In the Woods

by Carrie Jones

  “I just realized something,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “My dad is gone. Your dad is out of action. It’s like the monster’s going for all the alpha men—the leaders. Like he’s systematically taking out the strongest men. Or maybe just the men in my life. Dad’s not super alpha, but he’s my dad.”

  “And?”

  “And that means you’re next.”

  We stand there for a second. He shakes his head. “You’re the one he wants, Chrystal. He’s trying to kidnap you. I don’t know why they took Kelsey instead.”

  “I don’t know either.” I know nothing.

  There’s a man walking across the grass toward Quality Market, this tiny little convenience store. We’re heading there to get some water. The guy? He’s limping a little bit and he’s wearing a leather jacket. He’s wearing a leather jacket in this weather.

  I grab Logan’s arm. “Look.”

  He looks and stops walking, frozen for a second. Then he says, “You think?”

  “I can just feel it,” I whisper as all the campus people stroll around us. A Frisbee flies through the air and is caught. “I know it. It’s him.”

  27

  LOGAN

  My heart is hammering in my chest as we approach the tiny store. Emotions surge through me. If that’s him … if that’s the werewolf … he’s the one responsible for putting my dad in the hospital, for taking Kelsey. He killed those women. The livestock. He terrorized Chrystal. Anger makes me walk faster. Chrystal holds me back. At first I almost pull my hand away from hers because I don’t want anything standing between me and that guy.

  That guy whose blood could be Dad’s only hope of living.

  “Wait, Logan,” Chrystal says, pulling harder.

  I stop dead and turn to face her. “What?” My voice is harsher than I meant it to be.

  She looks startled and steps back a little.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” I look back at the store. “What he’s done.”

  “I know,” she says. “But we need a plan. What if we barge into that tiny store and surprise him? It’s small, and not many other people are going in or hanging around outside. What if he changes inside and attacks us? We don’t have any weapons. He could kill us before we get out of there. Nobody would even know.”

  “Can he do that? Can he just change whenever he wants?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. He obviously doesn’t need the full moon. It was only half full last night. It wasn’t even full-on nighttime when he attacked me in the hotel. Maybe something else triggers it. I just don’t know.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Play detective,” she says.

  “Follow him?”

  She seems to think about it for a minute. I keep an eye on the door of the store, wondering if it’ll be a man or a monster that comes out.

  “I think one of us should follow him while the other goes into the store and talks to the clerk,” Chrystal says at last.

  “Split up?” I don’t like that idea at all. “That never works out well in the movies.”

  “This isn’t a movie,” she reminds me.

  “But it means leaving you alone,” I insist.

  There’s nowhere to hide. Still holding Chrystal’s hand, I drag her toward the largest cluster of people I can find, a group of students walking toward us. They stare at us as we hurry toward them.

  Chrystal doesn’t see the guy leave the store, but I do. He hesitates for a second when he comes out, carrying a small paper sack. When I peek at him, he’s holding his head high, like he’s sniffing the air. He’s way older than I imagined.

  “Crap,” I whisper. “We’re upwind from him.”

  Chrystal starts to turn, but the students are blocking our view now, which is good because they’re hiding us, and not so good, because they’re blocking our view of him.

  “Hey,” I say to the guy in the middle of the students. He seems to be the leader of the group. There are two other guys and four girls.

  “What’s up?” he asks me, his eyes going over me and Chrystal. I bet he’s a football player. He’s got the shoulders for it.

  “Do you go here?” I ask. My voice is full of tension.

  “Yeah. I’m a junior. They’re subfrosh.” He indicates those around him. “I’m showing them around campus. Are you freshmen next year?”

  “No, not yet. We’re seniors in high school, but we’re thinking about coming here next year,” I say. “We were just wondering if you like it here. You know, the advisers and people in the office make it out to be great, but I wanted to ask a student.”

  “Oh yeah, I get it,” he answers. “Sure, it’s a great school.”

  “Are the dorms nice?” Chrystal asks. “I can’t stand mold and bugs and stuff like that.”

  “Nah, they’re good. Oh, I’m Matt, by the way. Matt Craig.” He shakes my hand, then Chrystal’s.

  “All right, well, thanks,” I say. “I don’t want to keep you, since you’re showing them around. Maybe we’ll see you next year.”

  “I hope so, brother. It’s a good school,” Matt says.

  We step aside and let the group pass. Our friend in the leather jacket is still in sight, but just barely. He’s limping across a lawn toward a space between two buildings.

  “I’ll follow him,” Chrystal says. “You go see what he bought. Ask if the clerk knows his name.”

