Chance Encounter Under a Bad Moon
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 1 of the Oz story arc, "The Path of Wolves"
Timeline: immediately after "Wild at Heart", in the 4th season of "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer". A detailed introduction with background info is posted to the hiddenrealms LJ community. The link is in my profile.
Disclaimer: The Buffyverse belongs to Joss Whedon. The White Wolf characters, vampire clans, etc., belong to Mark Rein-Hagen. Eric is based on the main character of the short-lived TV-series "The Crow". No money made, no copyright infringment intended.
Rating: 14, for now. Might get higher later.
It was already past sunset when Oz arrived at the outskirts of Los Angeles – and run out of fuel. He left Sunnydale in such a desperate hurry he didn't even check the tank – and was now in danger to get stuck on the highway. Fortunately, he detected a gas station about half a mile further. He parked the van and climbed out to get a refill.
Next to him, a leather-clad, long-haired young man of obviously Native American descent was doing the same.
There was something strange about this guy, something Oz couldn't exactly put his finger on. He was a biker, there couldn't be any doubt about that, most likely even living on the roads, but that wasn't what caught Oz' eye. The slightly slanted eyes above those broad cheekbones told about wisdom and knowledge, far beyond the guy's apparent age. His movements were easy and smooth, revealing not only great physical strength but also showing a cat-like quality only possessed by martial arts-experts.
Their eyes met, and the stranger, having finished refilling his tank, leaned comfortably against his safely-parked, heavy bike, crossing muscular arms over his broad chest. Now turned fully towards Oz, the younger man could see his black T-shirt and a silver necklace – actually more like a narrow collar – with a beautifully crafted wolf's head in the middle of it, right at his throat.
"You're new in the City, aren't you?" he asked with a deep, pleasantly rough voice. He had a slight accent Oz couldn't quite recognize, perhaps one from his Native tribe.
"I've been here earlier," the werewolf answered carefully.
Which was true, of course. It had only been about half a year ago that the "Dingoes" came to LA for a gig – and that, to Buffy's request, he'd brought Angel the Ring of Amarra. The same one that'd had Angel kidnapped, tortured and almost killed. The same one the souled vampire destroyed shortly thereafter.
Since then, Oz' seemingly simple and uncomplicated life had been turned upside down with a violence that made him leave the town he was born and raised in, to run away from the girl he loved more than anyone or anything, to save her from himself.
"Yeah," he repeated softly, thoughtfully. "I have been here before."
The other man scrutinized him with an intensity that made him increasingly uncomfortable, as if the Indian had read his mind or something. Maybe he was psychic?
"But never like this," the stranger said, as if he'd had, in fact, read his thoughts. "Wherever you're coming from, you're not going back, are you? Not for a long time. Maybe never."
'What makes you think that?" Oz asked, secretly adding in thoughts. Not that any of it would be your business…
"You're right, it isn't," the other man nodded, then he said with a grin. "You're broadcasting your thoughts so loudly that even my mentor could hear them, forty miles from here. But you don't have to worry. I'm a road-runner, just like you."
"Well, I'm not," Oz said defensively. "Not usually, at least."
"I don't know about usually," the other man answered with a grin, "but you're definitely one of us now. The scent of the Wild is very strong on you; and you smell of blood and despair – he bent forward slightly and offered a broad, suspiciously cool hand. "My name's Eric. I've been called The Spirit Crow, however, ever since I returned from the death. My people are a bit suspicious about reincarnation."
"No surprise here," Oz squeezed the proffered hand shortly with his much smaller one. "you sure you actually have returned from death? 'Cuz as cold as you are, I'd guess you haven't… not fully, at least. Undead were more like it. You're a vampire, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I am," Eric answered openly, "but the returning from the death stuff had happened years before my Embrace. I was… well, in a sense I still am… a Cherokee shaman. A rather strong one, mind you. As a mortal, I was already capable of taking on animal form, and I found my current… family with the help of my Garou friends."
