July 24th, 1888 - Jude's Flat
Kieran woke up as he always did after the full moon - ill, and a little injured, and to the sound of Jude making tea downstairs. He dressed, unlocked himself from the reinforced attic and came down the ladder, nodded at Jude, and settled in at the table. It was actually sort of domestic. The owl from the Prophet came to bring Jude's copy of the Prophet, and Kieran let it in, tipped it a knut - one of his own, because Jude wasn't watching, and sat back down. He started to read. His face got even more pale as soon as he read the headline. Werewolf Attack in London. He thought of T., and could not stop reading, pouring over the words. He held the paper with his left hand and with his right reached down to touch his shirt. Under the thin layer was the burn that T's father had left on Kieran's skin.
This case was worse. Six dead, one turned, two arrested. Kieran felt nauseous, stomach churning, as he imagined how it went - no one had been able to stop the werewolf in a populated place. A werewolf in a park was worse than a bull in a china shop. And perhaps Kieran could have moved on - felt terrible and lucky and terrible, but moved on - were it not for the last paragraph. "As always, those aware of werewolves in our midst are reminded that keeping such a secret is considered a criminal offence, and that reporting these individuals to the appropriate authorities is in the best interests of all parties involved."
If he was caught, somehow - Eileen would be arrested. Jude would be arrested. Never mind the consequences for him; the consequences for his friends would be just as dire, because they aided a would-be murderer monthly. Kieran folded the paper - the opposite way, so that Jude couldn't see right away - and tucked it next to him. The kettle whistled. He propped his head up with the palm of his hand.
"The right thing to do is turn me in, you know," he said.
This case was worse. Six dead, one turned, two arrested. Kieran felt nauseous, stomach churning, as he imagined how it went - no one had been able to stop the werewolf in a populated place. A werewolf in a park was worse than a bull in a china shop. And perhaps Kieran could have moved on - felt terrible and lucky and terrible, but moved on - were it not for the last paragraph. "As always, those aware of werewolves in our midst are reminded that keeping such a secret is considered a criminal offence, and that reporting these individuals to the appropriate authorities is in the best interests of all parties involved."
If he was caught, somehow - Eileen would be arrested. Jude would be arrested. Never mind the consequences for him; the consequences for his friends would be just as dire, because they aided a would-be murderer monthly. Kieran folded the paper - the opposite way, so that Jude couldn't see right away - and tucked it next to him. The kettle whistled. He propped his head up with the palm of his hand.
"The right thing to do is turn me in, you know," he said.