The Full Moon Speakeasy

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Legend of Lupo

His arm tightened around her. Lucille watched as his face set in a cold, flat expression. “Ignore him,” he muttered and pulled her along. 

She wanted to listen, but her eyes kept going back to the man. He looked so enraged and disgusted; and either she was losing her mind, or he was clearly looking between the two of them and not just at Noah. “Who is he?” she asked. 

“A problem for another day,” Noah muttered. “Many are going to be, but I swear to you, you’ll be safe.” 

Her heart fluttered, but she nodded and did her best to keep her gaze forward. Lucille wasn’t used to being noticed. Sure, there would be the occasional advances from men she passed but nothing more. Never had someone looked at her with such an expression that it invoked a feeling of danger. Her mind started doubting how willing she should be to get involved with Noah, but he was right. No matter how much her mind screamed at her to stop and to disengage, she was tethered to him by something greater than her rational mind. 

Their pace quickened until they turned the corner. It was only another couple of blocks before they stopped outside of a grand house. It looked to be from the Victorian area, with a section of the house having a cylindrical, tower look to it with a high point. It was dark gray with black shutters and roofing which was dusted with the night’s snow.  Every set of curtains were drawn, not a single glimpse allotted into what awaited beyond the walls. 

He handed her the pizza while he fished into his pocket for a set of keys. The door was curved, rich wood with heavy iron brackets and doorknob. The key he slid into the lock looked just as old as the house, thick and heavy even by the look of it. When the door swung open, he gestured her inside first. Hesitantly, Lucille stepped inside the dimly lit foyer. 

As the door shut behind her, the lights turned on, giving life to the entryway. The walls were a deep, muted olive color, the trim all black. The light fixtures were made of dark bronze and electric candles. The art on the walls wasn't what she was expecting. Maybe she thought it would be the same as his place, all wolves. These depicted scenes that reminded her of the paintings of the Revolutionary War. There was a great amount of movement, weapons, and violence in some—  but they weren’t wearing the colors of soldiers. They were dressed in regular garb. 

“Let’s get some food in you first,” he breathed. 

They walked together down the hall and toward the dining room. Her eyes couldn’t stop scanning all the art, getting depictions of what seemed to be a secret history. Even with just glimpses, she picked up on the fact werewolves were coded in the paintings by having fur colors and yellow eyes. How peculiar. 

They moved into the dining room, which housed an impossibly long table that was made of a glossy, blemish-free wood. It had elegant candleholders, place settings at every chair, a grand chandelier hanging above, and a large window on the far wall that overlooked a private courtyard filled with lavish greenery and lush shrubbery touched by snow but seemingly not winter. Nothing was wilted or dead. Everything was vibrant and lively. 

They ate in relative silence, Luci’s mind still going over every little detail. There were a few comments made about the food and how it was surprising to see a man of his status eating a hand food, and he made jokes about it. Other than that, it was a matter of eating just to consume. 

Once they had their fill, Noah stood and offered her his arm. She accepted, taking gentle hold of his arm as they walked back out into the hallway. “I think the best way to help you get a hold of all this information, is to go through the history,” he explained. They started at the far end of the hall and stopped at the first painting on the left. The scene was that of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden with the only difference being wolves and other animals lingering in the background. 

“A bit on the nose,” he chuckled. “But, our lore states wolves have been around just as long, if not longer than the greatest human ancestors. As mutual apex predators, we could coexist and expect one another’s land.”

They strolled to the next one. It was a nighttime scene in a prehistoric village. There were torches everywhere, wolves running toward the woods as people attacked them. “However, the further humans got away from nature, the more territorial they became. Wolves would be attacked for coming near, even if they meant no harm. To wolves, this broke an unspoken, natural treaty. Wolves began to dwindle and were hunted for their pelts. All under the idea that it was to protect their livestock.”

The next painting was wolves howling at a blood moon. “In ancient wolf culture, the moon was the face of God. Wolves prayed for God to grant them equal footing. To rise and be stronger than humans so they could recover from the loss of life. God granted those who prayed the ability to transform between man and wolf. Granted us strength, size, and other abilities that would help us thrive once again.”

The next portrait was of ancient Rome, and Luci could spot men with yellow eyes in the groups of gladiators. There were even  some wolves beside them. “Werewolves attempted to cohabitate once more with people, integrate and become brethren. At times like this, the identity of werewolves weren’t hidden. We used our powers to support the humans we considered ourselves a part of.” 

It was followed by a painting of medieval times. Ill-humans, plague doctors with yellow eyes beaming through the masks. “We were immune to most human disease. At times of need, we served the community and treated them the best we could.”

The next one made Lucille’s jaw drop, her hand flying to cover her mouth. It was a mob with torches and throwing rocks as a yellow-eyed woman was tied to a post with a fire raging at her feet. She peered at the accompanying painting, which depicted a m******e happening in an early American town. “Unfortunately, the eras following the Enlightenment proved not to be kind to the werewolves. People believed us to be of the devil. That surely this wasn’t a natural creation of God, but rather a bastardization of his image. People were given the treatment of witches when singled out. If they knew of a local pack, they would slaughter them in the streets or drive them into the woods. Werewolves retreated into hiding. Those who remained in society sought to destroy any evidence of our existence to help hide us. Erased us from human history so that word could eventually die. We would become things of legend.”

On and on the paintings went. “It wasn’t until after the American Civil War that packs started to feel safe enough to reenter society. Maybe we should have remained in the woods, but it was clear human society was going to continue to expand and thin our territories. So, we needed to make territories for ourselves within society to ensure our continuation.”

There was one, looking to be from the Victorian era. There were yellow-eyed men, some clearly Italian, others looking to be Irish or English, and some eastern Euorpeans. “Unfortunately, it created tension between packs. Instead of coming together, they fought it out bloodily. After a century of hiding and fighting for any semblance of a home, I understand the frenzy they must have been in to carve out a little corner of the world for themselves.”

They stopped at the one nearing the stairs in the foyer. It was one of the house they were standing in. “Packs used power in society, getting into politics and business to lobby for our own interests. The Italian pack settled here, wiped out any competition. And are now following to our own decisions. The Italians messed up by dominating the other packs, wiping out potential mates and the children they could have had. But, I’m sure the other packs were just as violent and volatile in defending themselves and attacking them. And because I’m the leader, I must fix this mess. Even if it hurts.”