Chapter Six
As the week wore on, Shaggy was good on his word to start getting the girls in shape. Every morning was started with a jog around the border of the school grounds, the pace measured to focus on endurance. Where their forms were off, Shaggy worked to correct them. It was here that Elsa in particular shone, her measured gait better suited to jogging than sprinting.
After a brief rest and water break, they stretched and then hit what Phanty had nicknamed the Labyrinth. Here, just as on their first day, they tested their sprinting and reaction times. Though Shaggy was mum on the details, he had dropped hints that the course for their obstacle relay was far from smooth.
After another break and then a cool-down lap around the moat, they moved on to tending the garden and then breakfast and classes. The girls saw little of Shaggy during these times, though they occasionally saw him from the windows of the classrooms roaming the grounds, seemingly sizing it up for who knew what.
After classes ended, it was back to gym. Rather than focus on running, Shaggy focused on their strength with weight lifting, wall chains, chin-ups, and the like. And through it all, from the morning to the afternoon, Shaggy did far more than simply bark instructions. He exercised with them, showed them the proper form, sweated and ached alongside his students.
And though they could not see it in themselves, Shaggy could see the beginnings of their progress and was proud of them for it. Unlike most teenagers of any kind, who would resist change or defy or disregard authority, the girls took his observations and lessons to heart. And it showed in their performances even after only a week.
As the group finished the final arc of their morning jog and headed for the rest area, Shaggy gathered them to explain how weekends would operate. He knew from Miss Grimwood that they still took weekends as free days, to rest and study and pursue their hobbies. Given that, he had decided to do something similar. He handed out instructions for aerobics and breathing exercises that the girls could practice at their leisure.
"Yes, Coach," the girls chorused.
As they rested, Winnie looked up at faint crescent in the sky. Soon enough, that would shrink down to nothing, to the darkest of nights when werewolves were, in a sense, at their most human. And it was the best time to broach the topic of the "quirks" of being a lycanthrope.
Next door at the Calloway School, the mirrors to the Grimwood girls, the five cadets known to most as the Crew, were carefully observing their rivals. While the colonel didn't officially promote this tactic, he didn't go out of his way to stop them either, citing it as exercises in gathering intelligence.
Of course, being teenaged boys, the cadets also used it for more than just military-esque intel.
"Eyes on the enemy?" Tug asked, his back to the concrete wall.
"Affirmative," Miguel said distantly.
Tug rolled his eyes at the distracted tone, that more than anything confirmation on setting his sights. As the resident tinkerer, Miguel generally had first dibs on using the various devices he built. "So report, Miguel," Tug commanded, his years of experience in leading his friends lending a sharp bark to his voice, not unlike the colonel's.
Miguel tore his eyes away from the visor to the periscope. "The girls are resting, their morning jog finished," he answered assuredly, Jamal writing down his words and the time on his watch. The boys had been observing the Grimwood exercise regime for the last week and debating on how effective it might have been.
Frankly, they were grudgingly impressed at such sudden improvement. And the fact that Colonel Calloway had announced that their coach was the one who had ensured their single victory was not exactly good news for their record.
"You know, maybe instead of observing them," Baxter, the youngest, interjected, "we should be working on our own skills." Baxter crossed his arms with a narrow-eyed glare to add to his point. Over the years, he had become something of Tug's second-in-command, his down-to-earth common sense often keeping their various schemes grounded.
"Ah, c'mon, Baxter. You worry too much! We'll slaughter those girls like we have every year," Grunt said, punching his fist into his palm for emphasis. Of all of the Crew, Grunt had always been the most assured in their skills and their victory, which was always good for morale. But that confidence had to be checked with realism, which was Jamal's specialty.
"Baxter's got a point, Tug. We all remember that dark horse victory brought on by this very coach. And this year it won't be volleyball. The new set up gives us precious little frame of reference. If we want to win, we gotta make sure we're up to scratch. Not just against the girls, but period."
Tug thumbed his chin in thought. After a moment, "Miguel, playback the recording of their coach's plans for the weekend." Miguel did so, and Tug nodded as he came to a decision. "We'll observe every Wednesday and Friday for reference, to see if we need to step up our game. Otherwise, we focus on ourselves." He looked around, making eye contact with all of them. "Clear?" he asked firmly.
"Clear," they chorused.
"Excellent. Now," he snatched the periscope from Miguel, "my turn to 'observe'." As the boys rearranged to put Tug in the center of their arrangement, Tug altered the focus of the scope onto a certain green-eyed vixen.