  “No way. No way at all,” I argue as we start walking back in the general direction of the store. “I’m following him. You go in the store.” She starts to protest, but I cut her off. “No, Chrystal. He can obviously smell you and … whatever it is about you that’s making him want you. You’re not going near him. Who knows where he’s going? Plus, you’re not super fast still.”

  “Fine,” she gives in. “Hurry. People are depending on us. Keep your phone with you.”

  * * *

  Catching up with the guy is no problem. He’s walking really slowly, and as I watch him it seems like he’s barely using his right arm. I stay at least twenty-five yards behind and do my best not to be obvious. As soon as he gets between two buildings that look like they must house classrooms, he stops and leans against one of the buildings, his head down. I step behind a huge shade tree and pull out my phone like I’m reading a text message.

  The guy is hurt pretty badly. It looks like he’s panting while standing there. How he can stand to wear that heavy leather biker jacket when the temperature has to be close to one hundred today is beyond me. After a couple minutes he pushes himself away from the wall and kind of staggers for a few steps before going back to his off-balance shuffling pace.

  I wait until he’s just about at the back edge of the building, then leisurely move after him.

  More students mill around behind the buildings. A handful are holding books and seem to be acting out a scene from a Shakespeare play. Matt and his group of freshmen are still on the tour, with Matt pausing to point out a statue of Sequoyah, a Cherokee silversmith who wrote his nation’s alphabet. I keep my guy in sight, and I notice a few other people looking at him as he stumbles by in his leather jacket.

  The guy rounds another corner and disappears for a second. I walk straight, going past the corner, and feel lucky I did. He’s collapsed onto a park bench and I’d swear he’s moaning as I go by the space between the two buildings. I find another spreading shade tree and plop down as casually as I can, pulling out my phone for the old reading-text-messages trick again. I can just barely see the probable werewolf because of a thick green shrub at the corner of one of the buildings. If he was to move a little to his right, I couldn’t watch him.

  He takes a bottle of water from his sack, twists the lid off, and chugs the whole thing. But, while he’s chugging, he puts a hand to his throat, like it hurts to drink. He drops the bottle to the ground and slumps forward like the act of drinking exhausted him. Then he reaches into the sack again and pulls out a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a thin white-and-green package.
He tears the package open, throwing the wrapper on the ground, and unfolds what looks like some white gauze. He pours peroxide on it, then presses it against his throat. On the right side.

  The side where I blew off part of the werewolf’s throat.

  If I had a needle and syringe, I could just walk up and take his blood right now. He’s obviously too weak to do anything about it.

  I’d rather cut his throat and bleed him into a bucket the way we do when we buy a hog to slaughter for a big barbecue. Chrystal wouldn’t like me thinking that way, even though the guy is a creep and a killer. Probably.

  What if he isn’t the werewolf?

  No, I agree with Chrystal. He’s the one.

  The guy just sits there for a long time. Finally I can’t take it anymore. I get up and walk toward him. He acts like he doesn’t know anyone is around him. I don’t really have a plan. It’s just a sudden urge to see him up close. I’ll just walk by and look at him. He sits there with his head down, his hand pressed against his throat. The gauze wrapper flutters and blows away. He doesn’t move.

  I am right in front of him, but his head is still down.

  I walk slower.

  He looks up and our eyes lock.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, his voice hoarse and raspy.

  * * *

  My heart and feet all stop. I stare at him for a moment. Our eyes seem to pull at one another. His face is thin and drawn and pale. He has a scraggly black beard and dark, dark eyes. His lips seem very red.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  He waves at the end of the bench, like he wants me to sit beside him. Like we’re old friends meeting on the quad to talk about our English class or something.

  “What did you say?” I demand.

  “Sit down. Talk to me,” he rasps.

  “Why?”

  “I have what you want. And you have what I want.”

  I look around. Sitting down with a werewolf has to be the stupidest thing I could possibly do. This place is in pretty deep shade from the buildings and nearby trees. Some students pass by where I was sitting a few minutes ago, but there isn’t much foot traffic here. I shouldn’t have approached him.

  “You’re safe. For now,” he says.

  I stare at him, angry but confused. He looks so weak. What did the book say? He’d be weak as water after his spell as a werewolf.

  I sit down.

  “That jacket must be hot,” I say sarcastically.

  “It is. But I’m still leaking from the wounds you gave me last night.” His voice has a slight intonation. It isn’t strong, just enough to be a little different and it fades in and out even as he’s talking.

  “You hurt my dad,” I accuse. “He might die because of you. And those others. The women … Kelsey. You took my sister.”

