trigued Brother Ambrose immensely. So much so, that he
shamelessly whipped out his scissors and, nipping that section, stuck it
inside his rough wool robes so he might peruse it at greater leisure
within the privacy of his cell.

The chapter that evoked such delight and interest within Brother
Ambrose's complicated brain was one that had been penned in the early
ages of the Church by a lay-brother who had concerned himself with pagan
magic. In it, he had described the fiendish habits and activities of
werewolves and had actually even presented a formula. _Ut Fiat Homo
Lupinus_ it was entitled, which purported to give the secret words and
ritual necessary to achieve the transformation from man to beast.

At last, the opportunity had arrived Ambrose's way to achieve his
long-desired revenge on Brother Lorenzo!

Twenty-four hours had passed since the momentous discovery. The moment
was at hand. Night again had settled upon the Spanish cloisters, the
last bell had tolled; and all the good and hardy men were supposed to be
at sound sleep on their rough iron cots. But in Brother Ambrose's chilly
cell, a small candle burned--casting sickly light that produced huge
flickering shadows against the whitewashed walls.

Brother Ambrose held the treasured piece of manuscript between his
hands. It was difficult to make out the faded Latin; the writing was
cramped and crude, and Ambrose was no scholar to boot. But like all
persons of his times, he was quite well-aware of the existence of
werewolves, werefoxes, and other such monsters; and he held no doubt but
what the spell would work.

It was the scheming brother's plan to creep in the stealth of night down
the corridor to the barred oak door of Lorenzo's own simple cell. There,
he would knock; lightly enough to disturb no other sleepers, yet loud
enough that the rapping would summon Brother Lorenzo from whatever
wicked dreams might be festering in his own sleeping mind.

As Fray Lorenzo's naked footsteps were heard pattering across the bare
floor, Ambrose would drink the bat's blood he had collected, sniff the
wolfbane he had ground to ash, and pronounce the obscure Celtic words
that would alter the very atoms of his flesh, transforming them into an
obscene travesty of life. Brother Lorenzo, when he opened the door,
would be met not by a fellow human being, but by a snarling fanged wolf
that would hurl its hairy bulk at the drowsy monk's own throat.

The next day, the entire m