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afternoon, but he
was with Priscilla again. They were sitting under the
drawbridge, where he was showing her his collection
of slugs – Priscilla had changed her mind about them. The dog flicked her hair and went to lie under a
rosebush. She lay her muzzle on her paws and sighed. She didn't like that human girl.
    Freddy was telling Priscilla about his heroics,
without any mention of poodles.
    'And so, that night I led the whole Werepack in
the Blood-Red Hunt. It was like the coolest ever – so
radical.' He flexed the thin muscles on his arms.
    'Where did you go on the Hunt?' she asked, poking
one of the slugs with a stick. 'Gross.'
    'To the Stone Circle. That's where Cripp shot my
dad. You can tell because of the Blavendoch.'
    'Blavendoch? What's that?' Priscilla's blue eyes
opened wide.
    'It's a plant you only find in the ancient forests
of Europe, of course.' Freddy was speaking quite
pompously about something he hadn't known about
until recently.
    'What's so special about it?' she asked.
    'It only grows where a wolf's blood has been spilt,
and it only flowers under a full moon. Its petals are
as red as blood, and its juice is supposed to be . . . magical .' Freddy's voice dropped to a whisper.
    'I want to have one.' The beautiful girl pouted. 'You
could get it for me tonight.' She tilted her head and
looked at Freddy through her eyelashes.
    'But it's on the other side of Milford,' Freddy said
uncertainly. 'Dad won't let me tonight . . . Perhaps
next month.'
    'That's too late! Do you always do what daddy says?
That's so lame,' Priscilla snorted. 'Or perhaps you're
just . . . scared ?'
    'No way!' Freddy jumped to his feet in outrage.
    He bashed his head against the underside of the
bridge.
    'Ow! I'm not a chicken. Watch this.'
    He picked up a slug, balanced it on his nose
and then flicked it up, caught it in his mouth and
ate it. It tasted so bad that he thought he might be
sick.
    'See . . .' he said, going a little green, '. . . not a
coward.'
    Priscilla only snorted. 'I want a Blavendoch, not a
dead slug.'

    'Wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf!' Freddy
repeated under his breath for the thousandth time. 'Please not poodle.'
    He was with his father in the Great Hall. They were
standing next to the window, which ran from ceiling
to floor and had a thick curtain pulled across it. Mrs Mutton, Chester and Priscilla were all seated in
a row. It is always a great honour for a Weren to be
present at a Transwolfation.
    Freddy's palms and neck were itching unbearably. He saw his father also shrugging his shoulders
uncomfortably. Then Flasheart spoke, in a voice that
made Freddy's heart thump with pride. Flasheart was
fun, but he was also the Grand Growler, and could
instil respect, even fear, in anyone.
    'We howl thanks for the ancient magic of the
Moonstone. Now, by the power of the silver moon,
let the Transwolfation begin!'
    Freddy drew the curtains and the hot beams of the
moon fell onto father and son.
    The boy saw his father arch back under the heat
of the magic. Flasheart fell forward onto his hands
and roared as his bones grew, distorted and pushed at
his skin. As his own black hair spread and his fangs
grew, Freddy felt his wonderful, painful, fantastic
Transwolfation falling upon him.
    Freddy saw Flasheart jump up to the window and
howl, the most powerful Fangen in Britain. Chester
and Priscilla were watching him in awe. They had
never seen such a huge wolf before.
    As his skin continued shivering, it seemed to
Freddy that his father was still growing, but no – it
was he who was shrinking.
    'Oh, no!' he yipped. Dripsy-Wimpsy had struck
again.
    'Great horned toads!' Chester jumped out of his
chair in disgust. 'So the rumours are true!'
    Freddy didn't wait for Priscilla to speak; the look
of revulsion on her face was enough. The Second
Greatest Werewolf Hero Ever was . . . a poodle .
    Freddy scampered out of the room, down the
corridor and out the kitchen door.