Alleluia (1/2)
Title: Alleluia
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, minor supporting OCs (Jack/Ianto)
Words: ~15,000
Spoilers: DW 2x02, Tooth and Claw
Beta: Thank you so much to curriejean, for reading the first incarnation and making suggestions for how to fix the Absolute Suck. This new version is about a thousand times better than that, I think, and it's all thanks to her.
Summary: Jack, Ianto and Gwen travel to Scotland to investigate reports of mutilated cattle that coincide with the full moon. Monks, werewolves and stained glass.
The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood.
- Joel 2:31
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
- Phillip Larkin [“Church Going”]
LUPUS MAGNUS EST | LUPUS FORTIS EST | LUPUS DEUS EST
“Torchwood House?” Gwen closed the door to the SUV, reading incredulously from the sign that hung over the entrance of the large, faded building.
Jack grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to get a good look at it. “Built in 1500 by the MacLeish family, purchased by the crown in 1879 after the death of the Sir Robert MacLeish.” He looked at Gwen. “This was the first Torchwood headquarters.”
She stared up at it, imposing in the storm-dulled light of the late afternoon. “What is it now?”
“A tourist trap.” Ianto stepped out of the SUV and slammed the door, hardly glancing up at the house, instead looking out across the vast overgrown fields that surrounded it in every direction.
Jack glanced in his direction. “Not a fan of travel, Ianto?”
“Not when it’s to Scotland, no.”
“I thought you’d like Scotland. They have the same feelings for sheep as Wales.”
Ianto leaned against the SUV. “Thank you, Jack, for so elegantly reducing my homeland to a bunch of lecherous shepherds.”
“Doesn’t the phrase ‘lecherous shepherds’ just roll off the tongue?”
“Welcome!” A new voice swept toward them from the front doors, carrying a woman in its wake. She was a bit stout, with an absolutely merry face, and as she approached she held out a hand. “I’m Louisa, the Torchwood House caretaker.”
Jack took her hand and kissed it. She flushed and giggled; Ianto rolled his eyes hugely. “Captain Jack Harkness. This is Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones.”
“Lovely to meet you all. How can I help you?”
“We were hoping to have a look around.”
She looked positively delighted. “I could give you the tour, if you like! Hardly anyone comes out all of this way to see the house. It would be a pleasure.”
“Sounds great.” Jack smiled and she turned, indicating for them to follow her. He glanced at Ianto, whose eyes were going to drop into the dirt if he kept it up.
Gwen followed the woman and Jack started after her, but Ianto caught his sleeve and said very quietly, “We’re here to investigate mutilated livestock.”
Jack gestured at the building. “Local knowledge! If anyone knows anything about what happens here, she does.”
Ianto stared at Jack with a deadpan expression.
Jack smiled. “You’ll like it, I promise. It’s old in the best possible ways.” He turned and followed Gwen and Louisa toward the house.
Ianto pulled his jacket closer around himself and walked after him, a frown deeply creasing his face.
- - -
Twenty minutes later, Ianto couldn’t help but agree with Jack’s sentiments on the place. It was old in the best possible ways. And when they came to the observatory, Jack’s cocky grin told him all about his own expression.
“The Endeavor Telescope,” Louisa said expansively, gesturing at the huge, beautiful piece of equipment facing out of a high window. “Built by Sir George MacLeish. He was a remarkable man. Very ahead of his time in the areas of science and maths.” She smiled, watching Ianto approach the telescope. “A good friend of Prince Albert.”
Ianto touched the cogwheel on the side of the telescope. “Is this the original model?”
“No, unfortunately,” Louisa said. “It’s in private hands, now.” Behind her head, Jack mouthed to Ianto, Torchwood Two. Ianto smirked and went back to examining the telescope. Gwen was on the other side, running her hand along the shining surface of it.
Jack spoke from near the door. “Louisa, have you been hearing anything about the livestock in this area?”
Louisa frowned. “Oh, it’s terrible what’s been happening! They’ve found a few dozen animals torn apart over the last few years. It’s gotten worse of late.” She dropped her voice to a conspirator’s whisper, “And always after the night of the full moon!”
“You think that has something to do with it?” Jack looked amused, but glancing at him, Ianto could see the interest in his eyes.
Louisa waved her hands. “Those are just kids’ stories, really.”
“Tell us,” Gwen said, leaning against a windowsill beside the telescope. “I’m always up for a story.”
“Well.” Louisa smiled, looking between the three of them. “There’ve been legends about a werewolf in this place for ages. Hundreds of years. Since before Queen Victoria bought this house. Every full moon, they’d find animal carcasses that looked like they’d been eaten by a huge beast. And once a generation, a boy would go missing from his home.”
Ianto looked at her, brow furrowed. “Why was that?”
She put up her hands. “No one knows! Then, one year, it stopped. 1879, the year Robert MacLeish died. All of the reports of livestock being eaten and children being taken cut off. Until a few years ago. Every month, another dead animal. And now, more and more. At first we thought it was just kids messing, and doing a poor job of it, hurting farmers like that, but then it kept on.” She shrugged, eyes wide. “We don’t have an explanation for it. It is very strange, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded, coming toward her. “Have there been any reports of missing children?”
She blinked. “No, not that I’ve heard. Well, kids go missing from the bigger cities all the time, but never around here. Hardly anyone lives here, anyway, just the farmers and the monks.”
Gwen spoke from her spot near the window. “Monks?”
“Glen of Saint Catherine Monastery. They’ve been there well before this house was built. Very reclusive. Well, monks for you, eh? Mind you, if you’re looking for a place to stay, they offer lodging, free of charge.” She looked a bit apologetic. “No proper hotel anywhere near here, of course.”
“Of course,” Ianto said under his breath.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Jack said, grinning. “I think we’ll take you up on it.”
“Of course we will,” Ianto sighed, louder, looking at Gwen, who held a giggle behind her hand.
Jack cut his eyes to him. “We should probably be going.” He held his hand out for Louisa’s. “Thank you for the tour.”
“No problem at all!” She accepted his hand, and he raised it to his lips. She blushed again. “Come back any time.”
Jack smiled. “We most definitely will.” He looked to Ianto and Gwen. “Come on. Time to meet some monks.”
- - -
The monastery was difficult to miss. The Glen of Saint Catherine wasn’t so much a town as a collection of farms, widely spaced, at the center of which stood a sprawling set of buildings, some tall and beautifully ornate, some squat and dark, all of them connected by courtyards and open passages. It was, like most religious buildings built in the early centuries, a breathtaking sight.
As they began to exit the SUV, a man in a black robe crunched over the car park gravel toward them. The heavy light of the setting sun lit him and the ancient-looking stone spires of the monastery from behind, lending both a heavenly sort of glow. Jack met him halfway and held out a hand. “Captain Jack Harkness. Louisa at Torchwood House recommended that we see about staying here.”
The man in the robe smiled, shaking Jack’s hand. “Louisa does well to send people our way. My name is Brother Ewan. How long will you be staying?”
“Few days, probably. We’re investigating the reports of livestock mutilation from farms in the area.” Jack looked over his shoulder to nod at Gwen and Ianto, who began to take their bags out of the SUV.
“Is that right?” Father Ewan smiled toward Gwen and Ianto, then looked back at Jack. “I hope that you find whatever has been causing it. I pray that no human is to blame. Shall I show you to where you will be staying?”
Jack nodded and gestured for Gwen and Ianto to come with them, and Brother Ewan started back toward the entrance of the monastery. Jack waited for the two of them to reach him - and Ianto immediately pushed his own suitcase into his arms.
“We aren’t your porters.”
Then he kept moving, past Jack, following Brother Ewan.
Jack raised an eyebrow at Gwen. “What’s his problem?”
Gwen shrugged, starting after him. “No idea. He’s been quiet since we left Torchwood House.”
Jack laughed. “When is Ianto not quiet?”
