Chapter 16
Jane Farrar
There was one rule: Eat and feed the hunger.
This rule, of course, was the rule of the werewolves.
Farrar had tried her best to resist it, to remain human. But the time was fast approaching that she would have to make her first kill. Her dreams were getting worse, more violent, more real.
Her latest dream was very recent. It had happened the night before Mr. Button's body was found. She had dreampt that she went to a person's—a magician's—house and told him she was with the government. The magician aloowed her in and offered her tea and cake. Farrar declined and said, "No, thank you. My hunger will be satisfied shortly."
Farrar's eyes shot open. She bolted upright in her bed. The one night she decided to get a little sleep, and she was plagued with nightmares. Ones that could never happen. She told herself. She wasn't ready to accept that she was a werewolf.
Farrar looked around. Her bedsheets were dreanched in sweat, and most of the sheets were on the floor. She was still sweating slightly, and the taste of blood swam in her mouth. Her face was caked with it.
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Farrar was reflecting on that night while chewing her pencil. It was a new technique she found that kept the hunger at bay. It was fooling her system. She had already chewed her way through 48 pencils in the last four hours. She was like a human sized termite.
Someone cast a shadow over her. Farrar looked up to the source and rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"
It was just one of her demons, Barloa. He was wearing the quise of a Greyback policeman and had dangerous—almost beastly—yellow eyes. He was holding a parcel wrapped in tinfoil. "Thought you might need this." He said as he droped the parcel on Farrar's desk.
"What is it?" But she already knew, her wolf sense of smell telling her. It was raw meat. Cow meat. Presumably from a middle-aged bull. Low on fat, seasoned ever-so-slightly.
"Food."
Farrar remained silent, thinking of something to say that made her seem human. "Hmph, must be poisoned."
Barloa rolled his eyes. "You want to control the hunger, right?" Farrar stayed silent. "Eat it."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"You're part werewolf, iddiot. You could smell the poisons or dieseases."
"You know full well I don't want to use my skills! Doing so will push it further!"
Barloa crossed his arms and rolled his arms. "Whatever." And with that, he left the room.
Farrar looked down to the parcel, the hunger welling in her mouth and the pit of her stomach. She was debating whether or not she should eat it. Eating it would encourage the hunger. The smell lingered around her nose.
Farrar's instincts got the better of her. She put her pencil down and unwrapped the meat. It stared back at her. Raw, fresh. Just as her senses told her. The blood still oozed from its veins. Farrar's mouth watered,. She hungrilly picked up the meat and savagely tore into it.
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The meat was gone in a matter of minutes. Farrar's…condition was getting worse. She couldn't satisfy the hunger anymore. It was like her stomach as a black pit that went on forever and never filled. Barloa was wrong. It had made the hunger worse. The damn demon, She thought to herself. He knew this was going to happen to me. And once it does, he's free to go back to the Other Place. He's already got the choice to listen to my commands or not.
Farrar cleaned herself up and cleaned away the mess on her desk. "I can't eat meat anymore," She said to herself. "I already promised myself I'd stop." Farrar sat back at her desk and began to ponder the Button case again.
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I seriously have no idea where exactly this plotline is going. But, at least it's moving. (Knock on wood) Next chapter is Bartimaeus. Yay Bartimaeus!