Flew The Coop

by Bandy


Waxing Crescent

“Over easy in macadamia oil, with toast and avocado and hot chili oil.” Mercy sat back in her chair with a self-satisfactory smile. “It doesn’t get better.”

Mercy seemed more intent on hunting down a free breakfast than the werewolf. Last afternoon, she’d helped herself to a chicken egg from the fridge. He hadn’t stopped her. Now she was asking for more.

“I don’t know about macadamia oil,” Artemisia said. “I have some wonder bread. And hot sauce.” He looked in his pantry. “Avocados are kinda out of season right now, too.” He trailed off.

The huntress deflated. “Seed oil’s really bad for you, y’know. Messes up your GI. It also increases estrogen in stallions.”

If you only knew. “Well, canola was on sale.” He raised the pan from the stove, pointing it at her like a sword straight out of the kiln. “There’s a supermarket down the street if you want to go get some macadamia oil.”

Mercy sank further into her chair. “Canola’s fine.”


In the afternoon, while Mercy napped, Artemisia went to the hardware store, intent on finally fixing the hole in his bedroom wall. He barely made it three steps inside before a buzzing Beauty Blush barreled into him.

“Sooo,” she sang, “who’s the new mare?”

“What?”

“The new mare who’s been staying at your place, silly.”

“Oh.” The implication sank in. “Oh. She’s a werewolf hunter from Canterburg. She’s there to help me protect my chickens.”

“That’s so adorable. Tell me all about her.”

He held up a slip of paper. “I need some stuff.”

“Oh, for your room!” She smiled deviously. “Secret’s safe with me.” Before he could explain that he wasn’t buying ropes and restraints for the reason she thought he was, she took his hoof and marched him down the aisle. “She must like animals as much as you do. Knowing you, she’s gotta love animals.”

“Yeah, I guess she likes animals. But that’s not–”

“I know, it’s early. You don’t have to put a label on it. But she’s already staying at your place, so might as well make it official. Your mom and dad probably wouldn’t approve of that, but they’re so old fashioned. Honestly, the way they talk about you is backwards.”

Her words wormed through his defenses. “They talk about me?”

“Don’t even worry about it. The important thing is, you’re happy.” She paused in the aisle and wrapped Artemisia up in a monstrous hug. “I’m so happy for you. Really. You can put this phase behind you now.”

Artemisia pulled himself away from Beauty Blush. He was so furious he didn’t know what to say. It took him nearly half an hour to find the right retort, and by then Blush had already filled up his basket and checked him out at the register.

“Bring her with you next time,” Blush said as she walked him to the door. “I wanna meet her.”

The fog in his head lifted, far too late. “I’m not–”

The door swung shut in his face. Through the glass, he saw his own red-cheeked reflection. Beyond that, Beauty Blush was already back behind the register, flirting with one of the regulars.


The transformation started earlier than usual that night. The moon was barely a quarter full, so the change started slow, but its momentum made it impossible to ignore. Fire fell across his back. Pressure pressed against the back of his eyes. Soon they’d turn red. The hunger would be back, worse than before.

Mercy uncorked a bottle of cider with a fizzy pop. “Seems like something’s bothering you.”

Artemisia looked up. He’d been scrubbing the floor, working over one troublesome spot of mud somepony had ground into the floor. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s okay if you’re worried.” She gestured with the bottle in the direction of the Everfree forest. “I’d be worried too, if I lived this close to all that.”

Artemisia grunted and scrubbed harder. He guessed he had about five minutes before the changes became noticeable. He’d have to excuse himself gracefully to avoid suspicion.

“Want some cider?”

“I’m fine.”

Mercy shrugged and took a big swig straight from the bottle. “I’m curious, what did Fluttershy tell you about me?”

“Not much. Only that you have experience with werewolves.” He paused. “Why? Is there something I should know about you?”

“No, not like that. I just have a reputation. It’s all nonsense, but.” She shrugged.

“Is it something I should be concerned about?”

“It’s old monster hunting stuff. Chupacabras.”

Artemisia’s ear twitched. The end grew to a sharp canine point. “Chupacabras are real?”

