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Something struck the closed ballroom doors.
They rattled in their frames.

Bernard's dread turned to panic. The
werewolves were coming, bringing their fury and their curse. He
fingered the elixir bottles in his coat pocket. Who among this vast
assembly might he save?

He scanned the beautiful, frightened women,
and their elegant men. But it was a shallow look to convince
himself of his own altruism. There had only been one choice in his
heart, and he'd made it in his subconscious as he'd filled the
vials.

Charlotte rose from a chair across the room,
where she had been resting her feet in the young lawyer's lap.
Bernard hurried toward her, shouldering past staring people. A
heavy body struck the ballroom doors again. Several men rushed to
barricade them with chairs.

Bernard reached his wife and laid a hand on
her arm. "Charlotte."

She gasped at him, face white under its
powder. "Bernard, what's happening?"

He pulled the elixirs out of his pocket and
pressed one into her hand. "Drink this. It might save you."

"What is it?" She tilted the bottle sideways
and watched the blue liquid swirl.

"Drink it!" he commanded, uncorking his own
vial. He drank it in one gulp. It tasted strongly of cloves.
Charlotte sipped hers, made a face, then finished it and laid the
vial on the table. For a second Bernard's panic eased. She'd taken
the dose. Theoretically the curse would not touch her mind. But it
would not keep a monster from tearing out her throat.

The ballroom doors crashed and one swung
open, pushing the assembled furniture aside. A snarling lupine head
forced its way inside, followed by a pair of broad shoulders
covered in filthy gray fur. Then it slipped inside. More werewolves
followed it, pushing the doors open.

They towered head and shoulders over the
humans, all shaggy gray fur, long canine faces with bared fangs,
and burly arms ending in dagger-like claws. Bernard barely glimpsed
them before they dove into the crowd like true wolves into a flock
of sheep.

The ballroom erupted into pandemonium.

People ran in all directions like a sack of
rats upended on an open floor, seeking hiding places. They collided
and tripped and fell and shouted and screamed. Worst were the women
in their choking skirts. They fell, tangled in their gowns. The
wolves leaped on them with savage hunger and many screams ended
suddenly.

Some people reached the windows, flung them
open and leaped out. Bernard considered took three steps after
them, Charlotte in tow, when fresh screams erupted outside. A feral
shape rushed by the glass. Charlotte shrank behind him.

"We can't get out!" Bernard bellowed over the
noise.

"This way!" Charlotte tugged his arm. She led
him to a small door that was painted to match the rest of the
walls. Bernard wrenched it open and pushed Charlotte through, then
closed the door behind them. It was a small room with a vanity and
three chairs, and shelves of powders and scents. Oh yes, one of the
rooms the women used for freshening up between dances. Leave it to
Charlotte to seek shelter inside a powder room--Bernard had never
set foot in one.

He held the door shut and listened to the
bedlam outside. Charlotte sank into a chair and raised both
trembling hands to her face. The only sounds were their labored
breathing. Charlotte's breath shook with barely-suppressed sobs.
Bernard wished he knew how to comfort her--a kind word, an
embrace--but he didn't dare release the door knob.

The screams and howls outside quieted. Heavy
footsteps galloped past the door toward the window. Deadly silence
fell.

Bernard waited one minute, five, ten. No
sounds. Everyone must be dead or gone. When did he dare to look
outside? What if a beast lingered outside, waiting? How would he
know unless he looked? Dread built inside him until he thought he'd
snap.

He turned the doorknob and eased the door
open a crack. A slice of ravaged ballroom met his gaze. Bodies and
blood, broken glass and splattered food. The air reeked of death.
He opened the door wider. No humans lived. The wolves had abandoned
the ballroom in favor of living prey.

Bernard extended a hand to Charlotte. "Come,
we must get to safety."

Charlotte saw the ballroom and cowered in the
doorway. "Bernard ... oh, Bernard!"

