V. A Vile Potion.

As autumn approached, I noticed a strange occurrence; Peter began to howl on nights other than the full moon. This could only mean that his isolation in the forest was allowing the animal within to take over. This worried me—would I lose Peter forever? would he stop loving me?—but Roxanne gave me solace. She was remarkably sensitive to my moods and solicitous to my needs. And, if I may add without being too churlish, she was quick to let me take off her clothes, and that was always a welcome distraction.

Shortly after the harvest began, our erstwhile friend Rose appeared at the cottage while Roxanne and I were making preserves.

"It's my father, he needs your help," Rose pleaded. "He was working in the fields, trying to keep up with the other reapers because he didn't want to be teased for being slow, when he stopped and complained that his chest hurt. Then he just fell down! We can't wake him up. Please, Valerie, you must help him. Please."

It was the custom of the villagers to mock and mistreat the farmer who was last to harvest his field. A straw effigy of a goat was put in his field for all to see, and this unfortunate farmer was called the "lame goat." At the tavern, this farmer had to buy ale for the others too, or he would receive more abuse.

Roxanne gave me an apprehensive look.

The fear in Rose's eyes was piteous; and she was shaking, holding back her tears.

"Please, Valerie, please."

"I can't promise any results, Rose," I said, reaching for my red riding hood. "But, of course, I'll do whatever I can for him."

The three of us left at once for the village. Some of the peasants had carried Rose's father to his bed. Besides Rose's mother, Prudence and Father Christophe were there. The priest was kneeling and praying at the bedside when I followed Rose into the room. Prudence had an arm around Rose's mother, comforting her. Rose's father looked ghastly. The pallor of death was already painted on his face. His lips were purplish, his breathing shallow. I found a weak and erratic pulse.

When the priest was done praying, he stood up with difficulty, for he was an elderly man.

"I'm Father Christophe," he said, taking my hand. "And you must be the famous Valerie that Prudence has told me so much about."

"I am, Father."

He drew me away from the bed.

"The end is near, I'm afraid," he said in a low voice.

"Yes," I said. "It won't be long. I'll tell Rose, Father. I've known her longer."

I approached Rose gravely.

"I'm afraid that I can't help your father, Rose. I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do, but he's going to die."

My old friend looked at me, as if I had spit in her face.

"Murderer!" she hissed.

"Rose!" Prudence scolded. "What's possessed you?"

Roxanne pulled at my arm and led me out of the room.

"Oh," she moaned. "I knew this would be trouble."

"If I had refused to come, Rose would have blamed me anyway."

"I don't know why she's become so vile," Roxanne said, shaking her head slowly. "The four of us used to be such good friends."

Neighbors can be ignorant, neighbors can be inconsiderate, neighbors can be dangerous; with a friend like Rose, who needs neighbors. After her father passed on, Rose spread the malignant rumor that I had given him poison as revenge for the events of the previous year when she had danced with Peter at the festival and told me that I'd get what I deserved as Father Solomon was about to sacrifice me to the werewolf. For decades, my Grandmother made herbal remedies; and no one thought it was witchcraft until Father Solomon came to the village and saw witches everywhere—in the playful tricks of a simple-minded boy, in the bright red riding hood of a strong-willed young woman, or anywhere he chose to look. Intelligent people would have realized what Rose was doing. For two days she spread her lies. Some villagers were sympathetic with her view. It was, however, after the violent hail storm, which destroyed the unharvested crops, that the villagers' ugliness turned vicious. They marched on my cottage.

The moon, like the blade of a scythe carried by some in the mob, hung in the black sky just above the tall pine trees. I heard the mob coming. The clamor that the villagers made was hateful even from a distance. I saw their torches flickering through the trees.

"Stay inside," I warned Roxanne. And then after putting on my red riding hood, I went outside.

From where I stood on the porch, I watched them fill the clearing in front of the cottage.

"There's the witch!" someone shouted.

"Burn the witch!" the mob growled.

"Burn her!"

These were the cries I heard. Roxanne heard them too, and she joined me on the porch. Silently, she took hold of my hand.

