Enemy Within (Moira Ashe Book 1)
Chapter 2

She was only two seconds in, and Moira was already starting to regret her decision to let this foreign man tag along with her as she hunted this werewolf.

“What have I gotten myself into?” She muttered quietly to herself, shaking her head as she walked.

She just realized she didn’t even know his name yet, and already they were making their way to her room at The Midnight Hour. What was she doing! Sure, being paid twice for doing basically the same job was fine, but just because someone mentioned saving some people’s lives and suddenly she had agreed to lead some guy on a hunting trip. “I must be going crazy,” she muttered to herself.

They climbed the stairs leading to her room and turned the corner. Moira paused briefly at the door with the number two as they passed it. “This will be your room for the time being, I suppose,” she turned to look at the man, who seemed to be amused at the notion of having a room so close to hers.

She unlocked her door and stepped inside her room, the man quickly following behind her.

Morning light flooded the room. Moira walked past her bed and the window, stopping in front of the table at the end of the room. She turned around and leaned against it, her hands gripping the edge. The man stopped in front of her bed and excitedly examined the contents of her room.

“Before I tell you anything,” Moira looked the man up and down, “what the hell is your name?”

The man’s face turned red. “Oh … sorry,” the man held out his hand, “Lincoln Clarke.”

“Moira Ashe,” she shook his hand. “Good,” she turned back to the table and lifted her blunderbuss, swinging back around for Lincoln to see. “Now, when you’re hunting any kind of creature, I suggest using one of these.”

The weapon was shorter than your average, but it made up for it with mobility in tight spaces. It was well crafted with a bayonet affixed above the barrel. Moira had used the weapon many times over the years.

Lincoln held out his hands, but Moira pulled the blunderbuss back towards her.

“First rule: Don’t touch my gear.” Moira looped the weapons’ strap over her shoulder, allowing it to rest across her back.

Lincoln nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing as Moira turned back to the table.

“But you’re going to want some backups just in case.” She pulled two pistols off the table and slipped them in holsters hidden underneath her coat. She intentionally opened her coat wider than she needed to in order to expose a third pistol that she carried with her at all times.

Lincoln smirked.

“Next, you’ll want some of these.” She pulled a number of knives off the table, leaving behind nothing but a few lanterns. There were three of them exactly, two small and one big. She began hiding them away as well when Lincoln interrupted.

“Where’s the silver?”

“I don’t have any.”

Lincoln tilted his head.

Moira smiled. “What? Don’t you know how expensive silver is? I do this job to make money, not shoot it!”

Lincoln chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that makes some sense.”

“Anyway,” Moira continued pulling out the large knife and turning slightly to expose the blunderbuss on her back. “The knife and the bayonet are silver, but silver bullets do help if you can afford them,” Moira gestured around her rented room, “which I can’t.”

“So you don’t need silver to kill one?” Lincoln asked, puzzled.

“Anything that can kill a normal man will kill most anything else, werewolves included—silver just seems to kill them easier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re allergic.”

Lincoln seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded his head in agreement. “Any poisons that are useful against them?”

“There are some, but I never use them.”

“Why not?”

“Too expensive,” Moira smiled. “Plus, I don’t need them.”

“Well then, I should be perfectly safe in your care.” Lincoln smirked before adding, “Anything else?”

“Not really, other than using long weapons like spears to keep them at bay, but they only work for large groups.”

Lincoln nodded again and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What about finding out who is one?”

Moira hesitated for a few seconds. She rested her chin in her hand as she studied Lincoln. She returned her hands to the table as she answered. “That’s the tricky part. I just kill the werewolf and see who’s missing afterwards.”

Lincoln frowned.

“But,” Moira started again. “I’ve found that people tend to grow about half their size in height after they,” Moira paused, looking for the right word, “change.”

Lincoln’s head tilted as his brow wrinkled and his mouth shifted to the side. After a brief moment, Lincoln sighed and his features returned to their usual expression. “What can you tell me about the phases of the moon?”

Moira was surprised. “What do you mean?”

Lincoln pointed at the dates circled on her makeshift calendar hanging on the wall opposite the window. The day after tomorrow was circled. “Why are there three days circled?”

