The sun slowly dipped down below the horizon, casting the world in a purply light that was highlighted by the full moon growing brighter in the evening sky.

  Peregrine, Wendell, and Alissa stood in front of the Mirth Tavern, watching the patrons spill outside, their prior cheerful mood now solemn silence. The villagers formed, single file, in front of Medium Al’s Blacksmithing, moving through the shop like a school cafeteria assembly line, coming out of the exit carrying lit torches and rusty swords and axes.

  The weapons looked unnatural in the residents’ hands. They practiced by swinging them clumsily in the air. Others, who hadn’t yet gone through the line, carried hay bales, stacking them alongside the old ones that were already against the palisade. After putting the bales in place, they took sharpened stones and buried them in the hay, leaving the pointy sides sticking out.

  Peregrine took it all in, beginning to understand the gravity of the situation. He watched people embracing in long hugs. There was crying, pep talks, and pats on the back galore. He looked to Wendell and Alissa who both seemed to be having similar experiences.

  A minotaur approached the group. His horns seemed to go on forever horizontally, before curving toward the sky. If he was in the tavern, his horns would scrape the ceiling. The fur on his face was thick, hiding his features. A golden hoop ring pierced his bull-like snout. Rather strange was that he wore a plunge V-neck denim vest, tufts of fur covering what would otherwise be a bare chest. His voice was deep and gruff. “I believe in you three. Deliver us from evil.”

  Peregrine nodded and the minotaur walked off, gripping an axe that looked tiny in his meaty hands. His black leather pants squeaked as his thighs rubbed together.

  “Pretty sure that was a chick,” Alissa said.

  “Why do you think that?” Peregrine asked. The System showed the minotaur’s name as Pat. I guess Pat is sort of an androgynous name, he realized.

  “Look how her hips sway side-to-side. Guys don’t walk like that. She’s looking for attention. I know it works for me when I throw my hips around.”

  Peregrine didn’t want to envision Alissa strutting her stuff.

  “More importantly,” Wendell began, “does everyone in this realm speak English?”

  “Everyone hears the universal language,” Sandra said. She held a jar full of a white substance. “It’s the language of The All. It’s similar to telepathy, except the words are spoken aloud. The language that hits your ears might be different from your own, but your System translates it to the universal language it's encoded with.”

  “Seems a bit complex,” Wendell said.

  “It is,” Sandra replied. “But it works and I don’t waste time questioning it.”

  Katie came running up. “I’m here, Mom.”

  “Not a second too soon, child.” Sandra dipped her hand in the jar and started smearing the goop on Katie’s arm. The two alternated turns scooping the substance and smearing it all over Katie’s body.

  Peregrine recoiled, his nose burning. The smell was pungent and the heat made his nose run.

  “It’s horseradish,” Katie said, rubbing it into her clothing. “The werewolves can’t smell me then.”

  “It overwhelms their senses,” Sandra added. “Keeps her scent covered, and we keep her out of sight.”

  After the lathering, Katie shook Peregrine and Wendell’s hands. When she approached Alissa, the swordmaster’s hands remained at her side, until—with a heavy eye roll—she finally returned the gesture.

  “Be safe everyone. I’ll sing you some songs later.” Katie and Sandra opened the doors to a nearby root cellar, and Katie crawled inside.

  Alissa sniffed the slop on her hand, then promptly smeared it against a nearby wall.

  Once Katie was safe in the cellar, Sandra closed the doors and her, along with a few others, piled bales on top.

  Fiddler’s Green had gone from a quiet rural community to a well-oiled assembly line. Peregrine had wondered if the people he’d seen in Mirth Tavern consisted of most of the population of the village. That wasn’t the case. There had to be at least two hundred people scampering about, getting into positions.

  Citizens armed with spears stood near the palisade. In front of them, others held flaming torches. Everyone equipped with swords stood closer to the center of town. There were a number of children holding stones, making it curious as to why Katie received special treatment.

  “I’m sorry this is all so sudden,” Sandra said, now holding a sword that clashed with her apron full of spoons and cooking utensils. “If we only had more time, I could prepare you for what’s about to come. The Morrigan had you all practice. Right? So, you know the basics of how your weapons and skills work. It’s pretty simple on our end. The peaks of the wall are sharp to injure and slow the werewolves. The ones that make it over land on the stones and we light the bales on fire. From there we attack with weapons and hope we’re not overrun.” She gave them a stern look, like she was putting the weight of the world on their shoulders. “Keep us alive.” With that she joined the fray, lighting remaining torches and checking swords.

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  The looming attack didn’t seem like real life to Peregrine. He wanted it to, and he couldn’t explain why he felt this way, but his mind was treating it as more of an inconvenience rather than life or death. His nerves were calm, and he wasn’t frozen with impending doom. Alyssa didn’t appear bothered, either. Wendell, however, was as white as a ghost and shaking.

  “Hey, man,” Peregrine said, grabbing Wendell by the shoulders. “It’s going to be OK. If the three of us work together, I’m sure we can handle these werewolves. We need to figure out their weakness first.” He wanted to reassure Wendell, but he also felt inadequate pretending he knew how to lead a battle against supernatural creatures. The only time he’d ever been in a fight was in elementary school, and he was sure the experience wouldn’t carry over. He wanted to disappear into the crowd and let someone else take charge.”

