Disclaimer: All characters you recognize aren't mine... I just like them.

Chapter 21 - Back Here on Earth

Mark was poking through Paul's library the next day, arranging for what was to come with him and what could be shipped later. He packed up a few archaic texts, books of shadows, some individual documents of historical interest, and anything of excessive value, whether it was magickal, monetary, historical, or sentimental. He stumbled across the black leather bound volume entitled: Le Loup-Garou. The werewolf en Français. This was the book that Paul had used to relieve him of his curse. This was an important text for him personally, and for all lycanthropes. He would read, translate, and copy it for the registry's use, depending on the contents.

As he flipped through the musty pages, a couple of folded pieces of paper fell out. They were held together with a wax seal and read, A: M ... De: P. Or, what Mark automatically read as, To: Mark ... From: Paul. He set down the book in with the books that were traveling with him, and opened the letter. He was greeted with a sequence of numbers. Whatever it was, it was written in cipher, and would have to wait until he got home to translate it. The numbers corresponded with to the pages, paragraphs, lines, and sometimes individual words or letters of any of four books that they'd agreed upon to use for secret correspondence. It was amazing how easily a spell could fall into the wrong hands. Letters to Mark used four different books then the letters back to Paul did. It was all very excessive Mark supposed, but it had worked.

After that, he couldn't keep his mind off of the ciphered letter. What couldn't Paul tell him? Mark had no control over that kind of thing anymore. It wouldn't be prudent to tell Mark anything of that nature really. He didn't have the mind blocks to avoid it falling into the wrong hands anymore. He turned over many theories as he sorted the contents of the library and supplies that were of no use to him anymore. It was frustrating him more then anything. His curious nature and his precise mind were getting the better of him.

He had a pretty rough idea that whatever was contained in the letter could probably lead to more trouble then it was worth. Still it intrigued him. He said his farewells to Glenn and Trish, and returned to Houston with Jackie, thinking about it the whole long way.

He was mildly obsessed with it by the time he got there. So much so that he dropped Jackie off at her home, and then went directly to the bank to get at his safe deposit box. The box contained many of his important documents, deeds, stocks, et cetera. Some of the contents were artifacts that were too volatile to just leave lying around the house, talismans and that sort of thing. There were also a few pieces of his grandmother's jewelry that he was given after the fire. They'd been held in a safe in the house and had survived. Including a sapphire engagement ring, a matching necklace and earrings... He picked the ring up and grinned at it. Maybe he'd give it to Jackie some day. Maybe he'd mention them to Glenn and see if he wanted to give them to Trish. Mark figured that he himself would never be the marrying sort. There was also a large quantity of cash... Just in case... One never knew what tomorrow would bring.

Under all this was a gym bag that held eight well-thumbed books. Their covers and spines were worn. He couldn't find where Paul had kept his copies, but he knew that they would be well hidden, and probably nowhere on the man's property. These unassuming books would have belonged at a yard sale, and in fact, that's where at least two of them had come from. The only one that looked to have any importance was a copy of The Pelican Shakespeare... And even that one looked like a middle-aged whore. All the beauty was worn away. Smudged and kind of dirty, bulging in spots, warped in others... The most diplomatic way to put it would be to say that it had character. Then again, most of the middle-aged whores Mark had spoken to had character. At the very least they had a good story or two. So did Shakespeare. It was a fitting description.

Back at home; he had to force himself to pick up the phone when Jackie called to see that he was settled. He could hear her leopards in the background; obviously welcoming their alpha home, and she explained that she had a lot of work to catch up on. They agreed to meet at the ranch for the upcoming full moon. That gave Mark four days... "So, you're quiet, what are you up to?" Jackie asked.

"Just sorting through the stuff I brought home with me." Mark said, flipping to the second act of The Tempest in the battered copy of The Complete Works. "I'm finding appropriate spots for everything."

"Such as?" She genuinely seemed to be interested.

