{"sf1_id":831974,"sf2_id":null,"title":"Having Nothing to Hyde","author":"StGeorgesHorse","words":4022,"posted_at":"2015-03-18T04:01:00.000Z","tags":["Backstory","Human","Jekyll and Hyde","Plot Development","Robert Louis Stevenson","Story Progression","Werewolf","london"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/831974-having-nothing-to-hyde","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/831974","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=831974\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"#96 of The Moonrise Chronicles","content":"                The\nlittle man laughed. \"So you know the poem then. That was written by a female compatriot\nof mine. It gets misquoted a lot these days, if it's remembered at all. Allow\nme to assure you, this is no trap. You are free to walk out this door at any\ntime you like.\"\n                They\nentered the house, aware of a thousand comingled odors, all of them draped with\nthe cobwebs of the ages. And yet, the place was clean and neat; one might even\nsay well manicured.  The furniture was a\ntreasure trove of antiques, though there existed a chance that it was new when\nit was installed. There were paintings hung on the walls that were from well\nknown artists. Overall, it was like walking into a well appointed museum.\n                He\nescorted them to a comfortable Victorian couch and took a seat opposite them.\n                Edward\nspoke first. \"I take it then that you're not denying who you are?\"\n                He\nsmiled. \"That depends on who you think I am.\"\n                \"From\nthe clues you left, I'd say someone who was reported dead a long time ago.\"\n                \"That\ndoesn't narrow it down one bit you know. There are many people fitting that\ndescription.\"\n                Maggie\ncut in. \"We think that you're Robert Louis Stevenson.\"\n                \"That\nwould be correct. Belfour, in case you were wondering,  was my mother's maiden name. I tend to shorten\ndown the whole bloody thing, as most people would think I was being pretentious\nto use the entirety of it.\"\n                \"Pretentious?\nHow would they think you were being pretentious when by all accounts you're dead?\"\n                \"Some\nof my friends know me from way back my dear. Your best friends stick with you\nthrough thick and thin. Two world wars makes for some very solid\nrelationships.\"\n                \"So\nthere are more werewolves than just yourself in London?\"\n                \"Werewolves?\nThat seems such an unkind word. But if you wish to use that term, then yes,\nthere are more of us, just as I assume that you know of others. We don't do out\nof our way to advertise, so please don't go asking me for names.\"\n                Edward\nnodded knowingly. \"We wouldn't think of it. After all, there is safety in\nanonymity.\"\n                \"Good.\nBecause I recognized fellow souls back there at the restaurant doesn't mean\nthat I have a free and loose relationship with my own safety.\" \n                Maggie\nwas looking around while listening, but drew her attention back to the little\nman. \"Pardon my directness, but could you tell us about your famous book?\"\n                \"My\ndear, which one? Of course, I am only teasing you. With the reputation of Mr.\nHyde having gone through any number of permutations over the years, I can only\nassume that is the one you mean. Not unless you have a ken for pirates and\ntreasure.\"\n                \"No,\nyou were right the first time. What connection do you have with your creation?\"\n\n                \"And\nwhy should I tell you? What do I know about you?\"\n                \"Nothing.\"\n                \"Correct.\nI say that an exchange is in order. I have no difficulty in telling you want\nyou want to know, but I think that the trade should not be one sided. So, shall\nwe start with your names?\"\n                \"Well,\nI guess you could call me Maggie Peterson, or Leeds if you like.\"\n                \"Which\nis it?\"\n                \"It's\ncomplicated.\"\n                \"Life\noften is. Can you imagine how boring it would be if it weren't?\"\n                \"Well,\nI guess my real father's last name is Leeds, but I didn't know that; and my\nstep father's last name was McGill, but then something happened and I was\nadopted by Edward here. And since we're going to get married, then I guess\nPeterson is the one that will stick.\"\n                The\nlittle man looked from one to the other. \"I see. There is much to this tale that\ngoes without explanation. I know of no Leeds or Peterson with the trait we\nshare in common. But then you are American, the country once known as the great\nmixing pot. What is your lineage?\"\n                Edward\nwent first. \"My grandparents were from France, from the region of Gevaudan.