Chapter 15: The Second Moon

The old woman's cellar had a concrete floor, a drain, and an iron ring bolted into the wall.

We spent the afternoon of the second full moon padding the ring with rubber hose and clamping a steel chain through it.

Not silver. I would not use silver on him again.

"Will it hold?" Marla asked.

"For a normal wolf."

"He isn't a normal wolf."

"No," I said. "He's a patient."

Eamon came down the stairs himself at dusk, in scrub pants and nothing else.

The burns on his back had closed to pink lines.

He looked at the chain, and then at me.

"You don't need to stay," he said. "Lock it from outside. Go upstairs."

"I'll be on the other side of the door."

"Hazel."

"That's the term. I'm your doctor, and I'll be at my post."

I buckled the cuff around his left wrist myself, and I did not touch his skin.

My hands were steady. His were not.

He stood still while I worked, and his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

"The first change is the worst," I said. "Breathe out slowly."

"I know how it goes."

"Then do it."

He did, and it helped him a little.

I went up the stairs, shut the door, and slid the bolt across.

Then I pulled a kitchen chair up to the wood and sat down with my back to it, a stethoscope, a flashlight and a mug of the old woman's tea.

Marla sat three steps up with a blanket and a book she did not read.

The moon came up over the river.

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