Oz didn't understand why he was standing calmly, talking to an unknown vampire, after sunset at a deserted gas station. He had an odd feeling of familiarity towards this undead guy… and his acute sense of danger hadn't kicked in yet, for some reason. Strange…
"What are those… Garou?" he finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Eric gave him a quick half-grin. "Beings like you. The ones humans call werewolves."
Oz was petrified with shock for a moment. "You know what I am?"
The other shrugged. "Of course. Every vampire could smell a Garou from at least twenty feet. It's an instinct – on both sides. I'm surprised that you haven't smelled me right from the beginning. Most Garou have a rather… violent reaction when they smell one of us."
"Why?" Oz asked.
Eric became serious again. "Kindred… that's what we call ourselves…. And Garou don't get along very well. Garou believe strongly in defending the Earth Mother against environmental destruction, and they consider us part of that destruction. They say, since we are undead, we are part of the Wyrm, against nature. Most Garou would attack and kill any vampire instinctively, without a thought… well, at least when they are in their true form."
"But you said you had wolf friends…"
"I still have. But in my case, it's different. Native American tribes are used to deal with animal people, and some of us shamans are shapeshifters by nature. What's even more important, I belong to Clan Gangrel. Our Clan is the only one that lives in mutual acceptance with our wolf brethren. We seldom dwell in cities, travel through wild places, often in wolf form… We've much in common with them. Some legends even say we'd had common ancestors."
Oz shook his head. "You're losing me, man."
Eric grinned again. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Not an easy concept to process in the middle of the night. Listen, I've got to wait for someone. Why don't we sit in there for a while," he gestured towards a tiny night café, just a few metres away, "and talk?"
Oz hesitated. Not that he didn't trust this guy – surprisingly enough, he actually did – but who knew who… or what else was sitting in that café, waiting for a late dinner to walk in, Or for an early lunch, considering vampire hours.
Eric had read his thoughts again, it seemed, because he grinned at him once more.
"Don't worry," he said, "tonight I'm the only one here on a liquid diet. Until Ramona arrives, that is. But our Clan never feeds on Lupines, unless we are starving. Do I look like I'm starving?"
Oz took a look at the well-muscled man… creature… whatever – and grinned back.
"Not really," he admitted. "Okay, let's go. I'll just park the van over there."
"Yeah, I better bring my bike, too," Eric agreed. "I'd hate to lose my guitar to some long-fingered type."
Oz' ears perked up. "You play the guitar?"
"Hey, I'm a storyteller," Eric laughed. "My Clan brethren invite me to gatherings all the time to sing old ballads for them… or their favoured rock hits."
"Have you ever played in a band?" Oz inquired. "In your mortal days, I mean."
Eric shook his head. "Nah, always been more the lonely wolf… pardon the pun. Besides, if you're in shaman training, you don't have much time for frivolities. What about you?"
"Yeah, I'm in a band… well, have been, until recently. Was the lead guitarist of the 'Dingoes'."
"'Dingoes'?" Eric echoed with a raised eyebrow.. Oz shrugged.
"That's the name of the band: 'Dingoes Ate My Baby'. I used to transport the whole band and the equipment in the van."
"But no more," Eric stated, after they'd parked their respective vehicles outside the night café and entered the small establishment together.
Oz shrugged again, a sad expression clouding his usually laconic face. "It's a long story."
"Tell me," Eric fetched two mugs of steaming coffee from the counter, placed one of them in front of Oz and sat opposite him on the other side of the small table. "I've got lots of time… and I won't get any older, you know," he added, laughing.
Oz glared at him, curiously. "How old are you, really?"
Eric grinned and took a sip from his coffee. "I've been Embraced in 1911. At that time, I was thirty-one mortal years old."
"Cool," Oz decided; then he looked at Eric's mug. "Can you drink other things than…"
"… blood?" Eric finished the sentence. "Yeah, I can. Liquids are OK, they leave our bodies just as they came in. They won't nourish us in any way, though. I couldn't live on coffee. Or ice cream. Or chicken soup, you know."
"Then why do you drink it?"