\"\n                \"Is\nthat so? Might that mean that you have a connection with one of our errant kind\nfrom several  hundred years ago?\"\n                \"Guilty.\nShe was a direct ancestor from what I understand.\"\n                \"Curious.\nAnd what of you young lady; the lass with so many names?\"\n                \"My\ngrandmother is Anastasia Nikolaevna, the youngest daughter of the last tsar of\nRussia.\"\n                \"Is\nthat so? She wasn't perhaps one of the fine ladies seated at your table was\nshe?\"\n                \"She\nwas, as was my great aunt Maria and my great uncle Alexei.\"\n                The\nman's nose twitched. \"Again, there is a story behind all of this, for I swear\nthere was an age discrepancy in those three. No, no, not now. I will be more\nthan willing to listen to an extended, detailed description when there is\ngreater time. For now, I have enough to piece together what I need. \"\n                Edward\nraised his eyebrows. \"Oh have you now?\"\n                \"I think\nso. If I am wrong, you may clarify things when the need arises. For example,\nthough you are legally her protector, you two managed to fall in love.\"\n                \"Yes.\"\n                \"And\nyou have somehow gotten involved in piecing together a puzzle of incredible\ncomplexity which you are still putting together.\"\n                \"Uh, I\nguess so.\"\n                The man\nsmiled. \"There are many pieces to be had, and not all of them will fit into the\nimage you hope to achieve. So be forewarned; what the end result of your work\nwill be shall likely not become clear until well after you are finished.\"\n                Maggie\nleaned forward. \"What the hell does that mean?\"\n                The\nlittle man leaned forward too. \"It means that the effects of your actions\ncannot be fully recognized until after you have planted the seeds and have seen\nthem grow. Might I ask what you are intending to do with any information I\ngrant you?\"\n                \"I\nguess it depends on what it is.\"\n                \"Fair\nenough. You see, what I am about to tell you would pass for fiction or fantasy\nto an ordinary person. In that, I find occasionally regaling someone with the\ntruth is hardly more that a storytelling for entertainment purposes. But for\nyou, who I firmly believe knows better, my story will carry with it some\ngreater value than that of a bedtime tale.\"\n                He\nstood and went to an old writing desk and pulled a dusty book from a slot. He\nreturned with it, dusting off the cover.\"\n                \"While\nthis story wasn't published until 1886, the actual facts leading up to its\nwriting date back much further. As you may or may not know, I was the son of a Scottish\nlighthouse designer. That was a family business and not one I ever had an\ninterest in. I was a sickly child, and often alone. I suppose you might know\nsomething about that.\"\n                Maggie\nwas squirming. \"How do you know that we're of The Kind?\"\n                \"And aren't\nyou?\"\n                She\nsmiled and grew a pair of wolfy ears.\n                \"So\nthen that matter seems to be settled. I think I'm a good judge of character at\nthis point in my life. So where was I? Oh yes, my father. He and his family\ndesigned many of the lighthouses that still dot the coast of Great Britain.\nLife in Edinburgh was alright, though hardly something to be looked back upon\nwith any great love. I was always ill, from a disease the doctors couldn't\nidentify. Mother did, but thanks to religion and medical ignorance, she never\nsaid a word. It was only when I stayed at grandfather's house near Colinton\nthat I learned some of the dark family secrets. \nIt hardly mattered that he was a minister in the church, for religion\ncan strike anyone. I once remarked that I often wondered what I inherited from\nthat old minister. We were both fond of preaching sermons, in our own way,\nthough I often wondered that neither of us was ever fond of listening to the\nother. I think that neither of us wanted to know the truth behind the other.\"\n                His\naudience of two was listening with quiet and rapt attention.\n                \"Illness\nwas a common thing in the family, who had dwelt in the lands of Scotland since\nthe fifteenth century.  I had no idea\nwhat that condition was until I was reading an old private journal that I\ndiscovered hidden in a hidey hole. Of course, I thought it mostly some\nfantastic story that had been written by one of my ancestors, except that there\nwere multiple entries in it, all in different handwriting.\"\n                \"During\nthis time we moved a few times within Edinburgh, trying to find a house that\nassisted with our health, instead of merely exacerbating it. Mother blamed it\non the moisture, but the fact was, the first house had a garden filled with\nflowers, and among them aconite. The previous owner had been an herbalist and\nstored great quantities of dried plants indoors. The smell seemed everlasting\nand was quite nauseating.