"One is an early partial draft of The Declaration of Independence. Point form notes on the founding of a nation. That's rather impressive. I think I'll donate it to the Smithsonian if they'll have it." He wasn't exactly lying. Such a document did exist, was in his possession, and had come with him in his carry on from Louisiana in an airtight case. But at the moment, Mark couldn't give a flying fuck about it. He was only interested in Paul's words from beyond the grave. It would probably prove an ultimately fruitless exercise... But Mark's interest was piqued and held by the neatly written numbers on the fine Italian cardstock.

Two days with no sleep and it became clear what Paul was trying to say. Three days with no sleep and he had it all. Mark was at a loss for a course of action. The information Paul left was Earth shattering... For Mark anyways. It could completely turn his world inside out, and it was damn tempting.

Paul, like the twisted over achiever he was, had taken Mark's venom and found not only the cause, but a cure for lycanthropy. Mark had gone directly to the bathroom as soon as he had the word 'cure' and thrown up violently. Still, his fascination held him and he recovered and continued to translate.

Paul's words explained that he knew he was dying and that this was the inheritance he left for Mark. He would give Mark the means to regain the former prowess with dark magick he'd once commanded. Mark could be the Lord of Darkness again... And it scared Mark a bit... Simply because some corner of his soul wanted it. Many moons ago he'd desired nothing else. All he wanted was to get thoroughly lost in his own power and reckless abandon. He'd loved what he had been doing. His power had gotten him off better then any piece of ass. He had believed he was immortal and untouchable.

That was until the night he thought it might be fun to fuck around with a werewolf just to see what would happen. Well, he'd sure gotten an education, school of hard knocks style. The trial by fire entrance into lycanthropy had made him a prudent, if sometimes overly cautious, werewolf.

He'd been held captive by the bitch beta that had turned him for the first few days. He'd been bitten and had shifted all in one night, mostly owing to his already preternatural constitution. As a first rate sorcerer before that, he'd changed shape before; but nothing was like the trauma and pain the uncontrolled metamorphosis into beast created. Soon though, when he started to overcome the initial shock, the bitch had started to try and push him around. Neither the Lord of Darkness or plain old Mark Callaway was having any of that. He discovered his natural alpha status as he'd torn the bitch's throat out and effectively emancipated himself.

He still had blood on his muzzle when he dropped on to Glenn's hotel room balcony. He was fevered and delirious when Glenn, who was at the time completely mute and terribly introverted, had found him. Glenn's clairvoyance, which was much more rudimentary back then because of lack of use, had been the only way Glenn recognized his brother.

Helping Mark get back on a human train of thought taught Glenn a lot about using his mental abilities very quickly. Up until then, they'd seemed only a burden. He got to relive his own horror in his dreams, and then had to see that of others when he was awake. From that point on though, he learned to filter the thoughts of others. The need came when he couldn't stand to hear Mark's thoughts and complaints about his situation anymore.

But Mark had adapted eventually. He accepted his change. Sitting over the translated letter, he thought long and hard about what he'd become. Not being a lycanthrope meant freedom of movement. It meant not being bound to ancient and antiquated rules of body language and behaviour around other lycanthropes. It meant not having to worry about where he was going to be on a full moon. It meant being independent again... Of everyone... Of everything... Just him and his nerve against the world.

Of course, it also meant never truly trusting anyone. It meant never really being able to love anyone. It meant distance and isolation from the world, and the very earth beneath his feet. It meant being mistrusted if not outright hated and feared. It meant hating. It meant letting hate and malice guide every aspect of life...

He was tired of hate. It had aged him somewhat, he knew. It had eaten away at the edges of his life. Not as prominent as in the past, but always there, lurking, waiting for him...

When Jackie came over the day of the full moon, which she usually did because the registry offices were closed one these days, she knew he was distracted and distant. It was obvious Mark hadn't slept since they'd left Louisiana. He functioned well enough but he wasn't overly eager to do much of anything. She made them supper while Mark went over the first of the boxes of Paul's books and effects that had arrived that day. He grumbled and murmured to himself often as he started to make headway, stationed in the library, a bottle of beer perched on the corner of his desk.