He looped an arm through hers and guided her
out of the powder room. "Don't look, darling. We'll take horses
from the stables and ride to Marshal Sterling's up the road. He'll
know what to do--"

A werewolf reared up from behind the buffet
table. It licked its chocolate-smeared jaws and snarled. Bernard
and Charlotte froze, Charlotte with a small scream.

The wolf leaped over the table and ran toward
them on all fours, ears pinned back and teeth bared. Bernard flung
Charlotte behind him and raised his fists in a pathetic defense
against the monster.

The werewolf caught his left arm in its jaws
and bit down. Its teeth pierced through his coat sleeve and deep
into his flesh. It worried his arm and jerked Bernard sideways. He
landed heavily on one knee and held up his other arm to shield his
throat. But the wolf sprang upon Charlotte and bit her arm, too.
She screamed--a long, horrible sound worse than any of the shrieks
of that night.

But the wolf released her and paced around
them in a circle, tongue hanging out like a pleased dog. Was it
laughing at them? Its eyes flicked between them with human cunning.
Bernard watched it and horror struck him like lightning. It knew it
had cursed them.

The wolf bounded to the buffet table, where
it resumed working its way through an entire roast ham.

"Why did it leave us alone?" whispered
Charlotte.

Bernard scowled at his bleeding arm. "It
inflicted its curse on us."

Charlotte gaped at the bite wound. "We're ...
going to turn into one of them?"

Yes, there was no avoiding the
transformation. But the elixir coursed in their veins, working
against the mind-altering state of the curse. Despite the pain and
what was coming next, a tiny flame of hope burned in Bernard's
heart. "Let's return to our rooms. Can you stand?"

He helped Charlotte to her feet, and pulled
up one layer of her crimson dress to wrap around her wound. She
colored at the impropriety of this, but said nothing. There was no
one left to see.

The pair made their way out of the
slaughterhouse that had been the ballroom. The entrance hall was
strewn with the servants' bodies. Charlotte moaned and covered her
eyes with her good hand. Bernard shot her a glance. Was she
sickened at the sight of more death? Or genuinely sorry for people
she had known?

They turned from the sight and climbed the
stairs to their personal rooms. Bernard made for his own room out
of habit.

As he opened his door (in relief, as his
rooms were untouched by wolves), Charlotte whimpered. Bernard
smiled in self-conscious embarrassment. "I know you've never been
in here, but it's all right," he started to say.

But Charlotte gazed at her hands. Fur
sprouted from her smooth skin, and her perfect nails lengthened
into hooked claws.

Fresh horror struck him like a cartload of
bricks. He pulled her into the room and closed the door. Beneath
his clothing, pain lanced through his bones. Would the elixir
preserve his mind, or would he become a monster inside and out?
Would they attack each other once they transformed?

Charlotte groaned and slumped forward,
pulling at her dress. "Bernard," she gasped, "I can't breathe!"

A spasm of pain locked his jaw, and he
nodded. As she pulled her arms out of her dress, he glimpsed her
corset, laced tight as a noose around her torso. She shot him a
pleading look. Her eyes had already turned yellow.

Bernard forced his trembling body to step
behind her and raised a hand to the laces. But his fingers had
thickened and gone rigid with muscle, and his fingernails had
become claws. He'd be as likely to stab his wife as free her. But
the curse was forcing her to transform anyway. Fur grew between the
corset laces. Charlotte clawed at it with a gasping cry.

Bernard hooked his claws through her corset
and ripped downward, peeling it from her like the skin off a
banana. Charlotte fell to the floor as her body transformed, but
she drew great breaths and her ribcage heaved. Her fur was creamy
white.

Bernard's pain increased and his vision
blurred. He tore at his restrictive clothing, desperate for air.
His shirt ripped and buttons pinged across the room. His trousers
came off anyhow.

