#eddyverse

The most danger her were-form poses is to herself.

Lucy used to have cats. The moon-mad were-coyote that mauled her also killed all three of her cats, and no natural animal has ever liked her since her infection.

The moon rises higher, and Lucy feels it singing in her blood. She has solid blackout curtains – the kind they market to older vampires – on her bedroom windows to block the moonlight and she’s taken her sleeping pills. The night should be smooth sailing.

Something wakes her halfway through the night. She knows in her blood and bones that the moon has just barely passed its summit. She’s always on a hair trigger on full moon nights, and her senses are sharper even in the complete darkness of her room.

The sound comes again, of shuffling fabric. Lucy flicks a sensitive triangular ear she doesn’t have, senses strained to the max. There’s a hint of chill in the room from the window she’d left open. The room smells like night air, blood, and – underneath it all but still painfully penetrating – silver.

Lucy is out of her bed in an instant, sliding to the floor on instinctively silent feet. Something in the room moves with the faintest brush of motion and Lucy darts towards it.

A muffled thump of something hitting the floor breaks the tense silence seconds before Lucy reaches the intruder. It sounds light, much too light to be a person. A sharp hiss fills the darkness and Lucy flinches away on instinct. She dances back, away from the snake.

It takes a moment of fumbling to find the light switch, and every second Lucy can hear the steady rasp of scales on hardwood. When she flicks it on her eyes adjust in a split second to the dazzling light and Lucy knows her eyes must be slitted and narrow like a cat’s.

It certainly is a snake, but not nearly what she had expected. It’s barely over a foot long, with a dark brown strip along its back and paler gray-brown belly and sides. The most startling feature are its eyes. They’re a vibrant emerald green and seem to take up a solid third of the snake’s angular face.

The snake is halfway across the floor, frozen by the sudden light. Lucy pounces before it regains its wits, snatching the snake around the throat, close to the head so it can’t bite her. Her fingernails, she notes worriedly, are retracting into her fingers under a pale sheath. It looks eerie and wrong on human hands.

Lucy finally stops to catch her breath, strange snake squirming weakly in her careful grip. Her heart is racing with adrenaline and her moon-mind is urging her to kill and eat her prey.

Instead, Lucy props open the lid of the decorative fish tank on her desk and settles the snake into it. She clasps the lid before the snake can slither free and settles into her desk chair. She won’t be sleeping tonight. Not now she’s woken up.

Lucy types ‘brown snake big green eyes’ into the search bar and clicks on images. The second one looks just like her visitor, and a bit more searching reveals that it’s not only incredibly venomous, but native only to Africa. None of the nearby zoos have boomslangs.

“You must be a were-beast.” Lucy tells the snake. She feels a little strange talking to a snake, but if it really is a were-beast it should be able to understand her.

The snake shakes its head in an incredibly awkward, human way. Lucy raises an eyebrow at it.

“Either you’re not too bright, or you’re really deep in denial.” She tells it, “In case you hadn’t noticed, snakes don’t typically respond to questions or shake their heads.”

The were-boomslang sinks down close to the floor of the fish tank, hiding behind a plastic castle. Lucy’s going to interpret that as embarrassment.

“If you promise to behave, I’ll take you out of the fish tank.”

The were-boomslang rises out from behind the castle. Lucy isn’t great at reading emotions, and she’s never had the pleasure of trying to read a snake’s, but it looks surprised. Lucy cocks an eyebrow at it. You heard me.

The were-boomslang nods, another awkward, human gesture that doesn’t fit its body at all. Lucy unlatches the lid and reaches a hand into the tank, and the were-boomslang readily slithers up her arm just in time for the doorbell to ring.

Lucy looks up. The were-boomslang looks up. With a put-upon sigh, she slides her flip flops on and starts for the door. She flaps noisily down the stairs and into the entryway, flipping lights on with her left hand.

“Come into the mud room.” She says into the intercom system. “I must warn you that it’s the full moon and I am a were-beast. Enter at your own risk.” The door swings open and bangs shut, and Lucy waits for a moment and pulls the door on her side open.

