Fool Moon
complicated. You never hear about murder charges in the Nevernever.”
    “That’s because everything there is immortal. Bob, just shut up and tell me what you know about werewolves. If there’s a bunch of different flavors, tell me what they are.” I got out a notebook and a fresh pencil, then a couple of clean beakers with alcohol-flame burners to heat whatever liquid I put in them.
    “All right,” Bob said. “How much do you know?”
    “Exactly nothing about werewolves. My teacher never covered that with me.”
    Bob barked out a harsh little laugh. “Old Justin had a lousy sense of just about everything. He got what was coming to him, Harry, and don’t let anyone on the White Council tell you any different.”
    I stopped for a moment. A sudden rush of mixed feelings, anger and fear and mostly regret, washed through me. I closed my eyes. I could still see him, my teacher, dying in flames born of my will and anger. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Hell, the Council even suspended the sentence on you. You were vindicated. Say, I wonder what ever happened to Elaine. Now there was a sweet piece of—”
    “Werewolves, Bob,” I said, in a very quiet, very angry voice. One hand started to hurt, and I saw that my fingers had clenched into a fist, the knuckles turning white. I turned my eyes to him, glaring.
    I heard the skull make a gulping sound. And then he said, “Right. Okay. Werewolves. And, uh, which potions did you want?”
    “I want a pick-me-up potion. A night’s rest in a bottle. And I want something that will make me imperceptible to a werewolf. ” I reached for the notebook and my pencil.
    “First one’s tough to do. There’s nothing quite like a decent night’s sleep. But we can make some super-coffee, no problem.” He spouted out the formula to me, and I noted it down as he went, my handwriting too dark and angular. I was still angry from the mere mention of my old master’s name. And the welter of emotions that rushed up with my memories of Elaine wouldn’t subside for an hour.
    We all have our demons.
    “What about the second one?” I asked the skull.
    “Can’t really be done,” Bob said. “Wolves have just got way too much on the ball to hide from every one of their senses without doing some major work. I’m talking, like, a greater Ring of Invisibility, not just a Shadowcape or something.”
    “Do I look like I’m made of money? I can’t afford that. What about a partial-hiding potion, then?”
    “Oh, like a blending brew? Look like an unobtrusive part of the background, something like that? I would think that would be the most useful, really. Keep you from being noticed to begin with.”
    “Sure,” I said. “I’ll take what I can get.”
    “No problem,” Bob assured me, and rattled off another formula, which I jotted down. I checked the ingredients list, and thought that I had them all in stock among the countless containers on my shelves.
    “Fine. I can get started on these. How much do you know about werewolves, Bob?”
    “Plenty. I was in France during the Inquisition.” Bob’s voice was dry (but that is to be expected, considering).
    I started on the first potion, the stimulant. Every potion has eight parts. One part is a base liquid to hold the others and provide a medium for mixing. Five parts are symbolically linked to each of the five senses. One is similarly linked to the mind, and another to the spirit. The basic ingredient to the stimulant potion was coffee, while the base for the scent-masking potion was water. I got them both to boiling. “Lot of werewolfery going on then?”
    “Are you kidding?” Bob said. “It was werewolf central. We had every kind of werewolf you could think of. Hexenwolves, werewolves, lycanthropes, and loup-garou to boot. Every kind of lupine theriomorph you could think of.”
    “Therro-what?” I said.
    “Theriomorph,” Bob said. “Anything that shape-shifts from a human being into an animal form. Werewolves are

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