"Verily, I am not a witch!" I shouted. "I do not consort with the devil."

"Of course, a witch would deny it!"

"With that logic, I could convict any of you!"

"You poisoned my father with a vile potion!" Rose howled.

"That's a lie," I proclaimed. "Prudence was there, Father Christophe was there. They were witnesses. I never gave your father anything."

"She did!" Rose screamed. "And she raised the storm that destroyed your crops! She's a witch!"

"Burn her!" the mob howled over my protests.

Some men advanced. When they started to climb the stairs, Roxanne was decisive. With strength that surprised me, she pushed me back and took up a position at the top of the steps, clutching tightly the rails, in an attempt to shield me. One of the peasants grabbed Roxanne, but she wouldn't let go of the rail—she was determined to be the strong one, to make up for last year's weakness.

The man hit Roxanne. I screamed. He hit her again and she went down.

"We'll burn this whore too," he growled loudly.

A howl of approval exploded from the mob.

The men on the stairs jerked Roxanne up by her hair and began to beat her with their fists. I screamed again and reached for her. They pulled her away from me and seized me too.

But they let us go when a furious growl shot from the darkness of the nearby forest. It was a growl they had heard the year before. The members of the mob were like the wolves Peter had driven off in the spring, their courage was gone even before a fight. I could see the fear on their faces and in their eyes.

With a long leap, a large black wolf landed in the middle of the mob. The men screamed like children, the women bawled like babies, and they all ran in different directions. The forest was black, but the wolf had better eyes at night, the wolf had a keen sense of smell, the wolf had demonic strength. The people were helpless. I could hear the snarling of the wolf and the screams of the villagers echoing through the trees.

After a while, the cries died away, and the forest was silent. Thankfully, Roxanne was not seriously hurt—she had only a small cut on her lower lip. At a window, I kept an anxious watch. In the faint light cast from the windows of the cottage, I saw Peter return. He was naked and looked like a white phantom as he crossed the clearing and disappeared in the spot from which he had leapt into the crowd of villagers. In my red riding hood, I swept across the clearing after him. But I lost him. As I turned back towards the cottage, I heard my name whispered in a low growl.

"Valerie."

Peter was hiding behind a tree as if ready to ambush me.

"Peter!"

"It's you."

"Yes."

He stepped from behind the tree, half dressed in the clothes he had hidden there before transforming and scattering the pack of villagers. Jumping into his arms, I cried:

"Oh! Peter!"

I kissed him for the first time in a year, but he pushed me away. He was vexed, and his dark eyes were melancholic.

"What's wrong? What happened? Was anyone hurt?"

"No," Peter said. "I didn't want to make the situation worse for you. But I gave them all a mighty scare. They won't bother you for a while."

"We should run away together," I said, hopefully. "Just like we planned last year."

"It's too late in the season. Snow is falling in the mountains," Peter said. "You'd never make it over the summits in the winter."

"I could cross. I'm strong."

"No. The wind up there would freeze you to death," Peter said. "We can't be together, anyways."

"Why not? You protected me from the hungry wolves, you protected me from the rabid villagers—I'm safe with you. Don't you love me anymore?"

"You don't seem to realize: I have an evil curse upon me," Peter said. "I love you, Valerie, but I'm fighting the Devil, and he is very strong."

"Love is stronger," I replied.

"But what if we had children?" Peter asked. "What if we had daughters? Your father should have loved you and kept you from harm, and instead..."

I recoiled at the horrific thought—at the thought of what my father had done to Lucie and me.

"I'm going now," he sighed, pulling on the rest of his clothes.

I started to cry.

"I thought you were strong, Valerie."

I swallowed hard and choked off my tears.

"Always remember, I'm watching over you," he said before turning and leaving.

I returned to the cottage, returned to Roxanne, the beautiful rusty-haired girl that I had just offered to abandon. She was waiting for me. Weeping, I fell on my knees at her feet and threw my arms around her legs.

"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. "Valerie, what's wrong? Is it Peter? Is he all right?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "He's watching over me."

"So am I," Roxanne said, pulling me up and into her arms. "I love you."

[contd]