Oh the things they did for intel.
After formal classes and second gym, the hour or so before dinner found Tanis in her crypt practicing her own hobby. One that was not only a family trait and talent, but linked to her very being as the undead. One of the few things left that kept her connected to the time she had been born in.
Magic.
Tanis sat with her legs crossed and her head bowed, one hand in her lap holding a statuette and the other gently holding the charm on her necklace as she whispered incantations in her native tongue. The charm was shaped into a scarab, a symbol of immortality that formed the basis of the curse that animated mummies. The statue was in the shape of a dark-furred canine figure. Anubis, the god of embalming and protector of the dead. In essence her kin's greatest patron.
Unbeknownst to modern historians, the Ancient Egyptian clergy had long known that their beings they prayed to were not "gods" in any real sense. They had not been responsible for Creation, nor did they look upon mankind with any real sense of love. Frankly, the best common folk could get was dutiful aid or patronizing affection, like pets. Only the priests had any real respect, having learned to bargain with them for power.
The "gods" were, in actuality, simply very powerful spirits. They had risen from the Sahara desert on occasion to vanquish monsters for their own amusement and had been worshipped by the masses. This had strengthened them, and even helped mold and solidify their identities. And as worship made them stronger, they had become protective of that source of strength in mankind.
But that had been long ago. Now, with mankind's only knowledge of them coming from diluted myths and depictions in film, the gods had lost much of their influence. Which meant that those who remembered them, like Kharis and Tanis, were ever more invaluable. Their magic, which harnessed the power of the gods themselves, also acted as the closest thing to worship that they could get anymore, besides the faint trickle of power that came from their place in mortal culture.
It had become something of a symbiotic relationship. The former gods provided power in the form of more powerful or specialized magic, and the faux-worship granted them nourishment in the long run. Granted, mummies could use their own power to use magic, such as animating their bandages, scrying, or telekinetic bursts, but with the lack of focus on it, these often amounted to parlor tricks. Their patrons offered strength to truly do things.
As she finished her incantation —something she herself had come up with that amounted to asking the god of embalming and the dead 'How was your day?' — Tanis turned her head at the sound of her door, the only piece of wood along the walls of her room, creak open to reveal Scooby-Doo.
"Hi, Scooby," Tanis said brightly, carefully wrapping her statuette in linen and placing it in a bronze chest.
"Hiya, Tanis," Scooby replied in his guttural voice. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Practicing magic," she answered honestly. Scooby's eyebrows shot up at that. "Yeah. You wanna see?" Scooby hummed as he thought it over, then nodded enthusiastically.
Tamping down her nerves that always came with performing before an audience, Tanis shook herself out and placed her left hand on her right arm above the wrist, her palm centered on a charm hidden in her bandages. Though no one else could see it, it depicted a dark-furred canine sitting on a podium. Another symbol of Anubis.
"Anubis," Tanis intoned, an invocation of his powers. For a moment, she wondered if it was a good idea to invoke him simply to show off, but brushed it aside. She wouldn't take much and he'd get his nourishment; it'd be fine. Probably. As if in answer, Tanis shuddered as she felt the comforting stream of Anubis's power flow into her from the charm. Mortals would have called it icy, sticky, or uncomfortable, but to her it was familiar. It was the power of the guardian of the dead, her guardian.
A guardian that seemed to know that the best way to protect someone … was to help them protect themselves.
As the power flowed through her, Tanis did as she had many times before and focused on it, linking it to the material plane to influence her surroundings. She turned her hand palm-up and the shadows in the crypt deepened, truly deepened, before began to flow into her outstretched palm like threads of dark smoke. The shadows condensed into a sphere before it stretched into a long shape that finally solidified into a khopesh, an Ancient Egyptian hooked sword.
And behind her, in place of her own shadow, stretched a massive image of Anubis, his body and limbs humanoid and his head that of a wolf with a wide headdress, its arms spread wide as if protecting her. Or showing her off to the world.
With a tap of her foot and a bit of her own magic, a large stone jumped from the flooring and into the air. Tanis jumped and spun through the air to slice her khopesh through the stone. A half-second passed before the stone fell apart into two pieces that broke against the ground.
"Wow," Scooby said, his insides warring with awe at Tanis's display and self-preservative fear at the power he had just witnessed. Fear that was brushed aside when he remembered that this was Tanis. Sweet, adorable, shy, caring Tanis who wouldn't hurt a fly.
Tanis took a bow and released her link to Anubis as Scooby clapped, even whistling for her. Her khopesh disintegrated into black dust that disappeared before touching the ground, and the shadows in the room returned to normal, the image behind her fading away.
