onastery would be awakened, of course, by
shouts of the news that foul murder had been discovered. But no amount
of detection would ever manifest the bestial murderer. Brother Ambrose
would hug to his soul the secret of his crime until the day of his
shriving.

At length, the hour had grown so late that it was certain even the Prior
himself must have long since retired.

Brother Ambrose made ready to carry out his deed. He rose from his cot,
removed the coarse brown robe that normally he wore to bed as well as in
his daily rounds so that his long-unwashed body stood naked. There must
be no chance for tell-tale blood to stain his clothes, when his fierce
talons and wolfish teeth tore and rended at human flesh.

Carrying his precious piece of scroll, he departed from his cell and
groped his way down the stone corridor until the light improved enough
for him to see his way. Luckily, a patch of moonlight illuminated the
very space in front of the accursed Brother Lorenzo's door. What
fortune!

Brother Ambrose halted and stared at the door as though his eyes could
see through it, at the sleeping form within. He sucked in a deep breath.
His palms were sweaty; his heartbeat rapid. For a moment, he was almost
ready to back out.

Then suddenly, the memory of all the hundreds of grudges he bore against
Lorenzo surged through him. Hatred built up a massive reservoir, that
broke out over his crumbling conscience and flooded his body with anger
and wild resentment. His teeth gritted. What had he been thinking of--to
retreat now, with revenge so nearly at hand!

He rapped. A moment later, he heard a creaking sound like Brother
Lorenzo slipping out of bed.

Trembling, he lifted the phial of bat's blood, drank it down. It tasted
salty. He chewed on the wolfbane powder until it mixed with the saliva
of his mouth, then he swallowed. Holding the ancient scroll-segment
before him, he began to repeat the badly-written incantation: _Ut fiat
homo lupinus, pulvis arnicae facenda est et dum...._

A thousand jolts assailed his body, as if he had been struck by all the
lightnings in heaven. Then, came a rushing paralysis, a distortion of
time and space, a dread feeling of disintegration and death ...

The door to Brother Lorenzo's cell began to recede, swelling in volume
as it did. The ceiling of the corridor likewise retreated at
ever-increasing pace. Staring down at his own dwindling frame, Ambrose
saw that the slug-white flesh was n