“More quiet than usual, then. Don’t be daft, Jack.”
He held up his free hand in surrender. They crossed the threshold and entered the monastery. Above them, colored light shone down from a huge stained glass window and left its yellow, blue, red traces on the stone floor. Brother Ewan smiled at them and swept an arm toward a corridor leading deeper into the building, bowing slightly. They moved on, with the monk falling in behind them.
“Where is everyone?” Gwen asked after a moment, peering down each hall and into each room as they passed.
“Right now is the time for quiet study or work in the monastery gardens, before coming together for Vespers.” Seeing Gwen’s confusion at the term, Brother Ewan explained, “Evening prayers. You are welcome to join us, if you like.”
Jack shook his head. “Sorry, Brother. We’ve been on the road all day. Maybe we’ll take you up on that tomorrow.”
“It’s no problem, Captain.” He stopped and gestured at three open doors. “Will these rooms be acceptable?”
Jack peered inside one of them. “They look fine.” He looked back at the monk. “Thank you, Brother Ewan.”
“My pleasure. I’ll send one of the Brethren down to collect you for the evening meal after Vespers. Is there anything that you need right now?”
“No, thank you.”
Brother Ewan bowed slightly, his black robe shifting forward, then straightened and walked off down the corridor, disappearing as he turned a corner.
Gwen looked into the middle room, tracing her hand along the wall until she found the light switch and flicked it on. Her face fell at the sight of it. Small, dark, sparsely decorated and, she noticed as she stepped in, very cold. “Brilliant,” she muttered.
“Free,” Jack said behind her, smirking. “You’ve probably had worse nights in bad hotels. And I’ve found that the grub in these places is fantastic.”
“Been to a lot of monasteries, have you?” Gwen dropped her suitcase on the bed and wandered over to a small mirror hung over a narrow chest of drawers, pulling at her travel-mussed hair.
“A few.” He heard a door close and looked out into the hall. Ianto was gone, and the door to the right of Gwen’s was shut. He frowned.
Gwen looked at him. “They probably won’t appreciate you being in a lady’s room, Jack.” She smirked.
He laughed. “Guess not. See you at dinner, then.”
Gwen sighed wistfully. “I’m going to take a nap, and it’s going to be lovely.”
“You do that.” He stepped out of her room and shut the door behind him. He hesitated. Then he opened his own door, turned on the light and went inside.
- - -
After the meal, Gwen went straight back to her room, her eyes still lidded from what brief sleep she’d had. The monks, all silent as they ate at the long table - and not many of them Jack noticed; about thirty in all - retired for private prayer. And Ianto had disappeared. So Jack went to find him.
He wasn’t in his room. The SUV was still in the car park. So Jack wandered the halls of the monastery as quietly as possible, feeling its heavy presence pressing down on him from the high ceilings etched with images of faith; saints, crosses, robed men. The wide-eyed stares from the faces in the portraits in the halls, which looked out from beneath wide halos, hands raised in peace, made Jack uncomfortable, and he averted his eyes. They watched him pass without comment.
He found Ianto in the monastery church, leaning against a pillar in the rear of the large, beautiful room. It was lit only with tiers of candles at either end, and they cast an eerie light on the small form of him, flickering across his face as he stared up at the crucifix hung over the distant altar. Jack approached slowly, letting his footsteps ring and reverberate from the walls and vaulted ceiling. Ianto didn’t look at him. He positioned himself against the pillar next to Ianto’s, facing him, putting his back to the dark wood and his hands in his pockets, letting his eyes follow Ianto’s gaze to the lit figure hanging at the top of the church. They stood like that in silence for a moment.
Finally, Ianto said, “When I was a kid, I was afraid of crucifixes. I read a story where all of the Christs on all of the crosses in the world came to life and tried to escape. Their churches had to nail them back to the wood, and they would bleed for days, screaming. I was afraid that the Christ on the crucifix that my dad hung next to my door would escape, and we’d have to nail him back, and I’d have to listen to him screaming while I was trying to go to sleep.”
Jack watched his face, the passiveness there, and the intensity beneath, only noticeable in the slight rise in the rate of his breathing, the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath his suit jacket, almost hidden by the flickering quality of the light. “I didn’t know that your father was religious.”
Ianto nodded. “He made me go to church. Every Sunday until I was eleven, when I ran away to avoid it.” He looked up, tracing the dark rafters with his eyes. “These places always remind me of him, and the way it felt - was I bad for not believing what the priest was saying? Was I wrong and he was right? Not being able to do anything about it. Being forced to go and never wanting to.” He dropped his eyes. “Places like this are beautiful and dangerous.”
Jack smiled softly. “That’s sort of wise.” Ianto shrugged, bringing his eyes back up to the cross. Jack looked up to where the pillar he leaned against met the ceiling. “Where I grew up - when I grew up - we didn’t have religion like this.” Ianto looked at him, surprised. He continued, distantly. “Well, there was religion. But it was more like the older religions. Celtic, almost. Polytheistic, nature-based. Religion never really loses the basic tenants. A higher power, do no harm. Those things are central to most religions, probably forever.”
Ianto furrowed his brow, watching Jack. “Why do we do it? Why do humans seek a higher power, a creator?”
Jack shook his head slowly. “It isn’t just humans. It’s everyone. Every self-aware creature looks for what made it.”
“But why?”
Jack met his eyes. “We don’t want chaos to be the explanation. We want to know that we’re here for a purpose.”
Ianto frowned. “But - we aren’t. We’re an accident. Chaos is the explanation.”
Jack grinned. “Try telling that to the Vatican.”
Ianto copied his grin. “I’m sure it’s been attempted.”
Jack came forward and wrapped his arms around Ianto’s waist. “And they were probably thrown down the steps with their charts and diagrams.”
Ianto put his head on Jack’s shoulder. “The Pope threw his hat after them in a fit of rage.”
There was the sound of footsteps and the brush of robes against the slate floor, and a gaunt, tall monk appeared from the hall, holding a large snuffer. Jack released Ianto and stepped back. “Come on,” he said. “Lots to do tomorrow. Farmers to interview, dead sheep to inspect. And there’s the full moon.”
He started for the doors and Ianto followed, bearing one brief glance back as the lone monk extinguished the final candle, and the room went dark.
- - - - - -
In the long hallway leading to the monastery church, waves of light fell through stained glass windows and onto the dark floor, leaving patches of diaphanous color. Ianto walked into and out of the light, the images in the windows projected now on his face, now on the floor as he made his way toward the church, inexplicably drawn to the voices there. The monks were singing their morning prayers. Ianto had heard this sort of singing in his youth, tucked uncomfortably into church clothes and fidgeting incessantly with the hymnal stored in the pew in front of him, but there was something -
He didn’t know.
He entered the church silently and leaned against a pillar at the back once more, eerily similar to his position from the night before. The monks - there really were very few of them; he could remember being told that there were often over a hundred monks in a monastery at any one time - sat together near the front, most of the pews entirely empty.
A hand fell on Ianto’s arm, and he looked to see Jack standing beside him. He had his eyebrows raised in a question.
“I heard them,” Ianto said in an undertone. “From my room. Doesn’t it sound - off, to you?”
Jack listened for a moment, his eyes going distant, turned toward the dark, singing congregation. Then he shook his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t hear anything.” He looked to Ianto. “What do you mean, ‘off’?”
Ianto frowned. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Come on. Gwen will wonder where we are.” He turned and led the way back down the hall, Jack close behind.
- - -
Gwen was obviously pleased with the allotment of tasks for the day. “You two have fun poking at dead cattle!” she said, jingling the keys to the SUV in her hand. “That house had central heating and I can probably swing a proper shower.”
Ianto yawned, leaning in her doorway. “You would have been miserable company walking through the countryside, anyway.”
“Ha! You don’t think Jack will complain as much as I would?”
“Hey!” Jack pulled the door to his room closed and finished putting on his coat. “I think I can handle a walk through some tall grass. Get going before I switch you out with Ianto. And give my love to Louisa!”
