“Actually, he knew a wizard by the name of Niggle who now sits on the Wizards’ Council. Maybe he was helping him. In fact, according to Jack’s notes it was the wizard Niggle who performed the finding spell that allowed Rumpelstiltskin to find the girl in the first place.”
“Why was he doing all that?” asked Robert.
“He must have been preparing to do something. Something big,” said Lily.
“It certainly makes sense,” agreed the Historian. “What you have to understand about Rumpelstiltskin is that he has immense power inside of him, but he can’t access any of it for himself. He can grant someone any wish, to be famous, to be strong, to be rich, to be a bloody giraffe if that’s your deepest desire. But he can never use his own magic on himself.”
“Must be frustrating,” Robert thought out loud.
“Veszico said that he was heading for the City of Oz. He might be going for the wizard.”
The Historian sat himself down. “It’s getting late, and if you’ve got all you wanted, I think it’s time for you both to leave.”
Lily quickly grabbed the list of objects that Rumpelstiltskin had been collecting and pocketed it while the Historian stared intently at the fire.
“Goodbye, Bzou.”
“Nice to meet you, uh, sir,” said Robert and half bowed awkwardly, realized he looked ridiculous, and stood up.
The Historian kept his eyes on the fire. “Feel free to visit again. And Lillian, enjoy the night air.”
A foul-looking shadow danced above the door as Robert and Lily entered the hallway that would take them to the staircase.
“What did that mean?” asked Robert.
“He likes to play mind games. It doesn’t matter; we got what we came for.”
Robert couldn’t tell in the dim light but it almost looked like Lily’s skin was growing darker.
Chapter Thirteen
Big Bad Wolf
The Historian waited until his guests had ascended the stairway before leaving his chair. He ran with great speed down the hallway toward the Archives, moving with such precision and force that he looked like a star athlete and not a nine-hundred-year-old werewolf. He turned down one hallway, then another, ascended a stairway, then bolted into a room with a large steel door. He pushed open the door with great effort, slipped inside, then slammed it shut and listened as the locks automatically slid into place on the outside of the door, locking him in. The room was narrow, high, empty, and made of thick stone. The only window was a large opening, with bars welded across it, set into the wall. The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the narrow cell and spilling over the large body of the Historian as he ripped the clothes from his old body, felt his blood boil, his muscles tense. He began to feel the change flood through him.
Robert held onto Lily’s shoulder, as he could barely see his way up the stairs. The floor flattened out and he could see the outline of the high doors at the other end of the old hall.
The howl that echoed through the castle was one that Robert would never forget, partially because it was one of the singular, most chilling sounds he’d ever heard and partially because the events that immediately followed were nigh on unforgettable.
“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” asked Robert, already pretty sure he knew the answer.
“Yes, he must’ve changed at will.”
Robert banged on the ceiling high double doors. “Open up, we want out!”
Nothing.
“It’s strange, though,” said Lily. “Why would he change?”
“Can you open these doors?”
Lily pulled on one of the large circular door handles, and the door creaked open. The first thing Robert saw was the moonlight spilling through the doorway. The second thing he saw was the shocked expression that had affixed itself to Lily’s face.
“What? What is it?” said Robert. He looked out through the doors and saw the full moon sitting comfortably above the castle walls. The Pixies lining the walls looked down at the doorway; their wings twitched with anticipation.
“Run, Robert!” shouted Lily and her voice dropped an octave at ert.
“What? Why?”
And then his common sense kicked him hard in the head.
“She’s a werewolf,” said the voice in his head calmly, “and it’s a full moon.”
“Oh. Shit.”
Lily staggered out of the doorway and gripped her head with both hands.
“Oh shit, oh shit.”
Lily’s back bulged beneath her clothing; her hands widened and the fingers stretched; hair grew across the back of her hands.
She swung her head up toward the moon. He face was becoming longer, her eyes burned bright amber, and Robert watched in a frozen silence as her teeth grew pointier.
“Rugghhnn!” growled Lily.
“Sound advice,” said the voice in Robert’s head, “you should run.”
Robert’s feet were moving before the rest of his body clued in. He flew at the door, ignoring the growing chatter and shouts of the Pixies above, turned the handle of the door set into the castle wall and threw his weight against it. The last thing he saw before he slammed the door shut was Lily, or the beast that had been Lily, tearing the shredded clothes from its body with long claws. Its head was now a wolf’s head, and it stood upright on long, muscular legs, its whole body covered in hair. Lily the werewolf let out a long howl.
Robert, running breathless, almost tripped over the Gnomes.
“General! Lily’s… werewolf… full moon… big… really, really big,” said Robert as he struggled for breath.
The Pixies shifted their eyes to the outside of the wall.
“Yes, moron,” said Gnarly, “we know. I suggest you run.”
“What are you two going to do?”
“We can take care of ourselves but we can’t help you. We won’t harm Lily and there’s no way to get you out of here easily. Running is your best option right now.”
Something heavy banged against the door.
“Moron, run!” shouted Gnick who had produced a dagger and threw it with complete accuracy at a particular pudgy-looking Pixie who plummeted dead to the ground in front of them. Four Pixies flew down to eat their fallen comrade, and then remembered what was trying to get through the door.
Robert now saw that General Gnarly and Gnick each had a length of thin rope. They both lassoed a Pixie and were dragged up into the air as the creatures shrieked and attempted to fly away.
“Run, moron!” shouted General Gnarly as he rose up and above the castle walls.
You don’t need to tell me twice. Robert then realized that he had been told several times. He turned and sprinted off in no direction in particular.
Robert wasn’t any sort of athlete. He’d failed at almost any sport he’d ever attempted. His physical education teachers in school had blamed it on him being gangly and uncoordinated and suggested he be thankful that he was able to put one foot in front of the other without hurting anyone. Robert wasn’t a good runner because he could never find the correct motivation. It seemed pointless. On the flipside, he had always maintained that he could have made an excellent track star if there was someone chasing him with the intention of inflicting bodily harm.
It was that motivation of self-preservation that spurred Robert to run as if a massive, possibly hungry werewolf was chasing him. He could hear wood splinter somewhere in the distance behind him as, he assumed, Lily broke through the castle door. He held onto the fond hope that she wouldn’t chase him. He then made the mistake of glancing back to see the girl he had once thought to be beautiful, now large, hairy, and drooling, running on all fours along the road after him.