Glancing at an enchanted miniature obelisk that acted as a clock, Tanis smiled as she noted it was almost time for dinner. "Ready to eat, Scooby?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Scooby shot up and wagged his tail, moving to the door only to stop and wait for her. Tanis giggled and hugged Scooby's neck. "Race you!" she shouted, bounding through the open halls of the school.
Scooby chuckled and moved to follow, to show her exactly how outclassed she was with the right motivation — when he froze in place. Scooby gulped as a tingling feeling ran up his spine, like he was being watched. He slowly turned back to the room to find a massive shadow cast on the wall … in the shape of a canid-headed man. The only thing not-dark about it was its eyes that burned with amber light.
Scooby's teeth chattered as the shadow seemed to just look at him. It narrowed its eyes … and disappeared. Scooby woke up a few seconds later, not remembering having fallen and only hazily recalling what had just happened. Wait, what had just happened? He'd watched Tanis practice her magic, she called a race to the kitchen … then what? Scooby stood up and shook himself. Tanis's calls caught his ear and he raced down the hallway, leaving the weird feeling behind.
And as he left, a carving of Anubis on the wall flicked its eyes back to center, as it had originally been carved.
As everyone served themselves from Miss Grimwood's frog-and-nettle stew, Shaggy took a deep breath of the smell of cooked food. Strange food, of course, but perfectly edible. And, he had noticed, far more enticing since he had returned. Could it have been a part of his transformation? Did it really matter?
It was food!
Shaggy scooped up a forkful of the stew, but right before it passed his lips, the toll of an old-fashioned clock tower echoed through the school. "Ah," Miss Grimwood said, "that would be the gate bell. I hate to ask it, Shaggy, but would you mind checking on that?"
Shaggy mournfully glanced down at his food for a moment before he smiled. "Sure thing, Miss G," he answered. As he stood up, he leaned toward Phanty to his left at the dining table. "If Scooby tries to snatch my food, you mind stopping him?" he asked lowly.
"Sure thing, Coach," Phanty giggled.
With that settled, Shaggy made his way through the halls of the house, over the drawbridge, and down the driveway to the wrought-iron gate flanked by gargoyles. As he neared, he found a young man in a denim uniform and decorative white smock standing at the gate next to a company truck.
"Hello there," the young man said. "Is Miss Grimwood available?" If he was surprised at Shaggy's appearance, he didn't show it.
"You caught us in the middle of dinner," Shaggy explained with a shrug before pulling the gate open and offering a hand. "Coach Shaggy Rogers. How can I help you?"
Apparently accepting his explanation, the man offered a clipboard and pen. "Sign here, please." Shaggy scribbled his signature and handed it back in exchange for a cardboard pallet of large aluminum cans, like extra-tall sodas. "Have a nice day," the delivery man said pleasantly, casting only a single nervous glance at the school itself, before loading up and driving away.
As he drove away, Shaggy got a good view of the van's logo — "Slaughter & Son Meat Processing."
Glancing down at the case in his hands, Shaggy turned, closed the gate, and returned to the school while pointedly not thinking about what a slaughterhouse would deliver to the school. In cans.
Upon his return to the dining room, Shaggy gestured to the case in his hands. "Miss G, where do I put this?"
"Oh, wonderful," Miss Grimwood commented. "Just place those in the icebox in the kitchen."
"Actually, Coach," Sibella interjected, "if you don't mind." Sibella stood and approached before examining the cans and removing a particular one from the case. Only then did Shaggy notice that it wasn't blank, but inscribed with a symbol resembling cow horns.
Baring her fangs, Sibella sank them into the top of the can, jerking them out to leave two holes in the lid. "Thank you, Shaggy," she said before taking a sip and returning to her seat.
Whelp, no denying it anymore.
"Are these full of blood?" Shaggy asked, his stomach turning.
"Of course," Miss Grimwood answered. "As Sibella has grown, her need for it has done the same. I made an arrangement with the processing plant in town to deliver these in exchange for a small fee. For packaging and gas, really. They'd simply throw it out otherwise."
As she had explained, Shaggy had quickly stowed them in the kitchen's modified icebox/refrigerator, courtesy of Elsa's tinkering. "I always assumed vampires needed human blood," he commented as he sat back down.
"Oh, mortals have such a high opinion of themselves," Sibella commented dryly. "No offense, Coach."
"None taken," Shaggy grinned. He may not be mortal anymore, but that was a new thing. And he appreciated Sibella's courtesy.