“Glad we’re so interchangeable,” Ianto said, as Gwen stuck her tongue out at Jack and walked off down the hall.
Jack grinned. “Yeah, but I couldn’t molest Gwen in the woods on the way.”
(“I heard that, Harkness!”)
“Well, you could,” Ianto said, beginning to move along the corridor, “But I’m fairly certain that Rhys would have something to say about it.” Jack looked around suddenly, in either direction, frowning. “What?” Ianto asked, doing the same.
“Looking for one of our monky-monks,” Jack said. “We need directions.”
“One’s bound to turn up.” They passed two glass doors. Ianto glanced out of them - then came to an abrupt halt. “Jack,” he said.
Jack turned back. “What?”
“Come here.”
Jack did, coming to stand next to him and look out of the doors.
Through the glass there was a courtyard, brimming with flowers. The sun shone brightly down, making every color truly intense; the reds were all fire, the blues were all the sea. At one corner of the courtyard was a table, at which sat a monk holding a book, who looked up every few moments to keep an eye on the thing that had caught Ianto’s attention.
There was a girl wandering through the flowers.
Jack frowned and pushed the doors open, stepping out onto the stone path that led through the courtyard. Ianto followed, watching as the monk at the table glanced up at them and smiled before placing his book down, laying his reading glasses on top of it and standing to greet them. He held out his hand. “Hello! I’m Brother Greer. You’re our new visitors, aren’t you?”
“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack said, shaking his hand.
Ianto did the same. “Ianto Jones.”
“I didn’t see you at dinner last night,” Jack said casually, putting his hands in his pockets.
Brother Greer shook his head, smiling. He nodded toward the girl, who was moving through the beds of flowers, crouching every now and then to examine them closer. “Blaine and I eat alone in my room. The Brethren prefer not to have her at the formal table.”
“Strange to see a teenage girl at a monastery,” Ianto said, following her slow progress with his eyes.
“They found her,” Brother Greer said, watching her, as well. “She was left at the door of the monastery seventeen years ago. No note, nothing to tie her to anyone. None of the locals knew who she was. I came here when she was twelve. She seemed to take a liking to me, so I was made her caretaker.” He smiled as she carefully plucked a yellow flower and held it up to her blonde hair. “She’s wonderful company.”
“Is she-” Ianto couldn’t think of how to finish the question, but Brother Greer gleaned his meaning and nodded.
“Touched. Came that way. It’s likely the reason why she was left here. But she’s very sweet. Whoever gave her up doesn’t know what they’re missing.” Hearing herself being talked about, Blaine made her way over to Brother Greer. Ianto couldn’t help but notice that she walked very slowly, very carefully, as though she had been told all of her life that she must move quietly. Reaching them, she leaned her head on Brother Greer’s shoulder like a young child and stared with large eyes at Jack and Ianto.
“Hello, Blaine,” Jack said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Blaine ignored him; instead of reaching out for Jack’s hand, she took Ianto’s sleeve and began to lead him away. Ianto glanced back at Jack, who nodded, and he let himself be pulled along as he heard Jack begin to ask Brother Greer for directions. Blaine led him to a patch of tall, large flowers of varying colors and then let go of him, stooping down to look at them. She took her time choosing, examining each carefully before plucking it expertly from the ground. Having collected enough, she stood and turned toward Ianto, then stepped up to him, took one of the flowers and began to weave it into the top buttonhole on his jacket.
He watched her, beginning to smile to himself as her fingers worked the limp stem through the fabric and knotted it at the back so that it couldn’t escape. She moved on to the next flower, from yellow to red, to the second buttonhole, working it through the same way, and then the third.
When she was finished, she stood back. A line of flowers ran down the side of Ianto’s suit, all of them bright against the dark material. Ianto had been so concentrated on her as she worked that he didn’t notice the approach of Jack and Brother Greer.
Until Jack said beside him, “Look, Blaine. You made Ianto beautiful.”
She broke into a huge, gorgeous smile and nodded. Brother Greer wrapped an arm around her shoulder and looked appraisingly at her work. “Good job,” he said. Blaine put her arms around his middle and her head back on his shoulder.
“Come on,” Jack said, putting a hand on Ianto’s back. “We have a bit of a trek.” He nodded at Brother Greer. “Good to meet you.”
Brother Greer nodded back. “The same. Good luck.”
He and Blaine watched as they walked back up the path and into the monastery, out of sight.
- - -
When the front door opened, Gwen greeted Louisa’s confused expression with a bright “Hello!” and slipped inside, rubbing her hands together. “Oh, it’s lovely in here. Freezing outside.” She turned to look back at Louisa, smiling. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks,” she answered, brow furrowed. “What are you doing back?”
“I wanted to take a closer look. My boss rushed us through yesterday. Do you mind if I wander a bit?”
Louisa shrugged. “Be my guest. I have some work to do, but if you need anything, just give us a shout.”
“Thank you.” Gwen smiled, and Louisa turned and walked down the hall, disappearing into some unknown room.
Gwen took a moment to just marvel again at the size of the place. It looked every bit its age; dark and ancient and slightly creepy. She got goosebumps, standing at the base of the stairs, staring up through the middle of the winding levels.
Jack wanted to know what happened here in 1879. He’d said that the records had been lost at some point in the past, but it was known that Queen Victoria had been in the house the night that Sir Robert MacLeish died, and that it was her experience from that night that had pushed her into forming the Torchwood Institute. “I think it has something to do with what’s happening now,” he’d said. “That was the night that the reports of the wolf stopped.”
Queen Victoria had defeated a werewolf. Sometimes this job seemed like someone’s idea of a joke.
- - -
The farm with the latest report of cattle mutilation was about two miles away from the monastery, as the crow flies. Jack and Ianto made the journey in pleasant silence, eschewing the roads for a more direct route over fields and through some brief copses of trees. On the way, Ianto carefully dismantled the work that Blaine had done and stored the flowers in his pocket. Jack glanced over once to see him doing it, then smiled briefly and looked away again. And it occurred to Ianto that Jack would have kept them there. He would have walked into the farmhouse with a row of flowers down the side of his greatcoat, yellow standing out brilliantly against the grey-blue, and thought nothing of the stares he might get. Jack cared much more about the good intentions of an action than the reactions of the public.
Ianto knew that he could never walk into a serious situation covered in flowers just because a child put them there. The fact didn’t bother him; it was practicality. Something he was raised with. Jack didn’t have that background, the personal shame of being different from other people and allowing it to be seen. It was just another difference, and an interesting one.
When they reached the farm, the farmer was more than willing to cooperate with their investigation. “They told me you’d be coming by,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him into the house. “The police, I mean. They can’t figure what could do this to another animal - they’ve ruled everything out.” He pulled open a drawer to a cabinet in his dining room and began to shuffle through it. “Wolves, wild dogs. Even bears, for God’s sake. They reckon it might be kids, but I don’t know.” He found what he was looking for, a manila folder, and set it on the table, opening it up to spread the photographs inside so that they could see. “It feels strange to me.”
“Strange how?” Jack asked, picking up one of the photographs to get a better look. The sheep looked like it had been ripped apart; white wool stained almost black with dried blood, head almost severed entirely from the body, tongue lolling under two bulging eyes.
The farmer shook his head. “Hard to explain. We hear howling, but wolves are out. There aren’t really any kids in the area, and none of the adults could do something like this. And there’s the monks.”
Ianto raised a brow. “The monks? What do they have to do with it?”
The farmer frowned. “They’re a right strange bunch. Never leave their monastery, never talk to any of the locals. And I saw them, once. No one believes me on this, but I saw them carrying something big in a cage one morning a few months ago. Through Flannery’s fields. And later that day he found a few of his stock in the same state that you see here.” He gestured to the photographs. “I reckon they’ve got something to do with it. Just no idea what.”
