I followed Isidor up the rain-drenched streets, as water raced along the gutter and sloshed into the storm drains. We hadn’t gone far when we came to a small newsagent, the shop where Isidor had bought the papers from on previous visits to Wood Hill.
With his hand pressed against the door, he looked back at me and said, “Ready?”
“Ready for what?” I asked him, my eyes wide.
“Anything, I guess,” he said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.
A bell chimed above our heads as the door swung shut behind us. The shop was dimly lit and dust motes hovered in the air. Two narrow racks ran the length of the shop, and these were filled with groceries, which looked to be covered with as much dust as the air about us. Some of the shelves were littered with magazines, which looked dog-eared, their covers yellowed with age. The shop smelt of sweat, stale cigar smoke, and beer. At the end of one of the aisles was one of those tall displays that turned. It was full of postcards, and just like the magazines had, they looked creased up and old. I turned the display round, and as I did, it made a creaking sound and toppled over. I tried to grab hold of it, but it slipped through my fingers and toppled over onto the floor. The postcards scattered, some of them disappearing beneath the shelves and racks.
“What’s going on back there?” a deep voice boomed, and it almost seemed to shake the whole shop.
Together, Isidor and I peered around the edge of the nearest shelf and could see a counter at the back of the shop. Someone was sitting behind it, but I couldn’t see who as that part of the shop was covered in shadows. The voice spoke again and said, “What do you want?”
Isidor glanced at me, then, with the adverts in his hand, he made his way towards the counter. I followed him, and as we drew near, I could hear heavy breathing. It sounded out of breath. And as I drew nearer still, I could hear the heartbeat. It was weak sounding as it struggled to push the blood around this person’s body. As we stepped towards the counter and through the shadows, I understood why the breathing had sounded like a clapped-out old engine and the heart like a weak drum beat.
The man who sat behind the counter was huge — a giant. His head was the size of a basketball, round with cheeks that glowed red as if it had just been pulled from a fire. Sweat rolled from his brow and down the side of his face and he mopped it away with one of his meaty hands. The fingers looked like overstuffed sausages, and the fingernails were yellow with a black rind of dirt under each one. He wore a vest which was stained yellow with sweat and old food, his belly sat on his lap like a stuffed cushion.
“What do you want?’ he asked again, his eyes looking bloodshot. A fat cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and the end of it was black with spit.
“I was wondering if you could display one of these pictures in your shop window?” Isidor smiled.
“What is it?” the man asked, snatching the advert from Isidor’s hand. But before Isidor had a chance to say anything, the man screwed up his flabby face and said, “‘Have you been pushed?’ What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“That’s what we wondered,” I whispered to myself, checking out the tuffs of thick, black hair that covered the man’s arms and shoulders.
“No can do,” the man grunted and pushed the advert back across the counter. “Is it some kinda joke?”
“No joke,” I said.
“Please,” Isidor said.
“But what does it mean?” the man asked again, chewing on the end of his cigar, not taking his eyes from us. “It seems weird to me and weird means trouble as far as I’m concerned.”
“No weirder than this town,” Isidor frowned.
The man didn’t say anything at first, he just stared straight back at Isidor. Then, he took back the advert, looked down at it and said, “The wolves came and they changed everything.”
“The wolves?” Isidor asked, shooting a glance at me.
“You musta heard of the wolves?’” the man huffed, sounding out of breath.
“I guess,” I breathed, thinking of the Lycanthrope — the wolves that I had known from my past life. “What about them?”
“They took our children,” he whispered. “They took all of them.”
“Why?” Isidor asked him.
“Because that’s what the wolves do isn’t it?” the man suddenly snapped. “That’s what they’ve always done — that’s just the way it is.”
“The way what is?” I asked him, shaking my head.
“Did you not do history at school?” he came back at me, mopping sweat from his cheeks, or were they tears?
“It wasn’t my strongest subject,” I told him.
“But still, you must know about the wolves?” the man pushed, dumbfounded that we seemed not to know what he was talking about.
I looked at Isidor and he looked blankly back at me. As if seeing that neither of us had the faintest idea what he was talking about, the man said, “The Treaty of Wasp Water. You must have heard of the Wasp Water Treaty? You know, the great battle that took place there two hundred years ago between us and the wolves?”
“No, remind me,” I told the man, my heart racing. “I must have missed that history lesson.”
“Well go look it up,” the man snapped, tired now of our ignorance.
“We know a town called Wasp Water,” Isidor cut in. “We’ve been there.”
Then, taking the cigar from the corner of his mouth, the sweaty-looking man said, “You’ve been to Wasp Water, you say?”
We both nodded at him.
“You lie,” the man gasped.
“Why do you say that?” Isidor asked him.
“Because he would have never let you leave,” the man whispered and peered about the shop just in case someone we hadn’t seen might be listening.
“Who?” I asked him, my mouth turning dry.
“The one and only human the wolves have welcomed into their pack,” the man explained.
“What’s his name?” Isidor pushed.
With his jowls wobbling from side to side, the man shook his head and said, “No one knows his name — not his real name. Where have you two been for the whole of your lives? I can’t believe you’ve never heard of the Wolf Man — the only human to live amongst the wolves. Now get out before I change my mind.”
“About what?” Isidor asked him.
“Putting your advert up in my window,” he barked.
“But I thought you said it was weird,” I said.
The man glanced up from the words written on the advert and said, “Maybe it’s time I pushed back?”
Chapter Twelve
“Potter!” I gasped. “You scared the hell out of me!” and although he had scared me, I was so glad to see him again. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed me back, but there was something wrong, it was like he was holding something back somehow.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, looking into his dead, black eyes. Rain dripped from his chin and ran over his naked chest and down his stomach.
“Let’s get out of the rain,” he said, leading me towards the summerhouse. We climbed the steps. Potter pushed against the white wooden door and it squealed on rusty hinges as it opened. He closed it behind us and for a moment, I stood in the centre of the small, wooden building and listened to the sound of the rain drum against the roof. Potter came towards me, and with the flat of my hand, I brushed the raindrops from his face, shoulders, and chest. His skin seemed to tighten and mine tingled as I touched him. He took my hands in his and bringing them up to his mouth, he kissed them. It had been a while since I had sensed such emotional sentiment from him.
“Potter, what’s wrong?” I breathed.
“The world really has changed since we left it, or came back to it,” he said. “I don’t really know which it is.”
“What’s happened?” I asked. “Apart from the name changes and the logo on my iPod…”
“That’s nothing,” he cut in. “I mean, the world has really changed.”
“How?” I asked, my heart now beginning to race.