\"\n                Maggie\nmade a face. \"I know about that stuff. We used it once to kill...\"\n                Edward\nelbowed her.\n                Mr.\nStevenson smiled.\"Oh, I have no qualms about killing, though I have been lucky\nenough to have been saved that necessity for a very long time.  Oh course, my childhood nurse was an old\nCalvinist, and preached the bible even more than my grandfather ever did, but\nthat book is only old words, and without any real power. That ancient,\nhandwritten journal contained more information of value than a thousand years\nworth of distilled mysticism that originated in the Middle East.\"\n                Maggie\nwas all excited. \"What was in that book?\"\n                \"Stories.\nFormulae. Drawings. Dates.\"\n                Edward's\neyes widened. \"Formulae?\"\n                The\nlittle man smiled. \"I see you have a good mind. Yes, formulae for all kinds of\nthings. But one of them was very intriguing, once I had read the entire thing.\nIt detailed the problems my ancestors had suffered at the same peculiar disease\nthat I suffered from. You might not think of it in those terms, and yet, those\nwere different times. Of course, I was still too young to understand much of\nwhat was written, but the contents sparked my imagination. It was later, after\nI had my first transformation, that what was in there became more important.\"\n                Maggie\nwas sitting there with her legs swaying back and forth. \"How old were you?\"\n                \"Around\nage eleven when I was away at the academy. I had had the journal for a couple\nof years, but it was once found and I nearly lost it. I had to play at being\nunable to read, and that I had the old thing only for its drawings. It was a\nweak ploy and yet accepted by everyone. Everybody who looked at it thought it\nsomething old and queer, but harmless.\"\n                Edward\nbeat Maggie to the question. \"Do you still have it?\"\n                \"Yes,\nbut it is hidden away again. Some things in it have proven to be too dangerous\nfor anyone to ever know of again.\"\n                \"The\npotion?\"\n                \"Yes\nyoung lady, the potion. But at the time, it meant only a little to me, as it\nwas one of many things written  within\nthe pages.\"\n                \"So you\nwere able to keep your alternate ego hidden away?\"\n                \"I left\nthe academy to preserve my secret. From then on I was tutored during my\n\"spells\", interspersed with time back at the academy for the next year and a\nhalf. I did my best to hide my condition from all except my grandfather. He was\ndisappointed that the effect had hit again, after being subdued in the family\nfor a long time.\"\n                \"Subdued?\"\n                \"Yes.\nThere hadn't been a full transformation for generations. He had hoped that the\ngeneral ill health of the family was a sign that the disease, as he called it,\nhad lost its hold. Symptoms such as I had suffered from, as well as mother and\nhe, and his father before him, were called the wulver's distress. \"\n                \"Wulver?\nWas that a person?\"\n                \"No,\nnot precisely. A wulver was a sort of werewolf, if you like that term, which\nhaled from a few areas around Scotland. Some who know the tales recognize it\nmost as being from the Shetland Islands. It is said that there was a half man,\nhalf wolf that lived there, and while nothing is known but the legend, there is\nsome thought that he was an ancestor of our family. Certainly, other family\nmembers suffered the curse before it struck me.\"\n                \"Curse?\nWhat kind of thing is that to say? I think it's a wonderful trait to have.\"\n                \"And I\nsuppose that you've never had the desire to feast on your fellow humans?\"\n                \"I did\nin the past until we found a cure.\"\n                The\nlittle man went pale. \"What?\"\n                \"We\nfound something that cured the need to feed on humans. If you were like me, you\nspent you early childhood able to eat anything, and after the transformation,\nyou found you only had stomach for fresh flesh.\"\n                \"Yes.\nBut how did you cure it? Everything we tried failed or...\"\n                \"Or\nwhat?\"\n                \"I'll\nget to that.\"\n                Edward\nheld up his hand, as he was back to wearing his ring. He didn't need it, but he\nwanted to keep track of it. Maggie held up her hand showing off hers.\n                \"Those\ncan't be... Only the queen and one other had one of those. The rest were declared\nlost or destroyed.\"\n                \"Queen\nVictoria? What happened to hers?\"\n                \"No one\nknows, but if you are her relatives, perhaps the ring found its way to Russia.\nIt would explain its disappearance.