Jack picked up another photo. “What did the police say when you told them about what you saw?”
The farmer scoffed. “The police think they’re a right bunch of saints, the idiots. Men of God can be just as low as any other man, is my thinking.”
“I think you’re right.” Jack looked to Ianto. “Looks like we’ll be having a word with our hosts.”
- - -
The stairs wound higher and higher, and Gwen paused at the top of one flight for breath - and something caught her eye. She walked toward two ornate wooden doors, which had a strange shine to them. She ran her hand along the carved designs - the texture of the wood was incredibly smooth, almost slippery. She grasped the old doorknobs and pushed the doors open at the same time, grand-entrance style.
It was a library. The afternoon light fell in little squares projected through the windows onto the plush rugs that lined the floor. Gwen stepped inside, glanced around, and jumped at the sight of a suit of armour standing just to the side of the door. She laughed at herself, then rapped her knuckles on the helmet. “You gave me a fright.”
“You all right in here?” Gwen jumped again, and turned, this time met with the sight of Louisa standing in the doorway, looking apologetic. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s all right. Just a bit-”
“Spooky?” Louisa came in. “I know what you mean. Try living here, love.” She smiled. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Yeah, actually,” Gwen said, her eyes falling on a wood carving hanging on the back of the door. She walked over to it, reaching out to touch it. “What are these things? They’re all over this room and some of the others.”
“Oh, those?” Louisa shrugged. “Just decoration, I suppose. Sir George had them made. An odd thing, that, actually.”
Gwen looked at her. “What about it?”
“Well, he had quite a thing for mistletoe. Those carvings are made of it, and he had the oil rubbed into these doors and the walls in this room.”
Gwen thought for a moment. “Mistletoe. Like the Christmas plant?”
Louisa nodded. “It was used for other things before that tradition, though. I looked it up once, just curious. The Druids used it for healing, and they burned it to banish evil. At least, that’s what it said on the Internet.”
Gwen let out a thoughtful hum, running her fingers over the carving. “Louisa, do you happen to know how Sir Robert MacLeish died?”
Louisa looked surprised. “Well, no, not really. It was a bit of a mystery. It’s supposed to have happened suddenly, though. His wife was a wreck - sold the house to the crown and went traveling. Queen Victoria was actually visiting the night he died, on her way to have the Koh-I-Noor re-cut. She was waylaid by an assassination attempt and had to stop here. They said she was never the same after it. Very peculiar.”
Another thoughtful hum from Gwen. “All of this has to connect somehow,” she said quietly.
Louisa broke out of her own thoughts suddenly and asked cheerfully, “Would you like some tea? It’s no trouble.”
Gwen was shaken from her musing. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll help.”
- - -
The monks were not terribly forthcoming.
It was to be expected that they might be a little hesitant to talk about the attacks, since they seemed to have nothing to do with the farmers in the area, but the level of cold-shoulder that Jack and Ianto were getting would refreeze the ice caps.
“Just a few minutes,” Jack was saying in the doorway of one monk’s room.
The monk shook his bald head. “I am in the middle of private study. Please leave.” And he closed the door.
Jack looked at Ianto. “Tough crowd.”
“Hello,” came a voice from a few doors away. Brother Greer leaned smiling into the hall. “I couldn’t help but notice the two of you going door to door like nuns for donations. Can I interest you in a cup of tea?”
“Yes, thanks,” Ianto said, starting for the room. Brother Greer stepped aside and held the door open for them as they walked in. The room was very different from the rooms that they had seen over the shoulders of the other monks; where theirs were sparse, Brother Greer’s was densely packed with books and photographs and, inexplicably, toys.
“For Blaine,” Brother Greer explained when Jack picked up a yo-yo from his mantle. “Mind you, I still play with those myself on occasion, if no one’s watching. It’s difficult to look saintly when you’re attempting to walk-the-dog.”
Jack grinned. “I can imagine.”
Brother Greer went to a counter stacked with tea things, but Ianto stopped him. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping up to the electric kettle. “No trouble.”
“Thank you,” Brother Greer said, then sat at an old, round wooden table, gesturing for Jack to do the same. “Now. What were you bothering the Brethren about?”
Jack leapt right into it. “The farmer with the latest report of livestock mutilation says that he saw some monks from this monastery in another farmer’s fields a few months ago, carrying something in a cage. And later that day, that farmer found some of his animals dead.”
Brother Greer frowned. “That’s strange.” He picked at the edge of the white tablecloth.
“Any reason why he would see something like that?” Ianto asked, bringing over two cups for Jack and Brother Greer, and then one for himself.
Brother Greer shrugged as Ianto sat down. “Some of the Brethren like to walk in the countryside from time to time. This thing about the cage, though. Nothing like that.”
Jack met Ianto’s eyes over the rim of his teacup. Brother Greer was steadily picking at the tablecloth, and not looking up at either of them.
It’s difficult to look saintly when you’re lying.
“Where’s Blaine, by the way?” Ianto asked, settling back into his chair.
“Ah - she’s off with some of the Brethren. I need some peace too, sometimes, you know.” His smile looked painfully false.
“I suppose you would,” Jack said.
- - -
It was already dark by the time Gwen realized that she should probably be getting back to the monastery. She and Louisa had spent the better part of three hours chatting in her little nook hidden away in the old house - a considerably less imposing place than what surrounded it; there was a lot of pink incorporated into the decoration. The conversation had started out about the house and its history, but slowly devolved into Jack, and then into Jack and Ianto - that had been a fun bit of gossip to get them going, certainly. But now it was late, and Louisa waved goodbye from the door as Gwen made her way to the SUV, waving back.
Once in the driver’s seat, she checked her mobile; Jack hadn’t called, which was either a good sign or a bad sign, depending on what they had discovered in their investigation of the farmer’s livestock. But at least she hadn’t been missed. It was a relief to have been away from the monastery, honestly. The monks gave her the roaring creeps. There was something so sinister about men in black robes, most of them shaved bald, all of them very, very silent. She turned on the SUV and drove off into the darkness, casting glances in the rearview mirror, having sufficiently creeped herself out.
It wasn’t until a half-hour into the drive, much of it spent yawning and blinking, trying to keep herself awake, that she actually saw something there.
In the rearview mirror. A shape in the middle of the road.
She slammed on the breaks and turned full around in her seat, peering through the back window into the darkness. There was nothing there. The road was completely empty. But she was sure that she had seen something; some hulking shadow, standing in the wake of the SUV. She frowned, turning back around to the front.
It was there.
In the headlights, its eyes reflecting in shining yellow, stood a creature on two legs, taller than any human, lips along a long snout pulled into a horrible snarl, showing huge, deadly teeth.
“Crap,” Gwen said, staring.
It opened its mouth and snapped it shut, growling.
“Crap crap crap crap crap crap-” Gwen scrambled at the center console, throwing the SUV into reverse and speeding backwards away from the thing, which only paused for a moment before pouncing after her, howling with a spine-chilling voice that made Gwen’s teeth chatter with absolute, blind panic. She swung the car around and put it into drive - and it immediately died.
The gas was on “E”.
Gwen hit the steering wheel. “Are you bloody kidding me?”
And then the creature hit the SUV.
It rocked on two wheels for a second and Gwen shrieked, terrified that it would flip over - but then it settled, and she looked out the window.
The creature was backing up to try it again.
Gwen dug into her pocket with shaking hands and pulled out her mobile, praying that they had service way out here in the middle of nowhere. Three bars. Good enough. She dialed Jack’s number just as the creature hit the SUV again, throwing her out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat, hitting her head on the door.
Jack answered on the second ring. “Hey. You find anything?”
“There’s a bloody werewolf attacking the SUV! I think I’ve found something!”
She heard the scrape of a chair. “Hold on, we’re coming!” Then the line went dead.