"Coffee and alcohol work the same way for us as for mortals," Eric explained, "although we have a much higher tolerance for it. Besides," he added, grinning, "I like the taste."
"What about solids?" Oz asked. "can you eat solids?"
"I could," Eric made a sour face, "But I can't digest it. Let's not go there, it's not an appealing subject. You wanted to ask about the Garou anyway, I believe."
Oz nodded. "Yeah. You said things I don't get. I mean, like being a werewolf would be a… a permanent condition. I've been bitten, sure, but I'm only a wolf for three days a month."
"No, you aren't," Eric said. "Being bitten, simply, wouldn't make you a werewolf, no more than it would make you a vampire. Even less so, in fact. We start out as ordinary humans and need to be drained and then drink the Vitae… I mean, the blood of our Sire to Become what we are. Your kin is born as Garou."
"What?" Oz almost choked on his coffee.
Eric gave him a compassionate look. "The wolf must have been in your family all the time. The bite only helped it to surface. You can't make someone a Garou. Unlike with vampires, it's genetically inherited."
Oz frowned, still not really believing him. "Are you saying that I was determined to become a werewolf?"
"No," the other said patiently. "I'm saying that you always have been one, ever since you were conceived. One of your family lines has to belong to the Garou kinfolk. You could have spent your entire life without even knowing it, though, if you hadn't been bitten," he sniffled the air discretely. "I can't recognize which tribe you belong to. The tribe signature is too weak. Tell me: can you change at will or does it come over you on its own?"
"You mean there is a way to control the change?" Oz asked.
"There is," the vampire said," but it's tricky. And it requires thorough and expert training. You can't learn it on your own."
"Where can I learn it, then?" Oz asked. "Can you bring me to someone who could (and would) teach me to have the wolf under control?"
Eric thought about it for a second. "I can bring you to my mentor… my Sire, and we'll see then how we can continue. The question is: are you ready to follow me to a vampire nest, as you humans call it?"
"If it helps me to scratch my life back together… yeah, I'll go. I can't go on like this… and somehow I don't think you're gonna eat me for dinner."
Eric gave him that sly little grin again. "At least not without your permission. Wolf instincts working just fine, huh? You could sense if I were to hurt you, right?"
"Yeah, I think so," Oz nodded, and to his own surprise, he knew that it was true.
"Fine. We'll go then, as soon as Ramona arrives."
"I'm here," the rough, smoky voice of a surprisingly young woman answered from behind them.
Oz looked up with interest. A tall, wiry, dark-skinned Latino woman – no, more like a girl, since she seemed to be hardly more than seventeen – approached their table. She was clad in black leather pants, knee-high leather boots and a short, sleeveless leather west, all decorated with small silver nails. Her short-cropped dark hair in spikes, long silver rings tangling from her ears and silver bracelets on her upper arms. She looked like someone who'd had a very hard life… or unlife… whatever.
"Ramona!" Eric smiled and stood to take her in his arms. They snuggled and kissed for a few moments, ignoring Oz with practiced ease. "I was getting worried."
"What for?" the girl shrugged. "I've survived on my own for two years before I found your family."
"I know you're a fighter," Eric pulled her down to the table. "Still, I like to be concerned a bit. I do care, you know."
"Yeah, yeah," the tough expression of the street kid softened a bit. "I'm just not used to it, that's all. No one has ever cared for me before, not even that freak of my Sire. What little I know about unlife, including my own powers and needs, I've mostly figured out of my own. Any leech who could teach me anything also wanted to control me."
"Each and any of them?" Eric asked quietly. "You really believe that?"
The girl shrugged. "My Sire made me, then left me alone and starving."
"That's the Gangrel way, Ramona, and you know that. It's our tradition to abandon our Childer, to see how they can survive on their own. If they do, and if they act with honour, one day we present ourselves to them and teach them the ways of the Kindred."