\"\n                Maggie\nwas looking thoughtful. \"There were ten total. Leastwise, that's what Leo\nsaid.\"\n                \"Leo\nwho?\"\n                \"Da\nVinci. He's the one who helped to create them.\"\n                \"And\nhow do you know this?\"\n                \"Duh.\nBecause he told us.\"\n                The\nlittle man was visibly shaken, though the cause was unclear. \"Are you saying\nthat the great master is still living? That's impossible, unless...\"\n                \"Unless\nwhat?\"\n                \"He already\nknew the secrets of the potion.\"\n                \"Nope.\nHe built himself a great big freezer and put himself away for cold storage.\"\n                The man\nshook his head. \"That sounds farfetched. Even Jules Verne kept his fantasy at a\nbelievable level.\"\n                \"You\ncan meet him if you like. He's in Rome right now, working at the Vatican for\nthe pope.\"\n                \"Riiiiiight.\nI will not call you liars, but you must understand how difficult that is to\nbelieve. It makes my story pale by comparison.\"\n                \"Oh,\nnow don't go saying that! Your story has become a classic in the horror genre.\nIf it's based in fact, I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say that we are\ntotally interested in hearing all about it.\"\n                He\ncleared his throat. \"If you insist. You see, like people have done in the past,\nthere was always a movement to change things that didn't fit into the quiet\nlittle niches society chose for them. If you think your homosexual population has\ntrouble now, you should have seen things a hundred or more years ago. Being gay\nwas easy to hide. Being a werewolf, especially one who has poor control over\nhis or her changes could suffer even more for a momentary indiscretion. I\nwasn't the only one to have such trouble, and at one point, I met up with\nsomeone who was trying very hard to cure himself of his changes.\"\n                \"And\nwho was that?\"\n                \"That\nI'll not tell you, in deference to his valiant, if misguide efforts. Needless\nto say I was living here in England by then. I showed him the journal, which he\nread from front to back several times. It was his idea to try the most\npromising of the formulas, and despite the toxic ingredients, contracted a\nchemist working on Harper Street to mix the chemicals and extracts.\" He stopped\nand sucked in a breath before continuing. \n                \"He\ntried it out on himself, taking no heed to the chances that it could kill him.\nHe was desperate to either be cured or to die trying.\"\n                \"What\nhappened?\"\n                \"He\ndied.\"\n                \"Uhh,\nthat seems anticlimactic.\"\n                \"Life\ncan be my dear. He didn't die right away mind you, but only after weeks of\ntaking the mixture. At first it seemed to help, but then the side effects took\na hold of him. But never once during that time was he able to transform. Well,\nnot to any degree that resembled a wolf.\"\n                \"Uhh,\nwhat do you mean?\"\n                He\nsmiled thinly. \"We found out the hard way that sometimes you're better off\nleaving nature alone, even if it plays cruel tricks on you. \"\n                She\nshuddered a little. \"What happened?\"\n                \"Have\nyou read the story?\"\n                \"Not\nreally, no. It's not on my reading list.\"\n                \"Well,\ntrust me, the story I wrote is nothing like the real thing, otherwise people\nwould have grown suspicious. It's also why I waited so long to put it into\nprint. I wanted time for the furor to die down.\"\n                \"And?\"\n                His\nsmile at her impatience seemed to show he was reassured by her interest. \"The\npotion stopped the physical appearance of the true - as you like to call us -\nwerewolf. There was no hair, no keen ears, no clever nose, no sharp eyes. There\nwas no paws and no tail. But the transformation still tried to work. The more\nit was pushed, the greater the internal turmoil. My friend, may God keep his\nsoul; he purposely tried to change form to test the effects of the mixture. It\nwas promising for as long as it lasted, but there is only so much a body, even\nan enhanced one like ours could take.\"\n                \"So he\nturned into what exactly?\"\n                Edward\ngroaned. \"I think I know. He turned into a grossly contorted version of a human\nbeing, filled with all the feral range, but none of the finer points that make\nus what we are.\"\n                \"An\nastute deduction Mr. Peterson.\"\n                \"Not\nreally. I think I saw some version of that transformation earlier.\"\n                \"Saw?\nWhere?\"\n                \"In my\nhead. I see things. I take it the transformation looses a mindless version of whoever\ntakes it?\"\n                \"Mindless?