Gwen curled up with her head against her knees in the passenger’s seat, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, as another brutal blow sent the SUV on two wheels again.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
Part Two
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, minor supporting OCs (Jack/Ianto)
Words: ~15,000
Spoilers: DW 2x02, Tooth and Claw
Beta: Thank you so much to curriejean, for reading the first incarnation and making suggestions for how to fix the Absolute Suck. This new version is about a thousand times better than that, I think, and it's all thanks to her.
Summary: Jack, Ianto and Gwen travel to Scotland to investigate reports of mutilated cattle that coincide with the full moon. Monks, werewolves and stained glass.
The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood.
- Joel 2:31
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
- Phillip Larkin [“Church Going”]
LUPUS MAGNUS EST | LUPUS FORTIS EST | LUPUS DEUS EST
“Torchwood House?” Gwen closed the door to the SUV, reading incredulously from the sign that hung over the entrance of the large, faded building.
Jack grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to get a good look at it. “Built in 1500 by the MacLeish family, purchased by the crown in 1879 after the death of the Sir Robert MacLeish.” He looked at Gwen. “This was the first Torchwood headquarters.”
She stared up at it, imposing in the storm-dulled light of the late afternoon. “What is it now?”
“A tourist trap.” Ianto stepped out of the SUV and slammed the door, hardly glancing up at the house, instead looking out across the vast overgrown fields that surrounded it in every direction.
Jack glanced in his direction. “Not a fan of travel, Ianto?”
“Not when it’s to Scotland, no.”
“I thought you’d like Scotland. They have the same feelings for sheep as Wales.”
Ianto leaned against the SUV. “Thank you, Jack, for so elegantly reducing my homeland to a bunch of lecherous shepherds.”
“Doesn’t the phrase ‘lecherous shepherds’ just roll off the tongue?”
“Welcome!” A new voice swept toward them from the front doors, carrying a woman in its wake. She was a bit stout, with an absolutely merry face, and as she approached she held out a hand. “I’m Louisa, the Torchwood House caretaker.”
Jack took her hand and kissed it. She flushed and giggled; Ianto rolled his eyes hugely. “Captain Jack Harkness. This is Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones.”
“Lovely to meet you all. How can I help you?”
“We were hoping to have a look around.”
She looked positively delighted. “I could give you the tour, if you like! Hardly anyone comes out all of this way to see the house. It would be a pleasure.”
“Sounds great.” Jack smiled and she turned, indicating for them to follow her. He glanced at Ianto, whose eyes were going to drop into the dirt if he kept it up.
Gwen followed the woman and Jack started after her, but Ianto caught his sleeve and said very quietly, “We’re here to investigate mutilated livestock.”
Jack gestured at the building. “Local knowledge! If anyone knows anything about what happens here, she does.”
Ianto stared at Jack with a deadpan expression.
Jack smiled. “You’ll like it, I promise. It’s old in the best possible ways.” He turned and followed Gwen and Louisa toward the house.
Ianto pulled his jacket closer around himself and walked after him, a frown deeply creasing his face.
- - -
Twenty minutes later, Ianto couldn’t help but agree with Jack’s sentiments on the place. It was old in the best possible ways. And when they came to the observatory, Jack’s cocky grin told him all about his own expression.
“The Endeavor Telescope,” Louisa said expansively, gesturing at the huge, beautiful piece of equipment facing out of a high window. “Built by Sir George MacLeish. He was a remarkable man. Very ahead of his time in the areas of science and maths.” She smiled, watching Ianto approach the telescope. “A good friend of Prince Albert.”
Ianto touched the cogwheel on the side of the telescope. “Is this the original model?”
“No, unfortunately,” Louisa said. “It’s in private hands, now.” Behind her head, Jack mouthed to Ianto, Torchwood Two. Ianto smirked and went back to examining the telescope. Gwen was on the other side, running her hand along the shining surface of it.
Jack spoke from near the door. “Louisa, have you been hearing anything about the livestock in this area?”
Louisa frowned. “Oh, it’s terrible what’s been happening! They’ve found a few dozen animals torn apart over the last few years. It’s gotten worse of late.” She dropped her voice to a conspirator’s whisper, “And always after the night of the full moon!”
“You think that has something to do with it?” Jack looked amused, but glancing at him, Ianto could see the interest in his eyes.
Louisa waved her hands. “Those are just kids’ stories, really.”
“Tell us,” Gwen said, leaning against a windowsill beside the telescope. “I’m always up for a story.”
“Well.” Louisa smiled, looking between the three of them. “There’ve been legends about a werewolf in this place for ages. Hundreds of years. Since before Queen Victoria bought this house. Every full moon, they’d find animal carcasses that looked like they’d been eaten by a huge beast. And once a generation, a boy would go missing from his home.”
Ianto looked at her, brow furrowed. “Why was that?”
She put up her hands. “No one knows! Then, one year, it stopped. 1879, the year Robert MacLeish died. All of the reports of livestock being eaten and children being taken cut off. Until a few years ago. Every month, another dead animal. And now, more and more. At first we thought it was just kids messing, and doing a poor job of it, hurting farmers like that, but then it kept on.” She shrugged, eyes wide. “We don’t have an explanation for it. It is very strange, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded, coming toward her. “Have there been any reports of missing children?”
She blinked. “No, not that I’ve heard. Well, kids go missing from the bigger cities all the time, but never around here. Hardly anyone lives here, anyway, just the farmers and the monks.”
Gwen spoke from her spot near the window. “Monks?”
“Glen of Saint Catherine Monastery. They’ve been there well before this house was built. Very reclusive. Well, monks for you, eh? Mind you, if you’re looking for a place to stay, they offer lodging, free of charge.” She looked a bit apologetic. “No proper hotel anywhere near here, of course.”
“Of course,” Ianto said under his breath.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Jack said, grinning. “I think we’ll take you up on it.”
“Of course we will,” Ianto sighed, louder, looking at Gwen, who held a giggle behind her hand.
Jack cut his eyes to him. “We should probably be going.” He held his hand out for Louisa’s. “Thank you for the tour.”
“No problem at all!” She accepted his hand, and he raised it to his lips. She blushed again. “Come back any time.”
Jack smiled. “We most definitely will.” He looked to Ianto and Gwen. “Come on. Time to meet some monks.”
- - -
The monastery was difficult to miss. The Glen of Saint Catherine wasn’t so much a town as a collection of farms, widely spaced, at the center of which stood a sprawling set of buildings, some tall and beautifully ornate, some squat and dark, all of them connected by courtyards and open passages. It was, like most religious buildings built in the early centuries, a breathtaking sight.
As they began to exit the SUV, a man in a black robe crunched over the car park gravel toward them. The heavy light of the setting sun lit him and the ancient-looking stone spires of the monastery from behind, lending both a heavenly sort of glow. Jack met him halfway and held out a hand. “Captain Jack Harkness. Louisa at Torchwood House recommended that we see about staying here.”
The man in the robe smiled, shaking Jack’s hand. “Louisa does well to send people our way. My name is Brother Ewan. How long will you be staying?”
“Few days, probably. We’re investigating the reports of livestock mutilation from farms in the area.” Jack looked over his shoulder to nod at Gwen and Ianto, who began to take their bags out of the SUV.
“Is that right?” Father Ewan smiled toward Gwen and Ianto, then looked back at Jack. “I hope that you find whatever has been causing it. I pray that no human is to blame. Shall I show you to where you will be staying?”
Jack nodded and gestured for Gwen and Ianto to come with them, and Brother Ewan started back toward the entrance of the monastery. Jack waited for the two of them to reach him - and Ianto immediately pushed his own suitcase into his arms.
“We aren’t your porters.”
Then he kept moving, past Jack, following Brother Ewan.
Jack raised an eyebrow at Gwen. “What’s his problem?”
Gwen shrugged, starting after him. “No idea. He’s been quiet since we left Torchwood House.”
Jack laughed. “When is Ianto not quiet?”
“More quiet than usual, then. Don’t be daft, Jack.”