  Alissa tapped Wendell’s giant shield, which had the name Life and Times. “What skills does this give you?”

  “Uhm,” Wendell’s eyes scrolled the area in front of him. “I have the skill Coat of Arms. If I am near an ally, I can absorb damage meant for them at a reduced rate. Also if I’m hit directly, I will take reduced damage. If my shield takes a hit, it will reflect the energy at the enemy, pushing them back a few feet.”

  “Good. You can be my tank. You’ll stand close and take any hits meant for me while I slice and dice these mutts.” Alissa nodded to Peregrine. “What’s your wrist feather do?”

  Peregrine might not have cared for Alissa, but he was relieved she had no problem taking command of the group. As long as it was within reason, he’d play by her rules. “I can use it to cast magic spells. The only one I can do right now is called Holy, and it did major damage to zombies.”

  Alissa stared for a second. “Cover my back. Anything that gets behind me, keep it at bay with your magic. As long as I’m kept clean, I should be able to kill them. I have a skill called Strike of Woe. It lets me leap high in the air and come flying down fast with my sword, Exaltation of the Fallen. I get an attack bonus with it that lets me drain the shit out of a health bar quickly.”

  Overall, it seemed like a decent plan. She was so comfortable strategizing. One crucial element was missing, though. One that Peregrine had encountered firsthand. “We need to see what they are weak against,” he said. “The only way to do that is to attack until one of us gets the word “weak” to float above their head.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Alissa asked, pulling her sword out and examining the blade.

  Peregrine looked between Alissa and Wendell. “During the fight with the zombie in the graveyard. When you guys hit it with your weapons, didn’t the word “weak” float above it?”

  They both shook their heads, while Peregrine scratched his.

  Great, he thought. He didn’t like that his attack had been the strongest. It would put a spotlight on him that he didn’t want. “I guess the zombie was only weak against my magic. I want to try the same thing to the werewolves to see if Holy has the same effect on them. In movies, and lore, silver hurts them. So, maybe a sword will be the way to go. With that in mind, maybe our formation should—”

  A-woooooooo!

  “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Help me.” Wendell cowered behind his shield.

  All the chatter ceased at once … until someone interrupted the silence.

  “Psst. Psst. Heroes. Over here.”

  Peregrine squinted against the dim light and recognized it was Leon—the gate guard—speaking. He wasn’t by the front entrance anymore. Now he stood with the torchbearers, bearing a torch of his own. He waved for the three to join him.

  Leon pointed at a peephole carved in the palisade. “They always attack from the west. Their castle is located just beyond the hill. Follow the trail of trampled grass and you can see the tops of the towers.”

  Doing as asked, Peregrine closed one eye and pressed the other against the hole, stunned at what he saw. Turrets on each side of the castle soared into the air. It was too dark to make out any specific details on them, but they were massive. Of more immediate concern was the moving black mass on the worn trail, progressing toward them. They were much closer than Peregrine had anticipated.

  A-woooooooo!

  Another howl vibrated. A baritone warning that death was imminent, making Fiddler’s Green feel vulnerable behind the protective walls. The town was prey, exposed in an open field to a vicious predator.

  There had to be at least twenty werewolves. Some walked on two legs, while others trotted on all fours. At the back of the mass was something big. Something giant.

  Tremors started in Peregrine’s hands. He backed out of the way to let the other two take a look.

  “Holy fuck,” Alissa gasped. “I didn’t know it was gonna be that many. What the hell is that thing in the back?”

  Wendell just closed his eyes and shook his head repeatedly.

  “It’s The Fool,” Pat, the androgynous minotaur, said. “He leads the werewolves to us every full moon. He never attacks. Only watches. Once the fight is over, he goes back to his castle and we don’t see him again for another month.”

  Peregrine nudged Alissa over and took another look. The Fool had to be eight feet tall. He was close enough to make out his clothes, which consisted of a red-and-green court jester motley outfit. It was topped off with a floppy cap ‘n’ bells sitting atop his head. The jingling of the bells rose over the rhythmic pounding of feet and paws. Over one shoulder, The Fool had a long stick with a stuffed bindle tied to the end. In his other hand was a white tulip.

  The Fool seemed to lock eyes with Peregrine, even through the small peephole. He brought the tulip to his nose and took an exaggerated sniff, then threw it in the dirt and stamped it out like a cigarette, enjoying the act with a high-pitched cackle that was louder than life. The torch light seeping through cracks in the palisade danced across his face, making it extra creepy.

  Peregrine stumbled back, recognizing the white tulip as the same type of flower he’d been buried with. Any false sense of bravery he had flew out the window, and he glanced everywhere for an escape. He’d been a fool for sticking around and not running away with Wendell. This was a dangerous journey not meant for him. He was scared to die, especially by sharp teeth tearing into his flesh which sounded like an unimaginable pain. The experience of waking up in his own grave was not one he wanted to have again. And the place he woke up in next time might make his grave seem like a safe place. Plus, it would be for eternity.

  The sound of claws scraping against the wooden walls shook him out of his stupor. Wendell hid even deeper behind his shield, and Alissa had her sword at the ready. The rest of the villagers stood stoically.

  Then the first werewolf fell over the palisade.