Chapter 8

And from there, all that remained was the grief. Matthieu returned to his studies in Canada. He has written to me several times, though never over anything more than a brief account of what he has been doing, and a question or two on my own affairs. He has yet to see me in person.

Matthieu never answered my questions on how Alfred's death affected his loved ones in America. He told me the official story the police sent to Alfred's family - that Arthur killed Leon in a fit of insanity and fatally shot Alfred, while Alfred fought back in self defense and tore Arthur to pieces in his death throes. My brother never gave me any numbers or addresses, so I was never able to send the family a letter expressing my condolences. I was not even told where Alfred was buried, and thus could not pay my final respects.

I tried as best I could to find some means of contacting Yao Wang, Leon's beloved older brother. I learned that the police scoured every inch of Arthur's home, but found nothing on how to reach Leon's only apparent family. To this day, I chase every possible lead in the hopes of tracking down Yao. Gilbert thinks me mad, but I would hope someone would do the same if my Matthieu was lost so far from our home.

I suppose you will think me a failure, Antonio, given how ineffectual I have been. You would be right.

The room was utterly silent as Francis sipped his wine. Antonio stared expectantly at his friend, trying very hard not to fidget.

"Well?" Antonio asked, when Francis showed no inclination to say anything more.

"Well what?" asked Francis, smiling slightly.

"That was why you will never go back to London?"

"That is right."

"And what next?"

"That really is all," said Francis. "I promise, the story ends there."

"That is not what I meant," said Antonio. "You…you said that Arthur bit you, no? And he was a wolf when it happened? So if this all is true, then…then are you…?"

"Am I now a werewolf?" Francis rested his chin on his cupped hand and smiled at Antonio. "I would be, wouldn't I? If, that is."

"If what?"

"If it all did happen."

"But you said it did! You said this was the story as to why you never go back to London!"

"I might have exaggerated. I might have made the whole thing up out of boredom. You never know. Arthur Kirkland did exist, of that I promise you. Gilbert, Matthieu, Alfred, and myself all did visit London that fateful time. And Arthur and Alfred did come to their deaths by the end of it all. But was there a werewolf? You could believe what the police said, and think that it was simply the work of a madman."

Antonio licked his lips, screwing up his courage for his next question. "May I see your shoulder, then?"

Francis's eyes went wide, and he gently ran his hand over his right shoulder. "But why my shoulder, mon ami?"

"You know why, Francis. Do not play games with me. Show me if there is a scar or not."

Francis swallowed and nodded. "Come closer, and I will show you."

Both men were completely silent as Antonio stood and walked towards Francis. He did not dare to even breath. When he had drawn near enough, he nodded.

Without taking his eyes off of Antonio, pulled down the collar of his shirt. He gently stretched it out, until most of his shoulder was showing.

The skin was as smooth and unblemished as the rest of Francis's body.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. They burst out laughing.

"So, I guess that proves it," said Antonio, drawing back. "No scar, no bite, no werewolf! That is correct, no?"

"I suppose so," said France, letting go of his collar. As the fabric slid over his shoulder, a smile slid over his face. "However…"

"However what?"

Francis stood up. His smile widened and, for the briefest of moments, there was a hungry look about his eyes. "Arthur did say the wounds heal quickly, did he not?"

Antonio could say nothing. He leaned against the table for support, gaping as his friend went to leave the room.

At the door, Francis paused. "Believe what you want, Antonio," he called over his shoulder. "I bid you goodnight. And do hurry home, won't you? It is not safe to be out, with the streets so dark."

It took a moment for Antonio to find his voice again. Images of fur and fang and blood danced before his eyes, all drowned in the sound of screams and the burn of the moonlight. He licked his lips, as if it would help the things he wished to say come easier. But it didn't matter, surely. It was just a joke. Francis liked to joke, and that was what kept Antonio sane. Finally, he managed, "Francis…please be careful!"

"I always am and always shall be," Francis promised. "And worry not, I know these streets well. In any case, there is a nearly-full moon in the sky to guide me tonight."

And he was gone.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading, and a Happy Halloween to all!