He held up his free hand in surrender. They crossed the threshold and entered the monastery. Above them, colored light shone down from a huge stained glass window and left its yellow, blue, red traces on the stone floor. Brother Ewan smiled at them and swept an arm toward a corridor leading deeper into the building, bowing slightly. They moved on, with the monk falling in behind them.
“Where is everyone?” Gwen asked after a moment, peering down each hall and into each room as they passed.
“Right now is the time for quiet study or work in the monastery gardens, before coming together for Vespers.” Seeing Gwen’s confusion at the term, Brother Ewan explained, “Evening prayers. You are welcome to join us, if you like.”
Jack shook his head. “Sorry, Brother. We’ve been on the road all day. Maybe we’ll take you up on that tomorrow.”
“It’s no problem, Captain.” He stopped and gestured at three open doors. “Will these rooms be acceptable?”
Jack peered inside one of them. “They look fine.” He looked back at the monk. “Thank you, Brother Ewan.”
“My pleasure. I’ll send one of the Brethren down to collect you for the evening meal after Vespers. Is there anything that you need right now?”
“No, thank you.”
Brother Ewan bowed slightly, his black robe shifting forward, then straightened and walked off down the corridor, disappearing as he turned a corner.
Gwen looked into the middle room, tracing her hand along the wall until she found the light switch and flicked it on. Her face fell at the sight of it. Small, dark, sparsely decorated and, she noticed as she stepped in, very cold. “Brilliant,” she muttered.
“Free,” Jack said behind her, smirking. “You’ve probably had worse nights in bad hotels. And I’ve found that the grub in these places is fantastic.”
“Been to a lot of monasteries, have you?” Gwen dropped her suitcase on the bed and wandered over to a small mirror hung over a narrow chest of drawers, pulling at her travel-mussed hair.
“A few.” He heard a door close and looked out into the hall. Ianto was gone, and the door to the right of Gwen’s was shut. He frowned.
Gwen looked at him. “They probably won’t appreciate you being in a lady’s room, Jack.” She smirked.
He laughed. “Guess not. See you at dinner, then.”
Gwen sighed wistfully. “I’m going to take a nap, and it’s going to be lovely.”
“You do that.” He stepped out of her room and shut the door behind him. He hesitated. Then he opened his own door, turned on the light and went inside.
- - -
After the meal, Gwen went straight back to her room, her eyes still lidded from what brief sleep she’d had. The monks, all silent as they ate at the long table - and not many of them Jack noticed; about thirty in all - retired for private prayer. And Ianto had disappeared. So Jack went to find him.
He wasn’t in his room. The SUV was still in the car park. So Jack wandered the halls of the monastery as quietly as possible, feeling its heavy presence pressing down on him from the high ceilings etched with images of faith; saints, crosses, robed men. The wide-eyed stares from the faces in the portraits in the halls, which looked out from beneath wide halos, hands raised in peace, made Jack uncomfortable, and he averted his eyes. They watched him pass without comment.
He found Ianto in the monastery church, leaning against a pillar in the rear of the large, beautiful room. It was lit only with tiers of candles at either end, and they cast an eerie light on the small form of him, flickering across his face as he stared up at the crucifix hung over the distant altar. Jack approached slowly, letting his footsteps ring and reverberate from the walls and vaulted ceiling. Ianto didn’t look at him. He positioned himself against the pillar next to Ianto’s, facing him, putting his back to the dark wood and his hands in his pockets, letting his eyes follow Ianto’s gaze to the lit figure hanging at the top of the church. They stood like that in silence for a moment.
Finally, Ianto said, “When I was a kid, I was afraid of crucifixes. I read a story where all of the Christs on all of the crosses in the world came to life and tried to escape. Their churches had to nail them back to the wood, and they would bleed for days, screaming. I was afraid that the Christ on the crucifix that my dad hung next to my door would escape, and we’d have to nail him back, and I’d have to listen to him screaming while I was trying to go to sleep.”
Jack watched his face, the passiveness there, and the intensity beneath, only noticeable in the slight rise in the rate of his breathing, the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath his suit jacket, almost hidden by the flickering quality of the light. “I didn’t know that your father was religious.”
Ianto nodded. “He made me go to church. Every Sunday until I was eleven, when I ran away to avoid it.” He looked up, tracing the dark rafters with his eyes. “These places always remind me of him, and the way it felt - was I bad for not believing what the priest was saying? Was I wrong and he was right? Not being able to do anything about it. Being forced to go and never wanting to.” He dropped his eyes. “Places like this are beautiful and dangerous.”
Jack smiled softly. “That’s sort of wise.” Ianto shrugged, bringing his eyes back up to the cross. Jack looked up to where the pillar he leaned against met the ceiling. “Where I grew up - when I grew up - we didn’t have religion like this.” Ianto looked at him, surprised. He continued, distantly. “Well, there was religion. But it was more like the older religions. Celtic, almost. Polytheistic, nature-based. Religion never really loses the basic tenants. A higher power, do no harm. Those things are central to most religions, probably forever.”
Ianto furrowed his brow, watching Jack. “Why do we do it? Why do humans seek a higher power, a creator?”
Jack shook his head slowly. “It isn’t just humans. It’s everyone. Every self-aware creature looks for what made it.”
“But why?”
Jack met his eyes. “We don’t want chaos to be the explanation. We want to know that we’re here for a purpose.”
Ianto frowned. “But - we aren’t. We’re an accident. Chaos is the explanation.”
Jack grinned. “Try telling that to the Vatican.”
Ianto copied his grin. “I’m sure it’s been attempted.”
Jack came forward and wrapped his arms around Ianto’s waist. “And they were probably thrown down the steps with their charts and diagrams.”
Ianto put his head on Jack’s shoulder. “The Pope threw his hat after them in a fit of rage.”
There was the sound of footsteps and the brush of robes against the slate floor, and a gaunt, tall monk appeared from the hall, holding a large snuffer. Jack released Ianto and stepped back. “Come on,” he said. “Lots to do tomorrow. Farmers to interview, dead sheep to inspect. And there’s the full moon.”
He started for the doors and Ianto followed, bearing one brief glance back as the lone monk extinguished the final candle, and the room went dark.
- - - - - -
In the long hallway leading to the monastery church, waves of light fell through stained glass windows and onto the dark floor, leaving patches of diaphanous color. Ianto walked into and out of the light, the images in the windows projected now on his face, now on the floor as he made his way toward the church, inexplicably drawn to the voices there. The monks were singing their morning prayers. Ianto had heard this sort of singing in his youth, tucked uncomfortably into church clothes and fidgeting incessantly with the hymnal stored in the pew in front of him, but there was something -
He didn’t know.
He entered the church silently and leaned against a pillar at the back once more, eerily similar to his position from the night before. The monks - there really were very few of them; he could remember being told that there were often over a hundred monks in a monastery at any one time - sat together near the front, most of the pews entirely empty.
A hand fell on Ianto’s arm, and he looked to see Jack standing beside him. He had his eyebrows raised in a question.
“I heard them,” Ianto said in an undertone. “From my room. Doesn’t it sound - off, to you?”
Jack listened for a moment, his eyes going distant, turned toward the dark, singing congregation. Then he shook his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t hear anything.” He looked to Ianto. “What do you mean, ‘off’?”
Ianto frowned. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Come on. Gwen will wonder where we are.” He turned and led the way back down the hall, Jack close behind.
- - -
Gwen was obviously pleased with the allotment of tasks for the day. “You two have fun poking at dead cattle!” she said, jingling the keys to the SUV in her hand. “That house had central heating and I can probably swing a proper shower.”
Ianto yawned, leaning in her doorway. “You would have been miserable company walking through the countryside, anyway.”
“Ha! You don’t think Jack will complain as much as I would?”
“Hey!” Jack pulled the door to his room closed and finished putting on his coat. “I think I can handle a walk through some tall grass. Get going before I switch you out with Ianto. And give my love to Louisa!”