"Yeah? Where's Tanner been all the time, then? I had to avoid my mortal family for fear what I might do to them when the Thirst become unbearable. My only teachers were instinct, along with trial and error. Survival was a nightly struggle. Eventually, I found others like me – Eddie, Jen and Darnell – but they were young fools like me. And nothing was between us and the Sabbat out here in the night. No one told us about your haven. Or Eddie might still be alive… well, undead…"
"What happened?" Oz asked quietly.
"A Lupine ripped him to shreds in Texas," Ramona answered absently, too used to such tragedies in her young life to become really upset anymore. Then, as if she'd noticed Oz' presence for the first time, her nostrils flared. "You! You're one of them!"
"Yes, he is," Eric gripped her shoulders tightly. "Calm down.. He's one of the Lost Whelps. I'm bringing him home to Blackfeather. We were only waiting for you."
"You're bringing that home?" Ramona repeated unbelievingly. "As in the same haven I've planned to stay?"
"Oh, come on, Ramona! Sooner or later You'll have to learn to deal with the Garou, no matter what's happened to poor Eddie. Besides, the two of you won't be exactly staying under the same roof."
"What business do you have with him anyway?" Ramona demanded.
"He needs to learn about his own nature," Eric said, "… a lot. And Blackfeather is the best to teach him about the wolf. Well, aside from the Garou themselves, that is."
"I'm not really interested in the wolf," Oz admitted. "I'm only interested in losing it for good… no chance there, eh?"
"No, I'm afraid there isn't," the undead shaman sighed. "But you're making a mistake by not showing any interest for your wolf nature. Garou, as a rule, are deeply spiritual people who know the secrets of the Earth Mother to a degree nobody else does."
Ramona snorted in disgust. Eric shook his head.
"They do, Ramona. Of course, we're only dealing with the Uktena here, they are the only larger group resident in this area. There are some who can be outright hostile, others are born peacemakers or even great singers and storytellers. I'm sure we can find out which tribe you belong to. And our Uktena friends can teach you how to gain control over the Change."
"I'd like that," Oz said in a small voice. "Still, I wish I could lead a human life… as much as possible."
The Spirit Crow gave him a compassionate look.
"There will always be restrictions, you know," he warned. "Even if you manage to master the Change. You might be more human-like than we are, but you still aren't human. Not anymore."
"I know," Oz nodded glumly. "Control would be… sufficient, though."
"Okay," the Crow stood, pulling the girl up with him. "I'll take you to my Sire. He owns a drive-in motel, only forty miles from here… officially, at least. In fact, it's a gathering place for those of our Clan who're still in LA, and a place where we regularly meet our Lupine brethren. Follow me!"
Oz stood obediently and followed the Cherokee vampire and his Latino girlfriend out into the night to their waiting vehicles. Climbing into his van, he saw that Ramona, too, had a heavy bike and rode it without a helm; it had to be a Gangrel thing, whatever it meant. During the almost forty miles long drive, Oz repeatedly asked himself if he was doing the right thing – or probably will end up as a snack for his newly found buddies. Still, he strange feeling that he could trust Eric wouldn't fade, and although he was tempted to turn back several times, in the end he did not.
Finally, they reached a solidly built old drive-in motel called The Wolfpup's Den that was bordering a wooded area – not uncommon in several of the detached parts of LA. The two bikers guided him to the main building that was built like an Indian longhouse, rightly decorated with traditional symbol sand pictograms. They parked right outside the house and went directly to the owner's office.
They were greeted by a middle-aged, round-faced Cherokee man, who wore his slightly greying, shiny black hair in a long ponytail and was clad in jeans, moccasins and a traditionally decorated, soft leather shirt. On his neck, he wore a wampum, made of black and white seashells, He smoked a pipe and had a peaceful expression on his face.
"Welcome home, Childe," he said in a deep, smooth voice, after exchanging some kind of tribal greeting with Eric, the meaning which Oz couldn't figure out. "Ramona, it's good to see you again. Madame Zorza was getting worried. Where have the two of you been so long? I've expected you hours ago."
"We… I had a rather… interesting encounter," the Crow repeated. "With this young man here. His name's Oz, and he's a Garou."