"Anyway," she continued, "while human blood is the most—" she hummed as she considered her next words, "high-yield, I suppose one could say, most modern vampires subsist on animals. It's more ethical than feeding on sapient creatures, not to mention easier to arrange."
Shaggy nodded at the explanation, finding it actually helped his overall unease about the revelation. And to smother the rest of it, he did what he always did. He ate his food. With gusto.
And as the coach shovelled the stew down, Winnie caught Sibella's eye and grinned, flicking her fingers across her brow as if to say "that was close". Sibella scoffed at the silent teasing and returned to her own meal, savoring both the stew and her true sustenance.
As the sun set and cast the world into night, no moon shone from above. A night for the strongest of dark magics, both to work … and to gather.
From the heart of the Barren Bog, a green fire heated the Witch of the Web's bronze cauldron, the contents steaming with ethereal mist. Using a staff of cypress wood, the Grim Creeper giggled madly as he stirred the toxic brew. He had listened to his mistress's whispered instructions and gathered the needed ingredients over the last week. Now he had mixed them perfectly and brought the brew to its full maturation.
As he stirred the mix one last time, the Creeper felt the presence of his mistress grow. She was reappearing, to check on his progress and make the final preparations. Swallowing thickly, the Creeper lifted its appendages and whispered the spell she had whispered to him, using her wand as a focal point.
"Roaming spirit, I call to thee — manifest and guide me! Cast away from the body to rot — work the spell that I cannot!"
The wind whipped up, fanning the flames under the cauldron to grow and lick at the rim. The Creeper dug his viney legs into the ground to anchor himself, gasping as he felt his energy drain away. His surface began to shrivel, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But almost as soon as it had started, he felt an icy presence trail over his back, restoring his strength.
The Grim Creeper looked up to find the faint image of his mistress, the powerful and feared Witch of the Web. Revolta.
"Well done, my Grim Creeper." Revolta's voice was like a sigh of the wind through the trees, faint and indistinct. But heavy with the power and confidence he knew oh so well. This was no illusion or madman's fantasy. Revolta was here!
The apparition leaned over the potion and spat a word in a harsh forgotten tongue. With a snap of the fingers of two left hands, the potion rippled and turned creamy white. And with the unnatural senses inherent in a constructed lifeform, the Grim Creeper felt the dark magic in the air and the earth, as strong as could be on the darkest of nights, begin to seep into the cauldron. The potion began to slowly change from cream to the faintest of purples.
"You're soaking up the magic," the Creeper realized. "Storing it up … for an even bigger ritual."
"Yes," Revolta cackled lowly. "Our next move will require great reserves. Far more than I can bring forth in my … current state. A few more black nights should do it. And then we can move forward."
"Toward what?" the Creeper asked, taken in by his mistress's confidence.
"Righting the wrongs dealt to us. And revenge." With that, Revolta faded away into the darkness to recover her strength. Even with the spell to invoke a spirit, it was difficult remaining corporeal.
As she faded away, the Grim Creeper continued to care for the potion. He glanced up at the sky, sneering at the stars, the pinpricks of light that dared to try and overpower the darkness. When dawn drew near, he would cover the cauldron and prevent the sun from undoing what had been done. And as time passed, the potion would fully mature …And oh how Revolta would be pleased with him!
As he thought of these things, he focused his unnatural life into his belly, soon coughing up a number of seed pods. Pods for venus spy traps. To know one's enemy was to have power against them, and if his mistress wanted revenge … there was only one group he could think of as the target of her hatred.
New chapter - Hope you all like it!
*The cadets are at it again. I've actually been looking forward to writing that, whatever that says about my character. I mean, the scope thing has a precedent in the film. And I kind of like the idea that, like regular boys, they became attracted to the Grimwood girls after puberty set in. It's natural.
*I tried to make the concept of mummy-type magic as unique as possible. Hope I did a good job. And Anubis may have a bigger role to play later.
*Sibella's mode of feeding came to me while I was driving home from class one day. I wondered about how she would feed as she grew older and the solution hit me like a train. And I saw a good place for comedy, poor Shaggy. **Winnie's little "that was close" teasing was about freaking out Shaggy. None of the girls want to be the one to send him and Scooby running again.
*Hope the GS's summoning of Revolta was good. My reasoning is that she doesn't have enough of a hold on her new state of being to properly work magic, but she can be "invoked" to get around that. What is she up to? We'll see soon enough.
Thoughts? Questions? Leave a review - they help keep me pumped!