Three people stand in the mud room, each one bearing the dark vest and silver trappings of a Stalker. Two men and one woman, their faces impassionate and their uniforms impersonal.

In the face of Stalkers, Lucy is made painfully aware of her yellow slit eyes and the tapered ends of her too-high ears.

“How can I help you?” She says, as cheerfully as she can manage just past midnight on the full moon.

“We’ve been tracing a new were-beast.” The man in front – evidently the leader – says almost over Lucy. “We found a similar signature in this house.”

He’s looking at the were-boomslang on Lucy’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” She says as lightly as she can manage under the abrupt, crushing realization of just who he’s hunting, “No-one’s here but me and Max.”

He watches her steadily for a moment, and Lucy wonders wildly if he can hear how much her heart has sped up. She sure can hear it pounding in her ears, and every part of her screamed at her to run, hide, get away from the threat.

“He’s Max, then?” The female Stalker asks, gesturing at the snake.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Lucy holds up the arm with the snake, begging every deity she can think of that this will work, “This is my friend, Max. He was visiting me tonight.”

“Why was he visiting you?” The leader asks, staring at the were-boomslang.

“Helps to have a friend.” Lucy makes up on the spot, “To deal with the moon-mind.”

“How come he’s shifted?” the third Stalker finally chipps in.

“The curtains weren’t drawn properly in the bathroom.” Lucy says, forcefully resisting the urge to over-elaborate. She’s learned to lie very well in her time as a were-beast.

There was a long, weighty pause, and Lucy can tell she’s being examined closely. She keeps her – now fully feline – ears perked and free of guile.

“Very well then.” The lead Stalker, apparently deciding there isn’t anything they can prosecute her for, spins on his heel and strides for the door. Before Lucy has the chance to react, he flings the door wide open, and moonlight floods into the mudroom. The other stalkers followed him, leaving the door hanging open.

Lucy stumbles towards it, one hand reaching out to close it, but it’s far too late.

The were-boomslang drops to the floor with a thump as fur courses up Lucy’s arms and her feet lengthen to the point of uselessness. Unprepared for the transformation as she is, Lucy manages to shuck her flip flops and shirt, leaving her in just her sleeping shorts and a sports bra. The transformation is too fast for much else, and Lucy lets it overtake her.

Lucy drops to her feet, sniffing the air. It smells dirty and stale, but oh! There are many wonderful scents coming from out there!

She turns to the open doorway, tail swishing behind her. She’s hungry, and she can smell sleeping night creatures ready for hunting.

Something makes a sound, a dangerous sound, and Lucy flicks her head towards it. It rises up in front of her, tongue flicking, hissing its threat. Lucy hisses back, ears pinning back and spine arching. She darts a paw out, then snatches it back just as quickly when the snake lunges for it.

Lucy spits angrily, batting at the snake again. It’s unmoved by her attack, staring her down with huge eyes. Predator’s eyes.

She edges to the side, trying to get around the snake to the outside full of prey. The snake matches her slither for step. It hasn’t bit her yet, just hovers and hisses threateningly. That’s… strange. But Lucy has no time for strange. There’s a snake! Between her and her prey!

Lucy pounces forward, claws flashing. The snake sways away from the attack but doesn’t retaliate. Why…?

Lucy’s human mind abruptly rushes back to her, shoving the moon-mind away. She can’t go outside. She can’t leave the house in this form or she’d be killed out of hand. The were-boomslang had saved her life. Just as she’d saved theirs.

Lucy pushed her puffed-up fur back down and stretches, flicking her tail at the were-boomslang. They flick their tongue at her and lower themselves back on their belly. Lucy bounds inside, then waits for the were-boomslang and nudges the door shut. The mudroom will be fine with the door open the rest of the night, and she doesn’t want to give the Stalker’s any ideas by getting close enough to close the door.

The house is still lit up, but Lucy can jump high and the switches only need to be turned down. The door to her room is a lever handle, and Lucy can manage that too. The were-boomslang follows her the whole time, watching with huge green eyes.

The darkness and night scents make her moon-mind want to hunt, but Lucy’s pesky human mind insists on sleep instead. If she hunts anything, even in her house, her moon-mind will take over, and the window is still open.