The pain drove him to the floor, a burning,
crushing pain in every bone and fiber. He groaned and it wasn't his
voice anymore--it was a bestial sound. His limbs spasmed and he
clutched his head. Anger and hunger rose up inside his mind and
clamored for rule. No! He'd taken the elixir! He'd keep his
humanity, no matter what happened to his body!

The pain faded. Panting, Bernard lifted his
head. The room snapped into focus with amazing clarity. His nose
identified Charlotte nearby, heaving deep groaning breaths. At
least she was still alive. He rose to his feet and looked down at
himself.

His fur was deep gray marked with brown, and
the transformation made him huge. He stood on two legs, and touched
the nine-foot ceiling with one paw. For the first time in his life,
he was tall. His tongue felt enormous and floppy, and his teeth
were a series of jagged spikes. Standing on two legs was tricky
because his legs bent backward. He switched between four legs and
two until he could walk a few paces without staggering.

Charlotte huddled on the floor, ears
flattened, peering up at him. "Bernard," she whimpered. Her voice
had deepened and become harsh. "You're a monster."

He dropped to all fours and bent over her,
and she cringed away. "Don't hurt me!"

"Charlotte," he said softly, "it's all right.
Remember the elixir we drank? It let us retain our human
minds."

And their ability to speak. The mages had
debated whether a werewolf could speak since the first wolf
appeared. The human larynx remained intact, but the wolves only
vocalized in barks and howls. There had been much debate about
whether this was the result of a physical change or a mental one.
Apparently the latter.

Charlotte pushed herself up on all fours and
her ears sprang forward. "Will it let us regain our human bodies?"
She looked over her shoulder at her fur-covered shoulders, then
sank to her haunches and looked at her furry arms in dismay. "Oh!
I'm a monster now!"

Guilt pained Bernard. He hadn't turned her
into a monster. But he'd let her retain her mind, and perhaps that
was worse--being aware of the condition and unable to alter it.
Apologetically he said, "I was trying to preserve the mind. The
body would have been the next stage had I ..." He looked down at
himself. "Had this not happened."

He walked to his full length mirror and stood
in front of it, examining himself. Slabs of muscle, keen yellow
eyes. Thick fur that still smelled of cologne. There was no sign of
the bite wounds that had inflicted the curse. But his hands were
stiff, with none of the delicate motor skills of human fingers. He
could never brew more elixir in this state.

After a moment, Charlotte rose and stood
beside him. Her body was slim-waisted and feminine, but her claws
and teeth were no less sharp. Her white fur was far more beautiful
than his own gray coat. "Oh," she whispered. "I'm horrible!"

"You liked the way you looked." Bernard
examined his teeth in the mirror, and then flexed his muscles,
turning to look at his back. "I never did."

Charlotte stepped away, glaring in scorn.
"You're such a boy, Bernard! Look at you, preening!" She turned her
back and sat down on her haunches. "You don't have to like it so
much."

Remorse struck Bernard. She was right--they
were monsters now, even if his new body was more powerful than his
old one. He sat down beside his wife in silence.

"What do we do now?" Charlotte said. "We
can't stay here, can we?"

"We'll either be shot as monsters, or taken
back to the werewolf pens," Bernard said. "Such a shame. If I could
contact the Mage Society with my formula, they could perfect the
elixir. It might let people who are werewolves at present regain
their sanity. And perhaps their human bodies."

"Where should we go?" Charlotte's voice
trembled.

Bernard thought for a moment. "To the forest.
We can live out there until this dies down, then I might be able to
contact Kryn."

They sat for a moment longer. Charlotte gazed
at her muscled, white-furred forearms, and her long pink and brown
claws. She raised a clawed hand in an old gesture to where her hair
had been. Instead she touched her pointed ears and whimpered.

Bernard rose to two legs. "Sitting here does
us no good. Let's see if we can salvage any food."

He shambled to the door, and Charlotte
followed him. This body walked on two legs all right, but if
Bernard moved any faster, he fell forward onto all fours, like an
animal.