"I can smell that," the older vampire replied dryly; then he sniffled in a discreet manner. "I don't think he's an Uktena, though."
Eric nodded. "Neither do I. In fact, I can't recognize any tribe signature on him, and h has no idea whatsoever. Maybe our friends can help him – or you can."
For a moment, the older man watched Oz silently, as if he wanted to look directly in his heart. Then he extended a hand.
"Welcome to my haven, brother wolf. I'm Edward Blackfeather of Clan Gangrel, a Kindred… a being you would call a vampire," he paused for another moment and added, somewhat surprised. "This doesn't seem to bother you."
"I've grown up at the Hellmouth," Oz replied with a shrug. "You're not the first one I've seen… although we were rather on a bite/stake level of relationship with your kind… except with Angel, that is."
"Angelus?" Blackfeather repeated, even more surprised. "You know Angelus?"
"He prefers Angel in these days," Oz said, "but yeah, I know him. Quite well, actually. I was a friend of the Slayer he worked with… sort of." He shut up, realizing that telling a bunch of vampires that he was best buddies with the Slayer was probably not the wisest thing. Blackfeather didn't seem all too disturbed, though.
"You were? But you aren't anymore?"
"It's a long story."
"Tell me," Blackfeather pointed to a comfortable chair. "I've got all the time in the world, and we, Gangrel, love long stories. Unless you're really tired, of course. In which case we can do it tomorrow night."
Oz shook his head. "Nah, I'd like to get over with it. 'Sides, I owe the story Eric here… we never came to it at the gas station."
Blackfeather tilted his head. "You met at a gas station? Now that's a story worth telling on its own. But let me first call for the Elder, will you? He might be interested as well, and he has a lot more experience than I do."
Oz had no objections, and Eric went to fetch his grand-Sire and the other members of their undead family. Ramona, being of a different bloodline and not even remotely interested in wolf stories, left them to find the aforementioned Madame Zorza (whoever she might have been; presumably another vampire). Blackfeather brewed fresh herbal tea for all and ushered Oz into a room joined with his office: a long and large room, with low, broad benches running around along the four walls, here and there with sewn-up tree trunks instead of small coffee tables.
Slowly, one after another, half a dozen people filed in, men and women alike, of different age. It had to be a well-populated bloodline, either extremely well organized or without enemies among their own kind, that they dared to live all on the same spot.
The leader was, undoubtedly, the elderly-looking, white-haired man in faded yeans and a chequered flannel shirt whom Eric respectfully led into the room. The old man sat cross-legged on the bench, across the entrance door, waving his Childer and grand-Childer to sit as well.
"Greetings, young wolf," he said to Oz, his voice heavy with age but not the least weak or brittle. "I'm called Talking Water, and I'm the eldest member of Clan Gangrel in this City. I was already around when the first white settlers came… I was the one who greeted them in Virginia. I was bound to our wolf brethren even before that. So, you can be open with us. We mean you no harm."
Strange as it seemed, Oz tended to believe him. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit… uneasy with so many vampires in the same room. Talking water seemed to understand his discomfort.
"Let me tell you a bit about us first," he said. "We of Clan Gangrel are wandering nomadic vampires who generally prefer the countryside to the city. We typically speak to and control animals, are tough and resilient… and masters of shape change. All of us can take on the form of wolves or birds of prey.
Oz raised a small hand. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course," the old Indian nodded.
"What exactly is a Clan?"
"A Clan is a group of vampires who share similar traits and, in most cases, a similar outlook. There are two sects of belief that members of the different Clans belong: the Camarilla and the Sabbat. They are at war with each other due to a difference of beliefs."
"What difference?" Oz asked,
"The Camarilla seeks to maintain the Masquerade and keep Kindred safe from the prying eyes of mortals everywhere. And though hey view mortals as pawns, they do not harm mortals unnecessary. For the Sabbat, mortals are sheep and they are the shepherds," Talking Water explained.
"I see," Oz said calmly. "And you are…"
"We used to be a Clan of the Camarilla, until our Justicar pulled us out of the sect, in 1999," Talking Water replied. "Now we are an independent Clan and trying to keep out of the Clan wars."
