In the depths of the cave, there was an underground lake. The water was black, still, and silent. Glow worms crawled along the ceiling, filling the chamber with a faint blue light. In the center of the lake, a splendid ruby amulet sat on a stone pillar. 

“That has to be it, don’t you think?” Victor gasped. “The artifact that the scroll spoke of?”

Nicholas approached the lake slowly, almost hesitantly. Taking a deep breath, he waved his hand to the side, levitating the amulet up into the air. With the flex of his fingers, the amulet drifted toward him, floating directly into his hand. The amulet was framed in a circle of gold, hanging on a decayed chain of the same metallic sheen. Nicholas stared at his reflection within the red crystal. 

“Well, do you feel any different?” Victor asked. 

“Not really,” Nicholas said, his brow furrowing together. 

“What about that last part of the riddle? Wasn’t it something about showing your heart?” Victor thought out loud. 

Nicholas gripped the amulet between his hands and pressed it against his chest. His heart pounded against the cold gemstone, beating expectantly. But after a moment had passed, nothing had happened. 

“A dud. Why did we even bother to come?” Nicholas grumbled, tossing the amulet against the ground. “There is no cure, is there?”

Victor walked over to the amulet and picked it up, slipping it into his satchel. “So, that’s it? You hit one dead end and call it quits?”

“What do you expect me to do? Travel the countryside aimlessly like you did?” Nicholas asked. “Some of us can’t live like vagabonds.”

“I’m on a mission–a quest that has taken me halfway across the continent.” 

“Ah yes, your quest for the ‘impossible.’ Be honest with yourself; your quest is just as hopeless as mine. We’re both chasing fairytales.” Nicholas grumbled.

“You know what I think? I think you’d rather brood in your stuffy old castle than dare try to do anything yourself.” Victor snapped. “You’ve faced nightmarish monstrosities, and yet you’re afraid of a little hard work–”

“How dare you! I started my own company. I work hard every day to ensure the creatures and cryptids of Still Water are safe and satisfied.” Nicholas said. 

Victor stepped forward, gabbing his finger into Nicholas’s chest. 

“You bought a mansion using your parent’s money to move to some backwater town where you knew the people would treat you like a king. You thought you were so great that you went and immortalized yourself, and now you’re too stubborn to look for a cure. Well, you’re not a king, you’re a spoiled, selfish, brat.”

Nicholas stared at Victor in shock. He went to speak but then stopped himself. Silently, he turned around and began the climb back out of the cave. 

. . .

Without speaking a word to each other, Victor and Nicholas sat side by side within the carriage as it rattled down the path. When they arrived back at the Castle a day later, Victor went straight to his bedroom and slammed the door. He tossed his satchel with the amulet still inside onto the floor and collapsed into his bed. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. A terrible cocktail of regret and anger swirled within his head. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the miniature gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Suddenly, all of the manor’s grandness seemed irritating–each detail reminding Victor of Nicholas’s sly smile. Eventually, his anger was lulled as sleep overtook his mind and body. He’d fallen asleep with his day clothes still on, unburied by the blanket, with his head barely on the pillow. 

The next morning, he was abruptly awakened by a knock at his door. He sat up and immediately grabbed his head, which throbbed painfully. A series of pounds thudded against the door, each worsening Victor’s headache. 

“Just a moment, please,” Victor groaned. He got himself out of bed, straightened his clothes and hair, and then opened the door. Nicholas was standing behind it, still wearing a firm, defensive frown. 

Victor went to close the door, but before he could, Nicholas grabbed it. 

“I don’t wish to speak with you right now,” Victor said. 

“Someone arrived this morning and said that they’d been looking for you.” Nicholas hurriedly explained. 

At this, Victor perked up and met Nicholas’s eye. He had no family to speak of and hadn’t ever made many close friends. His coach had already been very old, and Victor could only assume that by now, he would be far too feeble to travel–let alone have a good reason to try to salvage their relationship. 

“Who?” Victor asked. 

“Not sure. I’ve never seen him before. Rough-looking fellow with a scar through his right eye.” Nicholas explained. Victor racked his brain but couldn’t recall ever meeting such a man before. “He’s waiting for you down in the library,” Nicholas said. 

Victor made his way to the library, noting that Nicholas was straying reluctantly behind. They both entered the library, where the fire was burning brilliantly, illuminating the covers of the books. Sitting in one of the chairs by the hearth was a burly man with brown stubble sipping from a whiskey glass. He wore a wrinkled collared shirt and a necklace made of fangs, with a sleek hunting hat. 

“Do I know you?” Victor asked. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” the man asked, gesturing to the empty chair with his glass. 

“I’d rather stand,” Victor said. 

“Suit yourself.” the man chuckled. “I’m Chase.” 

“That’s a fitting name for a hunter,” Victor said. 

“How did you know I was one?” Chase asked. 

“It’s your outfit,” Victor explained. “Besides, you smell of gunpowder and blood.”

“That’s quite the sniffer you got there.” Chase chuckled. 

“You never answered my question. Do I know you?” 

“No. But I know you.” 

A log burning in the fireplace snapped in half, sending out a burst of embers. 

“I was a friend of your parents. They lived in a cabin out in the woods, and occasionally, I’d come to visit. You were just a little thing, which is probably why you don’t remember me.” Chase explained. “You see, your parents and I shared the same occupation: monster hunting.”

Both Victor and Nicholas tensed, exchanging glances at one another. 

