vacation . . .

Caelan didn't want to make a mountain of that molehill just yet. He took a deep breath. "So you want to kill her?"

"Devour her heart, yes. It is the only way."

"But you've been unable to."

Toby stroked one cat's ear. "Once realize he has fallen in love with her, I try, a couple times. Near misses all. This why need you. Sharp tooth woman says so."

Caelan scratched his chin. "I take it you mean Tasha? A vampire?"

His lips peeled back into an old smile. "Ah, yes. Vampire. Not of mine line, the vampire. Or things that crawl in shapes of men and beast."

"Tell me something," Caelan continued. "If he has to find a bride and share his heart with her, why hasn't he done so already?"

"Belief," Toby said with a shrug. "And because his bride works hard already to stop the chaos of his spirit. She has stolen a knife from him and tried to give to you. He must use this, no other, to cut her heart. He must have this, and he must take her to the entrance of his home, as do you to a key. When it is done, he will be set."

"What are you?"

"A god, if there is word in human tongue. Maybe not a god. It depends on who you ask. Ask yourself. Ask the man who sacrifices in the name of Zakar. You say different than he."

"Can you be killed?"

Toby laughed. "Not happen yet," he said.

"Can Zakar be killed?"

"Same answer. And I not be telling if could. Would not be good for me."

Caelan frowned. Not what he'd been hoping for.

Toby, perhaps sensing this or having his own thoughts in mind, turned his pipe and offered it to the man. "You, werewolf, must hunt for me. I devour the heart, but there is a body to be had. It is all yours if wanting."

"I want her alive," Caelan responded. "I won't hunt for a corpse. That ain't what she is to me."

Toby shook his head. "Not possible. She belong to him now. There is no alive. There is only many ways of being dead. Why you think she come to me?"

Caelan couldn't answer him, but he was sure there was more to Marcy's gesture than that.

Hit 28,000+ words with the posting of this chapter tonight (out of the 50k to win at NaNaWriMo)! Just want to reiterate my appreciation for you readers as I'm moving very quickly to get the main points down so it gets messy. So thank you and I love you! <3