“Just as real as werewolves.”

“Okay, fair. So did you have to hunt one or something?”

Mercy shifted in her seat. Artemisia noticed her usual bravado was gone. “This is kind of a bar-story. Is there a tavern we could go to?”

“I don’t like bars.”

“Then lemme at least pour you some cider. It would make me feel a lot better.”

Artemisia sighed. So little time. “Can I keep cleaning?”

“Sure. It’s your house.”

“Then okay.”

Mercy hopped around Artemisia and plucked two coffee mugs from the cupboard. Artemisia faked a sip to avoid showing his teeth. He felt them moving in his gums. Three minutes more. Maybe four. That was all he could afford.

“So the first thing you gotta know is, I got kicked out of my parents’ place when I was sixteen. Fights, stealing, the whole nine yards. I was a bad foal.”

“Huh. I got kicked out too.”

“Woah, really? Rock on, Artemisia. I didn’t take you for the lawbreaking type.”

He looked down at the floor. “I didn’t break any laws.”

It didn’t take a genius to catch the hint. “Oh. Sorry for bringing it up. For me, getting the boot turned out to be a good thing in the long run, cuz by the time I would have graduated high school, I’d already been fishing for river monsters in the Amarezon and chasing buffalo spirits in the prairies. Real life experience. I even got abducted once.”

Oh.” Artemisia blinked. “By who?”

“Aliens. Duh.”

“Of course.” Artemisia went back to scrubbing, feeling a little lifted from the cider.

“But I got into the monster hunting field when I was nineteen. I was working as a ranchhoof in the Guava province of Marexico when one of my co-workers went missing. Big bull named Flan. No one saw Flan for three days, so naturally the other creatures and I went out looking for him, thinking he’d gotten lost and set up camp somewhere. Marexican bulls know how to live off the land. We were worried, but we thought he’d be okay.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t okay.”

Mercy shook her head. “I found him on day four. He died. But he had no outward signs of injury, other than a little hole in the side of his neck, like he’d gotten bit by a dog with only one tooth.”

“A snake maybe?”

“A snake couldn’t suck out all his blood and internal organs.” She peered over the lip of her mug at her reflection in the cider. “He was just skin and bones. Really nasty. Only one thing does that to its victims. Chupacabras.” She took a long sip. Foam lingered on the edge of her lip. “Because I had a criminal history, and because I’d found Flan first, everyone else thought I’d killed him. But I’d never hurt Flan. He was a good bull, and I was just as beat-up about it as the rest of them. They ran me outta town before I could even put up a fight.”

A sharp stitch of pain made Artemisia gasp. Muscles rippled under his fur, snapping apart and reconnecting. The skin above burned as new hairs split the pores apart. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said through clenched teeth.

Mercy shrugged. “They were scared. I was, too. But I knew what it was gonna take to get justice for Flan. So I let them think they’d run me out for good. Then I snuck back onto the ranchland and set up camp on the spot where that thing got Flan. I used myself as bait. Camped out for three nights straight. And every night, I could feel it getting closer. The thing was smart. It didn’t just jump me the first night. It scouted me out. Then it got a little braver the second night and probed my camp. Then on the third night, it decided to make a move. I was ready. I faked being asleep, had my machete under my blanket and everything. I could smell it. It was ten feet away. And all of a sudden–” She smacked her leg. Artemisia jumped. ‘Those stupid ranchers came back. They saw my fire and rushed me. Scared the chupacabra away. I barely made it out myself.”

A single claw popped out of Artemisia’s rear right hoof. He put the mug of cider to his lips to stifle a scream. Two minutes. Max.

“Were you close to the bull?” he asked once the pain had subsided. “Flan?”

“Not really, but we worked together, and he was my friend. That’s why I want to help you. That werewolf’s not going to stop at your chickens. I failed to stop that monster from killing Flan, but I might be able to save this town. And not to sound weird, but I see a lot of myself in you.”

Artemisia’s whole body shivered. “You barely know me.”

“True. But I know you dragged me all the way out here, put your whole life on hold, and let a stranger into your house, all because you’re worried about some chickens. That’s dedication. Not a lot of ponies feel that strongly about anything.” She leaned back. “Don’t let that fire go out.”