“Glad we’re so interchangeable,” Ianto said, as Gwen stuck her tongue out at Jack and walked off down the hall.
Jack grinned. “Yeah, but I couldn’t molest Gwen in the woods on the way.”
(“I heard that, Harkness!”)
“Well, you could,” Ianto said, beginning to move along the corridor, “But I’m fairly certain that Rhys would have something to say about it.” Jack looked around suddenly, in either direction, frowning. “What?” Ianto asked, doing the same.
“Looking for one of our monky-monks,” Jack said. “We need directions.”
“One’s bound to turn up.” They passed two glass doors. Ianto glanced out of them - then came to an abrupt halt. “Jack,” he said.
Jack turned back. “What?”
“Come here.”
Jack did, coming to stand next to him and look out of the doors.
Through the glass there was a courtyard, brimming with flowers. The sun shone brightly down, making every color truly intense; the reds were all fire, the blues were all the sea. At one corner of the courtyard was a table, at which sat a monk holding a book, who looked up every few moments to keep an eye on the thing that had caught Ianto’s attention.
There was a girl wandering through the flowers.
Jack frowned and pushed the doors open, stepping out onto the stone path that led through the courtyard. Ianto followed, watching as the monk at the table glanced up at them and smiled before placing his book down, laying his reading glasses on top of it and standing to greet them. He held out his hand. “Hello! I’m Brother Greer. You’re our new visitors, aren’t you?”
“Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack said, shaking his hand.
Ianto did the same. “Ianto Jones.”
“I didn’t see you at dinner last night,” Jack said casually, putting his hands in his pockets.
Brother Greer shook his head, smiling. He nodded toward the girl, who was moving through the beds of flowers, crouching every now and then to examine them closer. “Blaine and I eat alone in my room. The Brethren prefer not to have her at the formal table.”
“Strange to see a teenage girl at a monastery,” Ianto said, following her slow progress with his eyes.
“They found her,” Brother Greer said, watching her, as well. “She was left at the door of the monastery seventeen years ago. No note, nothing to tie her to anyone. None of the locals knew who she was. I came here when she was twelve. She seemed to take a liking to me, so I was made her caretaker.” He smiled as she carefully plucked a yellow flower and held it up to her blonde hair. “She’s wonderful company.”
“Is she-” Ianto couldn’t think of how to finish the question, but Brother Greer gleaned his meaning and nodded.
“Touched. Came that way. It’s likely the reason why she was left here. But she’s very sweet. Whoever gave her up doesn’t know what they’re missing.” Hearing herself being talked about, Blaine made her way over to Brother Greer. Ianto couldn’t help but notice that she walked very slowly, very carefully, as though she had been told all of her life that she must move quietly. Reaching them, she leaned her head on Brother Greer’s shoulder like a young child and stared with large eyes at Jack and Ianto.
“Hello, Blaine,” Jack said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Blaine ignored him; instead of reaching out for Jack’s hand, she took Ianto’s sleeve and began to lead him away. Ianto glanced back at Jack, who nodded, and he let himself be pulled along as he heard Jack begin to ask Brother Greer for directions. Blaine led him to a patch of tall, large flowers of varying colors and then let go of him, stooping down to look at them. She took her time choosing, examining each carefully before plucking it expertly from the ground. Having collected enough, she stood and turned toward Ianto, then stepped up to him, took one of the flowers and began to weave it into the top buttonhole on his jacket.
He watched her, beginning to smile to himself as her fingers worked the limp stem through the fabric and knotted it at the back so that it couldn’t escape. She moved on to the next flower, from yellow to red, to the second buttonhole, working it through the same way, and then the third.
When she was finished, she stood back. A line of flowers ran down the side of Ianto’s suit, all of them bright against the dark material. Ianto had been so concentrated on her as she worked that he didn’t notice the approach of Jack and Brother Greer.
Until Jack said beside him, “Look, Blaine. You made Ianto beautiful.”
She broke into a huge, gorgeous smile and nodded. Brother Greer wrapped an arm around her shoulder and looked appraisingly at her work. “Good job,” he said. Blaine put her arms around his middle and her head back on his shoulder.
“Come on,” Jack said, putting a hand on Ianto’s back. “We have a bit of a trek.” He nodded at Brother Greer. “Good to meet you.”
Brother Greer nodded back. “The same. Good luck.”
He and Blaine watched as they walked back up the path and into the monastery, out of sight.
- - -
When the front door opened, Gwen greeted Louisa’s confused expression with a bright “Hello!” and slipped inside, rubbing her hands together. “Oh, it’s lovely in here. Freezing outside.” She turned to look back at Louisa, smiling. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks,” she answered, brow furrowed. “What are you doing back?”
“I wanted to take a closer look. My boss rushed us through yesterday. Do you mind if I wander a bit?”
Louisa shrugged. “Be my guest. I have some work to do, but if you need anything, just give us a shout.”
“Thank you.” Gwen smiled, and Louisa turned and walked down the hall, disappearing into some unknown room.
Gwen took a moment to just marvel again at the size of the place. It looked every bit its age; dark and ancient and slightly creepy. She got goosebumps, standing at the base of the stairs, staring up through the middle of the winding levels.
Jack wanted to know what happened here in 1879. He’d said that the records had been lost at some point in the past, but it was known that Queen Victoria had been in the house the night that Sir Robert MacLeish died, and that it was her experience from that night that had pushed her into forming the Torchwood Institute. “I think it has something to do with what’s happening now,” he’d said. “That was the night that the reports of the wolf stopped.”
Queen Victoria had defeated a werewolf. Sometimes this job seemed like someone’s idea of a joke.
- - -
The farm with the latest report of cattle mutilation was about two miles away from the monastery, as the crow flies. Jack and Ianto made the journey in pleasant silence, eschewing the roads for a more direct route over fields and through some brief copses of trees. On the way, Ianto carefully dismantled the work that Blaine had done and stored the flowers in his pocket. Jack glanced over once to see him doing it, then smiled briefly and looked away again. And it occurred to Ianto that Jack would have kept them there. He would have walked into the farmhouse with a row of flowers down the side of his greatcoat, yellow standing out brilliantly against the grey-blue, and thought nothing of the stares he might get. Jack cared much more about the good intentions of an action than the reactions of the public.
Ianto knew that he could never walk into a serious situation covered in flowers just because a child put them there. The fact didn’t bother him; it was practicality. Something he was raised with. Jack didn’t have that background, the personal shame of being different from other people and allowing it to be seen. It was just another difference, and an interesting one.
When they reached the farm, the farmer was more than willing to cooperate with their investigation. “They told me you’d be coming by,” he said, gesturing for them to follow him into the house. “The police, I mean. They can’t figure what could do this to another animal - they’ve ruled everything out.” He pulled open a drawer to a cabinet in his dining room and began to shuffle through it. “Wolves, wild dogs. Even bears, for God’s sake. They reckon it might be kids, but I don’t know.” He found what he was looking for, a manila folder, and set it on the table, opening it up to spread the photographs inside so that they could see. “It feels strange to me.”
“Strange how?” Jack asked, picking up one of the photographs to get a better look. The sheep looked like it had been ripped apart; white wool stained almost black with dried blood, head almost severed entirely from the body, tongue lolling under two bulging eyes.
The farmer shook his head. “Hard to explain. We hear howling, but wolves are out. There aren’t really any kids in the area, and none of the adults could do something like this. And there’s the monks.”
Ianto raised a brow. “The monks? What do they have to do with it?”
The farmer frowned. “They’re a right strange bunch. Never leave their monastery, never talk to any of the locals. And I saw them, once. No one believes me on this, but I saw them carrying something big in a cage one morning a few months ago. Through Flannery’s fields. And later that day he found a few of his stock in the same state that you see here.” He gestured to the photographs. “I reckon they’ve got something to do with it. Just no idea what.”