\nNo, not really. But the passions of the individual are worn on the cuff, so to\nspeak. And the transformation is triggered by emotional catalysts. For example,\nif you saw someone who you felt had wronged you, and that made you angry, then\nyou were at risk of losing control. If you did, then that person was already\ndead. My friend killed many before he himself died.\"\n                Maggie\nwas looking properly concerned. \"And you took this potion too?\"\n                \"Yes.\"\n                \"Can I\nask why?\"\n                \"I did\nit because I wanted to try and live a normal life for once. It can be very\ndisquieting to your friends and guests if in a moment of lapsed judgment you allow\nyour hair to grow or your nails to emerge for all to see. I grew tired of\nhiding what I was and thought to be rid of it.\"\n                \"And it\nlooks like you did, \" said Edward.\n                \"Oh,\nnot as well as you think. I took it for a shorter period of time as did my\nfriend, thus I spared my miserable life for a while longer. It was only when I\nwent to Forest\nof Fontainebleau in France that I found the answer.\"\n                \"France?\"\n                \"Yes, so the fact\nthat one of you lays claim to a heritage from there is quite interesting to me,\nthough the name Peterson is hardly French.\"\n                Edward felt a rise\nin his heart rate. \"My grandparents used an alias while hiding in America.\nTheir original name was Marquette. \"\n                The little man\nsmiled. \"And what are the chances of that? Have you ever heard of the saying\nthat like calls to like?\"\n                He answered\nexcitedly. \"I have. It would account for us constantly running into other\nweres.\"\n                \"It is why I\nrecognized what you were, back at Harrods. Some have a stronger version of that\ngift than others. Like this girl here. She seems to be saturated in much that I\nchose to be rid of.\"\n                Maggie looked with\npity on the old man. \"But why? I love what I am!\"\n                \"And\nyou have someone who loves you for it. Treasure that. Not everyone has that\nmuch tolerance unless they themselves have experienced it. I had no one; not\nreally, and I was intent to remove the blot from my existence. Over in France I\nmet up with a member of the human race who also suffered from the condition,\nonly she had a husband who also had the transformation in his blood.  I remember them quite well. Their names were\nJacques and Marie Marquette.\"\n                \"That\nwas my grandmother and grandfather!\"\n                \"So\nthen the ring you wear was theirs?\"\n                \"Yes!\"\n                \"I\nguess I shouldn't be surprised. They mentioned having some bad blood in their\nheritage, but never mentioned the Beast. That means then, that they were\ndescended from the House of Bourbon?\"\n                \"I\nguess. I haven't had the time to clear up all of those details, but one or the\nother of them was from it.\"\n                \"Nonsense.\nThey could be from different branches, and therefore distant relatives, but of\nthe same blood. It was often the case with royal families.\"\n                It made\nsense.\n                \"So\nwhat were they doing when you met them? They had to be very, very young at the\ntime.\"\n                \"They\nwere, and they were hiding for their lives. We all were in one way or another.\"\n                Edward\nwas excited. He barely remembered his grandparents without having suffered\nthrough a mindwipe, and now that he did have his memories back, he was eager to\nhave them supplemented with more information. His parents had not flown with\nthem, preferring to take a regular flight to Rome, and they promised to be\nthere when they had all their arrangements made. He rather wished they were\nhere now. He was still upset with them, and all of the elders for that matter,\nbut then, it seemed he was in a better position than they had ever been to deal\nwith the extraordinary, so he was trying to let that slide.\n                \"Tell\nme about them!\"\n                \"What's\nthere to say? They were very kind, intelligent people, and very open with their\nchanging. Unlike me, they seemed to enjoy normal food, a fact which I was\nimmediately envious of them for. I told them about my formula, and how I had\nwished it to work. Together we examined it from the first ingredient to the\nlast, but found it to be too toxic for even the strongest person to tolerate\nfor long. That's when they introduced me to the ring.\"\n                Maggie had\nher brows knit, but then looked up. \"You tried using the power of the ring to\nprotect you from the toxic effects of the drugs!\"\n                \"Very good\nmy dear. Yes I did.\"\n                \"What\nhappened?\"\n                \"An\nexcellent question. This happened.\"\n                He\nstood and tore through his suit like it was made from papier-mâché. "}