“No, lycanthropy is just superstition I'm afraid as far as science is concerned. There's a website that explains these kinds of things." The doctor reached for a slip of paper and a pen and scribbled down a URL.

He slid the paper across the desk and I glanced over the writing.

I recognised the site immediately. I'd come across it whilst I was in the library. It might as well have been called "Things that are total bollocks dot com." It had been very helpful in showing how early reactions to mental illness had created a number of strange myths about lunacy and moon madness but it was useless in providing anything that might help Jenny out.

“Thanks for your help, and thanks for not calling the men in white suits." I said.

“That's quite alright. It's what I'm here for after all. I must stress to you the importance of treating drug addiction however and you must understand the need for your friend to be examined properly if what you say is indeed accurate. I see many strange quirks of human biology every day here, and I've yet to see one that improved the Life of my patient for very long." He said with an obvious stress on the importance of how I should admit it was me I was talking about and how

I should lose my cocaine addiction.

Brilliant.

“Right, well like I said. Thanks for your time." I stood up and walked out of the office without much to show for my troubles.

Then again I wasn't really expecting to get all that much.

“Total skin and muscle regeneration from a gaping flesh wound? Why yes! It happens all the time. The only reason we don't tell people about it is because we'd be out of a job." Yeah. That was a Little too much to hope for.

So, the realm of science didn't seem to have much it could do to help me. It was then that I reluctantly trundled out of the hospital in search of that bane of humanity, that ever-present annoyance to common sense: the modern new age shop.

I found three. Here's a rough summation of my experiences in the first two.

“Wolfsbane? That sounds cool! What is it?" Was the response from a slightly spaced out cashier in the first store. I whirled about for the door immediately.

“No, you don't want that. You want a box of these, two of these a day and make sure you smell this before going to bed." The second store attendant told me sagely as she plonked down a box of candles, a bottle of pills and some scented oil in front of me. I sighed and walked away again.

I was thinking about catching the bus home when I caught sight of another store in a small, Victorian-era shopping arcade. It was a small, single-room place that surprisingly didn't feel like it was trying to chemically cauterise my tear ducts shut with harshly scented candles, soaps, and God knows what else when I walked inside. I looked around and saw a notable absence of neatly-boxed crystals or flowery healing oils. Instead there seemed to be mostly shelves filled with odd statues from various cultures and stages of history. There was no one around and a small bell was resting on the small wooden counter in the corner, presumably to call for service.

I found myself looking at a statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite crafted in porcelain or a very good imitation of porcelain. She was pale, beautiful and bare breasted amidst her sheets. Her position was settled in a relaxed inviting pose upon her small plinth and I had a hard time believing something so beautiful and well crafted could be found in a little new age shop. I don't know how long I stood there looking at that little model of perfection. I could probably have watched it for days on end.

Then it winked at me.

I jumped backwards into a stand that was topped with a very expensive looking glass jar. Quickly, I whirled about, caught the falling vessel as it plummeted from its perch and unbalanced myself. I Landed squarely on my back with the surprisingly unbroken jar on my chest and found myself Looking up between a pair of very long legs. If the woman standing over me had been wearing a skirt instead of pants then I'd have been in for quite a show. I looked up at her stupidly. My fumbling with the jar and her sudden appearance had brought me crashing back to reality.

"Uh, hi," I practically squeaked.

She was somewhere around the age of thirty with long black hair and a silver ring piercing her left nostril. From her skin tone and her pleasant exotic features I could tell she wasn't from a family of