Then a scent caught his nose. It was the smell of beef cooking. His own beef raised on this ranch. His mouth started to water a bit. It was nice to have someone cook for him every now and again. It was nice have someone around just to care whether he was alive or dead. That had never really been the case before he was turned werewolf. Not since his childhood had so many people had an interest in whether he was still breathing.

He thought of Jackie... Of her sweet kisses and curves. He reminded himself of her brains and wit, of her compassion and love for him. He realized how much he'd come to rely on her and took joy at the mere fleeting thought of her. He also realized just how little the thought of reliance on others bothered him. What was being able to grab a last minute red-eye flight to NYC if there was no one to come home to? His mind was made up.

He set whatever volume he had in his hand down almost carelessly on the desk. He picked up his beer bottle, and walked without looking back down to the kitchen. When he got there, Jackie was standing over the stove, testing a sauce for their main course. He set the beer on the counter and waited until she set the spoon she was using down, and then pounced. He turned her just so and swept her off her feet and up into his arms. He gave her his best searing kiss until they were both on the verge of breathlessness.

"I love you." He said when the came up for air. His voice was calm and assured.

"I love you too... What brought this on? What's been eating at you?" She asked. Her deeply intelligent brown eyes were sparkling with curiosity. Mark sighed and set her on her feet. This was his lover, and she deserved the truth from him.

"Before I tell you anything, I want you to know how much I love you and how happy you make me. I'd never really been happy in my adult life until you came along. And should you wish it, I'll never leave your side."

"Okay, that's sweet, but what's going on Mark?" Direct and to the point... He loved that about her.

"As part of my 'inheritance' from Paul, he gave me the recipe if you will, for the cause of and cure for lycanthropy."

"What?!" She asked, pulling away from him.

"He was a very intelligent human being, Jackie. It doesn't surprise me that he found it. What surprises me is that he didn't appear to sell it to anybody."

"A cure? How can there be a cure?" She was getting angry now.

"Simple, the right elements put into the proper sequence and Voila."

"You're thinking about it aren't you? I can't believe that you'd throw away all you've gained away like that! You got your brother back, you have an amazing gift to heal, you... you've got me... Don't I mean anything to you?" Her shoulders were back, here head was held high, and even though Mark was well larger then her, he knew not to tease her in this state. He took a deep breath, and was perfectly serious as he spoke again.

"Jackie, you mean everything to me. And correction: I thought about it and I'm done now. Please understand that I pretty much brainwashed myself in the past, to believe that my power was the only thing in life worth living for. It's taken a long damn time to free myself of that... I want to spend the rest of my life as happy as you've made me. That's all that I want. I can't see it happening any other way then staying with you as I am." He said, his eyes looking hopeful and sad all that the same time.

He then pulled the letter and translation out of his pocket, and held it to the flame on his gas powered stove to light it. He held it over the stainless steel sink as long as possible, tilting every which way in order to insure that the elements of the cure burned first and completely. Mark felt that in that action, his life was completely his own. He had no snare around him back to his former self. He was free, and he couldn't be happier about it.

After supper, but before any other lycanthropes arrived to use his grounds for the full moon; he charmed Jackie into making love in his garden. He wasn't self-conscience or worried about the wolf taking over a little. It all just felt good to Jackie. His inner turmoil and lack of sleep had the words of the cure jumbled and half-remembered at best in his mind. The Lord of Darkness was now only a memory, having been eaten up by the Big Bad Wolf. It was a fitting end for him.

-Fin-

Sources:

Carefree Highway - Words and Music by Gordon Lightfoot (opening quote)

Planet of the Apes - Finally! An excuse to use 'damn dirty ape' in a piece of writing!

Hamlet - That Shakespeare fella

Tempest - " " "

Richard III - " " "

T.E. Lawrence - (Mark's dream quote)

Deadwood - television series on HBO

Wingfield's Progress - play written by Dan Needles

Dr. Johnson - (Glenn's Beast quote)