“Your parents were the best in the business. It didn’t matter what it was–men, women, children–if it was a monster, they wouldn’t hesitate–because they understood, as I do, that it is the duty of humankind to eradicate evil from this world,” he said. “You can imagine their disappointment when it turned out their poor, sweet child had been born a monster.”

A panicked, awkward smile twitched across Victor’s mouth. 

“What are you talking about? I’m not a monster,” he said. 

“Have you ever heard of the Black Hound?” Chase asked. “I bet you haven’t. That’s because it’s so rare, so elusive, that it’s never been written about before. Once a century, a baby born under the light of the red harvest moon is imbued with the spirit of the Black Hound, becoming a monster. Your parents didn’t notice at first. You looked human enough. But then, one day, you were playing by the river and shifted for the very first time. Your parents knew what they had to do–besides, the river was right there anyway. They pushed your head under–tried to drown you–but you fought back.”

“No–” Victor said, feeling his hands begin to tremble. “You’re lying.”

“By the time I arrived, you’d already escaped,” Chase explained. “But that day, I made it my mission to hunt you down–not for revenge but for salvation. And to complete my collection…” he added, hooking his thumb under his necklace. 

Victor stumbled backward, hitting one of the bookshelves. A pair of books fell from the shelf, hitting the wooden floor. Nicholas stepped forward, his nose wrinkled with anger. 

“How dare you come here and speak hearsay.” he snarled. 

Victor felt like he might be ill, the color quickly fading from his already blanched skin. He collapsed onto his knees, breathing shallowly out his mouth with one hand grasping the bookshelf. 

“I don’t know where you learned such lies, but Victor is not a monster,” Nicholas said.

Chase smirked and cocked his eyebrows, taking a long sip from his glass. “Look for yourself,” he said, pointing forward. 

Nicholas turned and stared down at Victor, who had collapsed on the floor. The tips of Victor’s fingers had turned black and clawed, fur blooming across the knuckles. His teeth had grown long and sharp, sticking out over his bottom lip. A pair of fluffy ears the same color as his hair had sprouted from the top of his head alongside a curved tail. Victor turned and looked at Nicholas with a terrified expression, his pupils burning a fiery yellow color–like when the leaves change in autumn. 

“That’s not even a full transformation,” Chase told Nicholas. 

“Nick, I–” Victor began, his lips quivering. “I swear, I didn’t know–”

“I bet you didn’t,” Chase said, standing. “The Black Hound reacts to emotion, and it seems like you abandoned yours a long time ago.” He walked over and took a knee infront of Victor, holding onto a mocking grin. “You have three days. That’s how long I’m giving you to live. I’m a hunter…but I’m also a gentleman. It’s no fun shooting a deer in a trap…it’s all about the chase. So, I’m going to go back down the hillside, set up a nice little camp, and wait. You run as far as you like, but come three days later, I will find you, and I will kill you.” 

Nicholas went to slash him, but Chase pulled out a pistol from his back pocket and pressed the barrel against Victor’s throat. Chase held up his pointer finger and swayed it from side to side, making a “tsk” noise with his tongue. 

“Don’t spoil the fun now,” he said. “Unless you want me to get the job done right here and now.”

Nicholas snarled, lowering his hand back to his side. 

Chase stood and walked toward the door, tipping his hat. “Remember: three days.”

The second Nicholas was sure Chase had gone, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Victor’s trembling body. They shared no words for what they felt was something beyond speech. Slowly, Victor became lost in Nicholas’s embrace, in the gentleness of his touch and the warmth of his skin. His monstrous features began to retract, disappearing back into his body to once again lay dormant. 

. . .

Nicholas entered Victor’s room, carrying a tray decorated with biscuits and tea. Victor was sitting in a chair facing the window, but his eyes didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular–staring like the lifeless eyes of a corpse. Nicholas placed the tray on the writing desk by the door and knelt beside Victor, taking one of his hands into his own. 

“You have to eat something,” he said. 

Victor didn’t move–he hardly breathed.

“Please, my friend–” Nicholas pleaded, finally reaching out and turning Victor’s head so they were face to face. “You must snap out of this spell. So what if you’re a monster? I am. All of our clients are. And we’re not bad. You’ve seen it. Most of us are as kind and loving as any other creature on this earth.”

“But not me,” Victor said, his voice hoarse. “The beast I’ve loathed all my life–it was me all along. I was the one who–” His throat tightened. “There’s no words to describe how terrible I am–”

“They were trying to kill you!” Nicholas yelled. His voice rang with such desperation that it startled Victor, finally catching his attention. “You were a child–hardly old enough to walk. They just had to take one glance at what you were, and that was enough for them to deem your life worthless. And when you were at the brink of death–that beast awoke within you to save your life.” Nicholas explained. “I’m not saying that that makes it right or just–but the truth of the matter is that if you hadn’t fought back, you would have died.”

“And all the better the world would have been for it,” Victor said, his gaze shifting back toward the window. 

Nicholas’s expression fluctuated between despair and fury. 

“Do you really believe that?” he asked. 

Victor didn’t answer. 

“I can hide you, bring you somewhere safe where Chase will never find you,” Nicholas said. 

“No.”

“He’s going to kill you.”

“I will wait here, and he will come and do what he sought out to do,” Victor said. 

The tears finally broke free from Nicholas’s eyes, streaming down the sides of his face. 

“Fine!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Throw your life away; see if I care.” Although he meant to sound angry, each word came out as a saddened sob. 

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind himself. As Victor’s eyes narrowed on the surface of the window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Impulsively, as if driven by a force outside of himself, he bawled up his fist and punched the glass, cracking the reflection into a million small shards that glittered down into the courtyard.