Two symmetrical fangs stabbed through Artemisia’s gums. Another claw popped out of his hoof. Then a third. The color and texture of his fur changed in slow, undulating waves.

“I should get to bed,” Artemisia said. “Thanks for the cider.”

“Thanks for indulging me.” Mercy tipped her head back to polish off her mug. Artemisia bolted for the stairs and didn’t look back.

She’ll be out soon, he thought over and over to himself as he ziptied his rear leg to the boat anchor. This’ll all be over soon.

But what about after? Could he really keep doing this forever? Hiding? Stuffing himself down? Strapping himself to anchors and chains?

A sound from beyond the bedroom door caught his attention. Hooves on hardwood. Fear froze Artemisia to the spot. Only the kitchen and upstairs hallway weren’t carpeted.

“Arty?” came a voice from the other side of the door. “You okay in there?”

Artemisia cursed silently. He started on another hoof restraint, a complex series of belts and ropes. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I didn’t upset you, did I?”

“No.” He missed a loop and barely held in a snarl. “I don’t drink a lot of cider. I got a headache.”

“Want me to get you some ibuprofen or something?”

Hot coals simmered on the back of his eye. Half his vision went red, until he could see the infrared shadow of Mercy underneath the door.

“I’m fine. Just need some rest.”

The shadow lingered a moment before disappearing. Pain smothered him. His septum cracked and widened. His now-canine nose picked out the smell of chicken wafting in from outside. His knees went weak. He lunged for the duct tape on his bedside table. It wasn’t as good as the muzzle, but at this point he needed whatever he could get.


Two more chains snapped in the night. The rest held. Artemisia stared at the broken links of metal with a detached frown as the final stages of the reverse transformation finished up. Changing back was no less painful than changing in the first place, but it had its moments. Like when the smell of chicken and the painful gnawing in his stomach subsided.

He was thinking about the implications of the two snapped chains when he saw Mercy trudging back from the forest. She looked like a completely different pony. Mud clung to her hooves. Sweat plastered her mane to one side of her face.

Artemisia raced to the back door. “Nuh uh.” He pointed at the hose. “Rinse off first.”

“I found it,” she said.

“You did?”

“I saw it just before dawn.” She tried to walk inside, but Artemisia shooed her towards the hose. “Had to have been ten feet tall. Great coloration. I get to keep the hide, by the way. It’s only fair.”

A jet of cold water gushed from the hose. Mercy let out a shriek that melted into a laugh. She started with her mane, brushing out the grit and knots. The ground turned soupy beneath her hooves.

Keep the hide. That must have been the second werewolf that attacked him a few weeks ago. “What if it’s a cursed pony? Some werewolves–”

“Can’t be. Cursed ponies who turn into werewolves have different characteristics. No ridges on the back, different iris shapes.” She turned and ran the hose down her back. The cold water made her shiver. “Constant hunger.”

“You couldn’t have known it was hungry.”

“Of course I can. I could see it in the eyes. You’ve seen it before, right? Has it ever seen you?”

Artemisia gulped. “Yeah.”

“Then you know the look.”

A sinking feeling sucked Artemisia’s hooves to the ground, like the earth beneath him was turning to inescapable mud. He knew his own strength. In a fair fight, there was no way Mercy would be able to take down a werewolf. But if she could somehow get the drop on it? Distract it with a clever trap and sink an ax into its back? Mercy wasn’t stupid, for all the evidence to the contrary.

What if she actually did it? What if she brought back a werewolf pelt? Was there an ending to this that left him alive and broke?

No. That couldn’t happen. His chickens weren’t going hungry. If all he did was die, Fluttershy could help relocate the chickens and find new homes for them. If he couldn’t afford to feed them, or had to sell them to feed the bank account and ego of Mercy the monster hunter–that was a fate far worse than death.

“When are you going out then?” he asked, trying as best he could to sound innocent. “To kill it.”

Mercy smiled. “He knows I’m out there, so I have to play this patiently. Wait a few days.” She lifted the hose to her lips and took a long pull. “Then we bring the ax down.”