Chapter 29

Jane Farrar

After Farrar's 'proposal' to Kitty, she had returned to her home. It was nothing to speak of, really. It was just the most elegant Victorian mansion in London—aside from the Prime Minister's. It had red shutters and was a bright pink shade—you couldn't miss it. She had done everything in her power just to make her home more outward and impressive then the Prime Minster's. Most magicians thought this. She had a grand staircase that led up to it as big as the British Museum's. It could hold up to one thousand people comfortably.

Farrar stepped inside. There were two floors to her house. Each floor had two bathrooms, five bedrooms, and three kitchens. Each room of those separate floors has its own one-of-a-kind Persian rug. A glass chandelier hung from each room, everyone oversized and elegant. Her home wasn't anything special, really.

Farrar smiled as she looked around the master Living Room. Everything was clean, neat, orderly. She liked to flaunt every last thins she had. She had five servants to keep the place.

And yet, she was never really happy. Her face was just a mask. It was always the same.

Deep in her thoughts, Farrar climbed up the stairs to the second level of her home—where she actually lived—ignoring the offers and hellos from her servants.

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One of the smallest bedrooms upstairs was the one she called her study. The other four bedrooms were used for other purposes. Her study was nothing, really. There were no windows; just the door to the room. She did have a large, beautiful glass chandelier hanging form the ceiling. When light hit it just right, it would look like a collection of frozen rain droplets. Each one would emit its own special color around the room.

It was beautiful, to say the least.

Farrar dropped her things onto her desk and left for the largest room upstairs; her bedroom.

Once there, Farrar collapsed onto her bed and sighed of relief. Her eyes slowly closed in comfort. The velvet red satin sheets around her made her feel relieved. She could feel herself slipping away.

Mr. Button held his hands in front of his face, cowering in fear. The monster in front of him howled, he screamed in reply. The monster jumped down on him.

Her face was caked with blood.

Farrar's eyes shot open. She gave a slight shout and bolted upright. That wasn't me. She convinced herself. I did not kill Mr. Button. It's just my conscience. I did not kill him.

Her own voice echoed through her head and another answered her. You know what you are and you know you did it. It wasn't buying anything she was telling herself.

"No!" She shouted to it. "I didn't kill him!" She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear the voices. One crept up behind her. You're right. It's not your fault you killed him. You were abiding by the law. Eat or be eaten. "No!" Farrar moaned and rolled onto her stomach. "I didn't intend for this to happen!"

Suddenly, then, she remembered back to when she was just a child. When she learned the true nature of her master, Mr. Henry Duvall. When she had angered him just too much. His nails grew into fang-like things, his teeth into fangs themselves. But clearest of all—the one thing she remembered best about that day—was her master's black, beady eyes. They had changed along with everything else, but they had stood out more. They stared at her the entire time, piercing into her soul.

Henry Duvall—or whatever humanity was left of him—had her cornered. She was shaking, trembling with fear. She whined, held her arm in front of her face for protection. She looked away and closed her eyes, trying to will the horror away. The wolf thing growled with hunger and lust. It lunged in to attack her.

Her body fell limp from the shock, fear, and pain. Her brain frantically sent out orders, but the body did not respond. She was helpless. But just when she had accepted the fact that she was going to die, her mouth responded to her brain's signals. She whined, "Stop! Please!"

The wolf-human-monster thing halted and backed away. The ears slowly began to shrink back into the skull, the hair all over the body was receding and eventually disappearing, and Mr. Duvall was slowly changing back to his human self. Duvall fell over, knocked unconscious.

When the figure was done, all that was left was a naked man panting were he lay. His eyes were closed.

Farrar just sat there for a moment, unable to comprehend everything that had happened. Then her brain again regained control and she sped out of the room. She slammed the door behind her and locked it.

Farrar ran to her room, crying as she ran. She slammed the door behind herself and locked it. She sat in front of the door and wept for a few hours.

When she was calmer, she began to examine her arm. It was indeed pretty bad; she could see what she thought to be muscle. She gently sucked the blood off her arm as she always did when she got cut. But when she did this, she could feel something forcing its way through her veins. Her body gave a lurch forward, her bladder released. She managed to stand, but only to be on the ground again when her legs collapsed. She stared up to the ceiling in petrified horror. Her body lurched upward again and continued to do so. She felt great pain in her abdomen and had to double over into the fetus position. She screamed—mostly in horror—as the pain continued. It went from her lower intestines, up to the stomach, the liver. But it stopped at the heart. The heart shall remain unharmed. Something deep inside her said.

Her arms spread out, legs wherever, she stared into the light on the ceiling. After a while, she looked over to her still-bleeding arm. Her blood glistened in the light. She felt hunger deep within her. Feed or become feed. Something again told her. She looked at her arm for another moment—the human in her reluctant to do as it was told. After a minute or two she could stand it not longer. She rolled over and drank the blood that kept on coming.

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The voices were silent now, but she knew they wouldn't stay that way for long. And she was right. Another spoke to her. You're a wolf now; you've contracted the disease. Stop fighting and let the curse finish its work.

"No," Farrar growled through gritted teeth. "I am not going to let this happen. I am not going to let it destroy me!"

Fool. The voice told her. But she knew this voice wasn't born of her thoughts. She had heard it before. She knew this voice was the voice of the wolf in her; the voice of the curse. She could not allow it to take her over. She would not allow it to take her over.

"I won't let you win! I know what you are. You're the voice of the curse, not of my imagination. I will not cave into your temptations!"

The voice fell silent.

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A/n

Well, no one caught the thing at the last chapter, so you'll just have to read on to find out more of it. So, how's this chapter? I rather liked it…