"Oh. And how comes you're friends with the werewolves?"
"Hmmm, let's take a brief look at our Clan history. The founder of our Clan was, as the legend says, Ennoia. She's one of the three child of Lilith, Adam's first wife. Ennoia had many children, and from these children descended both the gypsies and the Lupines, or so it's said. Eventually, Ennoia was Embraced by Caine's childe Hren, and became the mother of the Clan we are of today. We are all her Childer. Since that time we have ranged far and wide, always the first Clan to go where those other citified vampires wouldn't stick their noses without a proper mortal herd and the creature comforts they so depend on. We share the wilds with many creatures… including our two-skinned brethren whom you, too, belong., It's a truly wonderful thing to run as wolves in a pack with them and to howl to the moon…"
"Unfortunately, their stubbornness makes them hard to deal with," Blackfeather added with a wry face. "They often forget (or choose to deny) that we all come from the same mother, and they would war with us over their stupid pride."
"Not all of them," a very young girl protested gently. "What about our Uktena friends?"
"They're different," Blackfeather admitted, "but only because they are Indians as well. Our human sides bring us more understanding than our shared heritage." He paused, then added. "Now that you do have an idea whom you're dealing with, young wolf, maybe it's time to tell us your story."
"There isn't much of a story," Oz shrugged. "My parents died in a car accident when I was still a baby. An aunt, the younger sister of Mom took me and raised me. I joined my band when I was fourteen and moved in with my friend, Devon, when I was fifteen. A year later, I met Willow. Shortly thereafter I was bitten by my little cousin, Geordi, and by the next full moon…. Well, you can guess what happened."
"Tell us anyway," Blackfeather urged gently.
"I don't really know what happened," Oz sighed. "When the Change comes, my human mind seems to shut down. I can't remember a thing what I do when I'm in wolf form. But the gang says I didn't hurt anyone at the first time, and we worked out a solution: they put me in a cage for the three critical days of the month."
"Crude but efficient," Talking Water commented with a grandfatherly smile.
"Yeah," Oz nodded. "But a few weeks ago, I.. I run into a female werewolf. She was very… possessive about me. She was also ruthless, killing and eating people, every time when she Changed. Then, finally, she tried to kill Willow, so that she wouldn't stand between us anymore."
"Willow… is your girlfriend?" Eric asked in a surprisingly gentle manner.
Oz slumped in his seat, his young face haunted. "She was… she is the love of my life. I couldn't let Veruca kill her."
"Veruca?" Blackfeather repeated sharply. "This story is just getting more and more strange. Your path is certainly not an easy one. Facing the First Change alone, living in a cage like an animal at every full moon… and Veruca being the first of your kinfolk you've ever encountered…"
"You knew her?" Oz asked, stunned.
The Gangrel nodded. "Every Garou in California knows about this place, and they pass my address along themselves. This is neutral territory: a safe haven for all creatures, even for humans. Veruca stayed here several times. Our Uktena friends tried to teach her the proper way, but her passions and bloodlust overwhelmed here."
"She's one of the Fianna," one of the women said, "a great singer and warrior, but without guidance, not able to control her wild passions. A tragedy was inevitable, sooner or later."
Oz paled. "You know what happened?"
The woman shook her head. "No, but I can guess. She threatened the girl you love… you ran away… Is she dead?"
"We fought," Oz murmured. "I remember her broken body… her throat torn open… her eyes broken… But the next day, the corpse was gone."
"Were you in wolf form during your fight?" Talking Water asked.
Oz nodded. "That was the first time that I Changed by daylight. I killed her to save Willow."
"Have you mated before?" the ancient Indian continued the inquiry. Oz nodded again.
"Yes. I couldn't resist her, no matter how much I wanted to."
"In your human form or as wolves?"
"As wolves. Willow… she caught us on the next morning. We… we broke up… sort of. She felt betrayed, and I… I just ran away. I didn't want to endanger her any more."
