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I pointed the title. “This is part of a larger spell. A prophecy. One created to end the werewolves.”
His face paled. “What?”
“First comes themarcheur de la mort. The death walker. They’re made from the bodies of cursed souls,” I said. “They are destroyed only by destroying the bone at the base of the skull. Next…” I flipped a few pages. “The plagues begin.”
“Plagues?” He wrote a note blindly on the pad in front of him. “What kind of plagues are we talking about, like biblical plagues, or bubonic.”
“First it’ll be blood. We’ll bleed from our eyes. Then we’ll be struck with fever. It’ll kill some, but after that is the worst of it. After that begins the wolf plague. We’ll lose control of the change, our hunger will become insatiable, and everything we don’t kill…will turn. Just like in the legends. Most won’t survive it, but the ones that do will turn rabid.”
“Bad things always come in threes, what comes after the plagues?” He asked.
“The dark night comes on swift wings,” I said, reading directly from the book. “Those under the moon’s sway will pass like smoke on the wind and become the shadows they fear we create.”
“Does it say how we stop it?” His fingers tightened on the pen in his hand.
“No, but Annie always said the sure-fire way to protect yourself from a spell is to kill the witch that cast it.”
“Alright.” He set his pen down on the desk and cracked his knuckles. “I guess it’s time we have ourselves a good old fashioned witch hunt.”
