Chapter Two: Learning

At first light, Garrett pulled off the main road into a large patch of woods. He concealed the bike with branches and leaf litter, and bedded down for the night. His dreams were plagued with thoughts of the change and the horror that ensued, so he didn't sleep well.

The next morning, after eating some of the meager food provisions he brought with him, he set out into the wilderness to learn more about what he had become.

Days passed as he meditated, conversed with spirits and delved into his own soul. After a little practice, he rediscovered his crinos form, as well as his feline form. He found his senses had expanded, both physical and spiritual. He also discovered the spirits were easier to communicate with than they were before the change. They just seemed to notice him more now.

The next week was spent running. By the time he made it to South Carolina, his money supply had started to run low. He needed money to keep gas in the bike and keep moving. Food wasn't as much of an issue because he could hunt as a mountain lion now if need be.

To keep gas in the bike and clothes on his back, Garrett did what he knew best: he played music. Any bar he came across, he would present himself to the owner and see if he could earn a few bucks. After a few breaks, he began to get into the swing of things, seeing what the crowds liked and how to sweet-talk the club owners into letting him play a set or two for a small fee.

Then, at a bar outside Asheville, North Carolina, his life once again changed.

It was a hole in the wall, not far from the Interstate, called Randall's. It had the look of a rowdy joint, but the locals seemed laid back enough.

As he played that night, he noticed a figure in the back, eyeing him intently. The figure never moved from the back corner, and Garrett couldn't see his face, but he knew the man was watching him. As his set went on, he began to grow nervous, wondering if the man was with the police. When he finished the set, he went to get his pay and get out of there as quickly as he could.

When he went outside, the man was sitting on his bike.

"Nice set of wheels you have here," the man said, looking up at Garrett. He appeared to be in his late twenties and was dressed moderately. He was a severe looking man, with piercing eyes that made Garrett uneasy. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he sported a piercing in his eyebrow.

"I'd appreciate it if you got off my bike," Garrett said. "And I'd like to know what the hell you want with me."

"And cut to the chase, yes," the man said, not batting an eye. "Look kid, you and me, we need to have ourselves a long talk."

Garrett took a step back. "Are you with the cops?"

The man let out a small laugh. "No, I'm not a cop," he said as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "But I do know why you have been running for almost a month now. I have a good idea what happened and I know what you are, though I'm guessing you don't."

"What do you want with me?"

The man took a long drag off his cigarette, tossed it down and looked up at Garrett, "You've got a lot to learn kid," he said. "And I'm the one that's going to teach you."

The man got off Garrett's bike and extended his hand. "I'm Victor, Victor Crane."

Garrett shook his hand. "I'd introduce myself, but it seems you already know who I am."

Victor turned and walked toward an old red Chevy truck. He looked back as he opened the door.

"Just follow me and I'll answer all your questions," he said as he climbed in.

Intrigued, Garrett strapped his guitar to the bike, started the engine and drove off after the truck.

He followed Victor off the main highway and into the Carolina mountains. After twisting and turning down a few roads that were barely more than rough paths, they came to a stop at what appeared to be a campsite. Victor got out of the truck and walked to the unlit campfire. He bent down with some kindling and got it burning.

Garrett took a seat on the other side of the fire, waited for Victor to finish with it, and spoke.

"You say that you know what I am," Garrett said. "So what am I?"

Victor sat down and let out a long breath. "Okay," he said. "We are Bastet, or if you want to use layman's terms, a werecat. You are a Pumonca, a werecougar. I am a Bagheera, a werepanther."

Garrett took this in, realizing that the man spoke the truth. "Okay, I sort of understand what you're saying. So how did I get like this?"

Victor smiled. "You were born this way, kid. The legends you hear about werewolves, while they do in fact exist … isn't some contagious disease you get from being bitten. It's passed down from parent to child, sometimes skipping many generations," he paused. "A traumatic event will usually bring out the beast for the first time. You go into a blind rage and most often kill everybody around you. Then if you're lucky, you live long enough for someone to find you and teach you about the world as it really is and how you play into it."

Garrett's mind raced back to the night it happened. God, it was horrible. So much blood …

"Hey, pay attention."

Garrett snapped back to reality and focused on the conversation.

After a few hours, Garrett learned about the history behind his people and the other changing breeds, Gaia and the fight against the Wyrm. He also learned that there were other beings out there as well, including vampires. This was a hard pill to swallow, but he believed Victor's words.

The fire began to die down when Victor drew the conversation to a close.

"Get some sleep," he said as he lay down for the night, "Tomorrow, I'll show you a thing or two."