She had forgotten about her calendar, but Lincoln waited patiently for her response and didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. What else had he noticed? She replied, “That is the date the full moon will rise.”

“All right, but why all three?”

“Because people with lycanthropy are forced to change for all three nights of the full moon,” Moira answered.

“But when the attacks began back home, there was no full moon,” Lincoln said, confused.

Moira replied softly. “That’s because the newly infected change every night until the first full moon arrives.”

“So?” Lincoln asked.

Moira felt irritated by the man’s constant questioning. “So, that means I …” she corrected herself, “I mean we, have until then to kill them before then, or the hunt will get a lot harder and will take a lot longer. So far the beast has been attacking every night, but after the full moon, they most likely will lay low until the full moon forces them out again.”

“So after the full moon, the attacks will get less frequent. Isn’t that a good thing?”

He wasn’t improving her mood. “Not if you’re trying to hunt someone who’s infected.”

“And how does someone get infected, exactly?”

She stared silently at her feet for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and returned her attention to Lincoln as she exhaled. After clearing her throat she answered, “From a werewolf’s bite.”

Lincoln seemed confused by her answer, but Moira disregarded him. “And that’s why,” she said, twisting her body to point at a picture on the wall behind her, “we have this problem.”

The picture was a crudely drawn map of Quinn and the surrounding area. A magnitude of multicoloured markers was pinned on the map surrounding the town.

Lincoln stood up from the bed and walked over to the map for a better look. Moira moved to the side to accommodate him. Lincoln looked over the map and pointed to the markers. “Why different colours?”

Moira turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him and pointed to the different colours. “A different colour, a different creature. All from the past month.”

Lincoln turned to her. “So you leave the old ones to help predict future ones?”

Moira turned to face him. “Yeah, but they aren’t all werewolves.”

They turned back to the map, and she gestured to a group of green markers spread across the forest north of the town. “These green ones were from when a sluagh attacked some people on the road a few months back.”

“What’s a sluagh?”

Moira turned to Lincoln to explain but thought better of it. “That’s not important right now,” she replied and turned back to the map. She pointed to some black markers along the river that ran through the town’s underground sewer system. “And these were from your run-of-the-mill problem bear.”

“The same bear that did that?” Lincoln gingerly gestured toward the side of his face.

“Oh no … this was from a long time ago.” Moira reached up and lightly brushed the left side of her face. “I wasn’t even living in Quinn when this happened.”

“So you’re not from here?” Lincoln asked.

“Not originally, no,” Moira barked, her nose crinkling.

Lincoln made a gesture towards the map. “So which one is our current monster?”

“The red ones here.” Moira pointed at the cluster of red markers surrounding the outside of the town’s walls.

“Any idea where it will appear next?”

Moira studied the map. There was no real pattern to the markers other than their proximity to the town. That was unusual compared to other werewolves she had observed, which left a pattern typically spread along farms outside the town.

Honestly, she really had no idea where it would turn up next. She made her best guess and was about to point at a location on the map when a knock came at the door.

Both of them turned towards the noise.

Moira walked over to the door quickly, knowing exactly who it is.

“Flynn,” she greeted him before the door was fully open. Flynn stood with his hat in his hands against his chest.

“Come for him, have you?” she nodded towards Lincoln.

“Indeed, I have.” Flynn looked between Moira and Lincoln. “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

“No, nothing really.” Moira pulled the door open as he stepped through.

“Conall Flynn.” Flynn extended his hand to Lincoln.

Lincoln shook his hand. “Lincoln Clarke.”

“Chief Ryan Quinn humbly requests your presence at his home.”

“Is this really necessary?” answered Lincoln. “As I told the guards at the gate, I have no business with this … Ryan Quinn.”

“Maybe not,” replied Flynn as he gestured towards the door, “but he has business with you. If you would just come with me, please, I’m sure he won’t take up too much of your time.”

Lincoln threw his arms up. “Damn it … fine … Moira, I’ll meet you back downstairs after I’m done with this nonsense, all right?”

Moira nodded her agreement as Lincoln lingered for a moment before turning and rushed out of the room to join Flynn. As she closed the door behind her, she pressed her back against it, letting out a sigh. Closing her eye, Moira took several long, deep breaths. After a few minutes, she pulled the door open again and strode through it as she went to face the rest of her day.

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