Jack picked up another photo. “What did the police say when you told them about what you saw?”
The farmer scoffed. “The police think they’re a right bunch of saints, the idiots. Men of God can be just as low as any other man, is my thinking.”
“I think you’re right.” Jack looked to Ianto. “Looks like we’ll be having a word with our hosts.”
- - -
The stairs wound higher and higher, and Gwen paused at the top of one flight for breath - and something caught her eye. She walked toward two ornate wooden doors, which had a strange shine to them. She ran her hand along the carved designs - the texture of the wood was incredibly smooth, almost slippery. She grasped the old doorknobs and pushed the doors open at the same time, grand-entrance style.
It was a library. The afternoon light fell in little squares projected through the windows onto the plush rugs that lined the floor. Gwen stepped inside, glanced around, and jumped at the sight of a suit of armour standing just to the side of the door. She laughed at herself, then rapped her knuckles on the helmet. “You gave me a fright.”
“You all right in here?” Gwen jumped again, and turned, this time met with the sight of Louisa standing in the doorway, looking apologetic. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s all right. Just a bit-”
“Spooky?” Louisa came in. “I know what you mean. Try living here, love.” She smiled. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Yeah, actually,” Gwen said, her eyes falling on a wood carving hanging on the back of the door. She walked over to it, reaching out to touch it. “What are these things? They’re all over this room and some of the others.”
“Oh, those?” Louisa shrugged. “Just decoration, I suppose. Sir George had them made. An odd thing, that, actually.”
Gwen looked at her. “What about it?”
“Well, he had quite a thing for mistletoe. Those carvings are made of it, and he had the oil rubbed into these doors and the walls in this room.”
Gwen thought for a moment. “Mistletoe. Like the Christmas plant?”
Louisa nodded. “It was used for other things before that tradition, though. I looked it up once, just curious. The Druids used it for healing, and they burned it to banish evil. At least, that’s what it said on the Internet.”
Gwen let out a thoughtful hum, running her fingers over the carving. “Louisa, do you happen to know how Sir Robert MacLeish died?”
Louisa looked surprised. “Well, no, not really. It was a bit of a mystery. It’s supposed to have happened suddenly, though. His wife was a wreck - sold the house to the crown and went traveling. Queen Victoria was actually visiting the night he died, on her way to have the Koh-I-Noor re-cut. She was waylaid by an assassination attempt and had to stop here. They said she was never the same after it. Very peculiar.”
Another thoughtful hum from Gwen. “All of this has to connect somehow,” she said quietly.
Louisa broke out of her own thoughts suddenly and asked cheerfully, “Would you like some tea? It’s no trouble.”
Gwen was shaken from her musing. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll help.”
- - -
The monks were not terribly forthcoming.
It was to be expected that they might be a little hesitant to talk about the attacks, since they seemed to have nothing to do with the farmers in the area, but the level of cold-shoulder that Jack and Ianto were getting would refreeze the ice caps.
“Just a few minutes,” Jack was saying in the doorway of one monk’s room.
The monk shook his bald head. “I am in the middle of private study. Please leave.” And he closed the door.
Jack looked at Ianto. “Tough crowd.”
“Hello,” came a voice from a few doors away. Brother Greer leaned smiling into the hall. “I couldn’t help but notice the two of you going door to door like nuns for donations. Can I interest you in a cup of tea?”
“Yes, thanks,” Ianto said, starting for the room. Brother Greer stepped aside and held the door open for them as they walked in. The room was very different from the rooms that they had seen over the shoulders of the other monks; where theirs were sparse, Brother Greer’s was densely packed with books and photographs and, inexplicably, toys.
“For Blaine,” Brother Greer explained when Jack picked up a yo-yo from his mantle. “Mind you, I still play with those myself on occasion, if no one’s watching. It’s difficult to look saintly when you’re attempting to walk-the-dog.”
Jack grinned. “I can imagine.”
Brother Greer went to a counter stacked with tea things, but Ianto stopped him. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping up to the electric kettle. “No trouble.”
“Thank you,” Brother Greer said, then sat at an old, round wooden table, gesturing for Jack to do the same. “Now. What were you bothering the Brethren about?”
Jack leapt right into it. “The farmer with the latest report of livestock mutilation says that he saw some monks from this monastery in another farmer’s fields a few months ago, carrying something in a cage. And later that day, that farmer found some of his animals dead.”
Brother Greer frowned. “That’s strange.” He picked at the edge of the white tablecloth.
“Any reason why he would see something like that?” Ianto asked, bringing over two cups for Jack and Brother Greer, and then one for himself.
Brother Greer shrugged as Ianto sat down. “Some of the Brethren like to walk in the countryside from time to time. This thing about the cage, though. Nothing like that.”
Jack met Ianto’s eyes over the rim of his teacup. Brother Greer was steadily picking at the tablecloth, and not looking up at either of them.
It’s difficult to look saintly when you’re lying.
“Where’s Blaine, by the way?” Ianto asked, settling back into his chair.
“Ah - she’s off with some of the Brethren. I need some peace too, sometimes, you know.” His smile looked painfully false.
“I suppose you would,” Jack said.
- - -
It was already dark by the time Gwen realized that she should probably be getting back to the monastery. She and Louisa had spent the better part of three hours chatting in her little nook hidden away in the old house - a considerably less imposing place than what surrounded it; there was a lot of pink incorporated into the decoration. The conversation had started out about the house and its history, but slowly devolved into Jack, and then into Jack and Ianto - that had been a fun bit of gossip to get them going, certainly. But now it was late, and Louisa waved goodbye from the door as Gwen made her way to the SUV, waving back.
Once in the driver’s seat, she checked her mobile; Jack hadn’t called, which was either a good sign or a bad sign, depending on what they had discovered in their investigation of the farmer’s livestock. But at least she hadn’t been missed. It was a relief to have been away from the monastery, honestly. The monks gave her the roaring creeps. There was something so sinister about men in black robes, most of them shaved bald, all of them very, very silent. She turned on the SUV and drove off into the darkness, casting glances in the rearview mirror, having sufficiently creeped herself out.
It wasn’t until a half-hour into the drive, much of it spent yawning and blinking, trying to keep herself awake, that she actually saw something there.
In the rearview mirror. A shape in the middle of the road.
She slammed on the breaks and turned full around in her seat, peering through the back window into the darkness. There was nothing there. The road was completely empty. But she was sure that she had seen something; some hulking shadow, standing in the wake of the SUV. She frowned, turning back around to the front.
It was there.
In the headlights, its eyes reflecting in shining yellow, stood a creature on two legs, taller than any human, lips along a long snout pulled into a horrible snarl, showing huge, deadly teeth.
“Crap,” Gwen said, staring.
It opened its mouth and snapped it shut, growling.
“Crap crap crap crap crap crap-” Gwen scrambled at the center console, throwing the SUV into reverse and speeding backwards away from the thing, which only paused for a moment before pouncing after her, howling with a spine-chilling voice that made Gwen’s teeth chatter with absolute, blind panic. She swung the car around and put it into drive - and it immediately died.
The gas was on “E”.
Gwen hit the steering wheel. “Are you bloody kidding me?”
And then the creature hit the SUV.
It rocked on two wheels for a second and Gwen shrieked, terrified that it would flip over - but then it settled, and she looked out the window.
The creature was backing up to try it again.
Gwen dug into her pocket with shaking hands and pulled out her mobile, praying that they had service way out here in the middle of nowhere. Three bars. Good enough. She dialed Jack’s number just as the creature hit the SUV again, throwing her out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat, hitting her head on the door.
Jack answered on the second ring. “Hey. You find anything?”
“There’s a bloody werewolf attacking the SUV! I think I’ve found something!”
She heard the scrape of a chair. “Hold on, we’re coming!” Then the line went dead.
Gwen curled up with her head against her knees in the passenger’s seat, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, as another brutal blow sent the SUV on two wheels again.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
Part Two