"That," Blackfeather said, "was a very wise decision, young wolf. In their true form, only silver can kill the Garou – or you have to rip the heart out of their bodies. That's why we always change when one of them attacks us."
"Does it mean that Veruca… might still be alive?" Oz asked in shock.
The medicine man nodded. "Possibly, yes. A Garou as strong and resilient as she was might have survived and escaped. And if she lives, there's only one place she could flee."
"Her own kinfolk," Oz whispered. "Your friends."
"Yes," Blackfeather agreed. "We'll ask the Uktena about her… but you have to realize, that since you've mated with her, in Garou terms she does have a claim on you."
"She's… what?"
"By the Garou, the females act on instinct when they choose their mates – and they mate for a lifetime. If Veruca survived, she might or might not insist on keeping your mating bond. It's hard to say. Families that deny their wolf nature, or don't even know of it, can't give their offspring proper guidance. The Lost Whelps are often highly unstable and utterly unpredictable."
"What if she's alive and insists on keeping the bond?"
"Then, young wolf, you won't have any other choice than accept her, just as you've accepted her offer not so long ago."
"But… but she's a killer! She's ruthless and blood-thirsty and selfish… at times hardly more than a mindless animal."
"The Uktena won't let her run out on her own again," Talking Water said. "But you can't reject her, if she still wants you. You've lost that right when you accepted her offer. She's you mate now. If you listen to your heart, you can feel it, too."
"No, I don't," Oz replied stubbornly. "If I stay with her, I'd end up just like she is. I won't become an animal. There has to be a way out of this mess."
All eyes turned to the medicine man, but Blackfeather only shook his head in sympathy, "I'm afraid there isn't, young wolf. The most you can hope for is to tame your Beast, but it won't go away. Just like ours doesn't."
"Then that's what I'll do," Oz said. "If Angel could learn to live on animal blood, I can learn to control the wolf, too."
The vampires exchanged surprised looks.
"We've heard about it," Talking Water said finally. "It's a rare thing for an Anarch… especially from the Order of Aurelius. His bloodline usually produced the most vicious monsters of our kind. But he's said to have been turned against his own people since the Ravnos curse."
"I don't think he'd do anything to harm you, Oz answered. "He only tries to protect the innocent. We used to fight together in Sunnydale."
"Are you planning to visit him?" Blackfeather asked.
Oz shrugged. "I might. But I wouldn't like to meet his secretary. She's a friend of Willow's… well, sort of… and I don't want anybody to know where I am. Besides, Angel can handle me, even if I Change. His human friends might not."
"That is true, in both accounts," Blackfeather nodded. "But you can stay here, with us, if you want."
Oz shook his head. "Thanks, but no, thanks. I'll try to find a job and switch from Sunnydale UC to UCLA. I intend to continue my studies and to try living like… like normal people. No offence."
The Gangrel nodded. "None taken. If anyone, we understand the need of independence… and the longing for a normal life, however futile it is. For the time being, though, you should stay here. Rest for the night and the next day. Tomorrow, we'll call our wolf brethren and talk about your problem. Then I'll ask Madame Zorza to read the cards for you."
"Who's Madame Zorza?"
"A highly respected Elder of our Clan here, in LA. Besides, she's a gypsy fortune teller and something of a witch. Not a very strong one, she only has a touch of he supernatural on her, but it's enough to read the cards for you – if you agree, that is:"
Oz shrugged again. "Why not? Can't harm, might help."
"Good. Grace Lonetree will show you your room and bring you something to eat. Rest peaceful tonight; nothing can harm or disturb you under my roof."
Oz thanked the medicine man and followed a lovely young woman to the other end of the motel, where his room has already been prepared. Eric joined them and helped him carry his duffels from the van.
"I'll come for you tomorrow," the Spirit Crow promised. "We can exchange stories and songs before the time comes to meet your people."
"I'm still not so sure they're really my people," Oz replied, "but thanks anyway."
Eric waved friendly and left, together with the young woman. Oz showered and went to back, lying awake for a long time and contemplating the weirdness of his life.
The End