  “I didn’t take your sister.”

  “What?” I’m the human, but I’m practically growling. “You liar. I swear, if you hurt her.”

  “I did not technically take your sister and I assure you I am no liar. I’m many things, but not that. She is safe. As for her abduction? My pack does that sort of thing for me. I hate to get the paws dirty.” He laughs like the ultimate douchebag. And then adds, “I am sorry about your father.”

  That surprises me. Really, I didn’t expect that at all. “Sorry?”

  “He was in the way. The strong, fearless father, the alpha male who protects his cubs—real and adopted. He could make a great wolf.”

  He’s still holding his hand to his throat. He pulls it away and looks at the gauze. The bandage is stained pink. As he pours more peroxide on it, I think to look at the wound. It’s sort of hard to really make out behind the upturned leather collar, but what I can see is nasty. It looks like somebody’s slammed a mess of hamburger between his head and shoulder. But … it’s nowhere near as bad as it should be.

  “You do regenerate, don’t you?” I ask.

  He nods and presses the white cloth back to the wound. I can see tiny white bubbles dribbling from his throat to soak into his black T-shirt.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “You don’t understand,” he repeats. “You can’t.” He pauses and looks away from me, up to the green leaves of the tree. “The beast has everything. Power, speed, courage, strength, but … but it’s a very lonely existence.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Yes.” He looks back at me. “I can turn other men. I can turn them easily … just look at your father. A mere bite. But the beast needs a mate. Only certain women will do. Most die. It is unfortunate. I don’t really care about killing people. The beast is happy enough killing deer and elk, or cattle sometimes.” He pauses again, and I remember him tearing the head off our calf. “I want children. Not children that I turn, but that I sire. I want a companion to share my days with, to nurse my wounds.”

  “You’re looking for a mate? Seriously? This isn’t, um … a little overkill? Most guys go to a bar or online. Tinder. That’s a thing, right?” I ask, still incredulous. At that exact moment my cell phone goes off. It’s Chrystal. I slide my finger across the screen to answer, and just say, “Stay where you are. Stay there. I’ll call you in a minute.”

  “Logan, what’s—”

  “Trust me. Just stay put. I’ll call.” I end the call before she can protest again.

  “She’s close,” the werewolf says. “I can smell her.”

  “You can’t have her. I won’t let you.”

  “You could stop me?”

  “You haven’t got her yet.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asks. He grins, and in that grin I can see the wolf. Then his face relaxes and the pain returns. “You want to cure your father. Have your sweet sister back all safe and sound and untainted.”

  “Yes,” I answer after some hesitation. It’s taking all my restraint not to hit him.

  He smiles as if he’s gloating. “You need my blood to save him.”

  “That’s what your goon told Chrystal before we killed him last night,” I say, stretching the truth of the circumstances just a little.

  “I’ll give it to you,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing at all.

  “You will?”

  “A trade,” he says.

  “No!” The reality of what he’s asking comes quickly and is too horrible to consider.

  “Your father for the girl. Chrystal. Such a perfect name. I’m surprised her idiot father agreed to it.”

  My head snaps back around to look into his face. “What? What do you mean he agreed to it?” I demand.

  The monster chuckles. “Mr. Lawson Smith is a gullible man. He changed the spelling of the name, but…” He lets the sentence trail away and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Do you know where her dad is?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry about him,” the werewolf says. “I am positive that he’s getting all the research he needs. Your sister is still alive and you … you could save them both by helping me get the girl.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “She may like the life I could offer her.”

  “No. She wouldn’t. You don’t even know her,” I argue.

  “I can sweeten the deal. Your father has no choice. He’ll become like me unless you help him. You can make your own choice, though. If you want the power I have, I’ll give it to you.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it before you refuse it,” he says. “Think of what you did to me last night. Look at me now. I’m hurt, yes, but I should have been dead many times over last night. Soon I’ll be back to full strength.”

  “I should kill you right now,” I growl. “Kill you and bleed you.”

  “Right here? You’d spend the rest of your life in prison. You have a lot of life ahead of you, Logan Jennings. Maybe.”

  “You can’t have Chrystal.”

  “You don’t get to decide her life choices for her. Her father has refused to tell her, even when he decided to bring her into an obviously dangerous situati
on. Amateur researcher, going off half-cocked, too caught up in what he believes he’ll never really find. You should have seen his face.…” He pauses, smiles, then returns to his original line of thought. “Explain my offer to her. Let Chrystal make up her own mind,” he says.

  “You’re probably lying, anyway,” I accuse.

  “I already told you. I’m not a liar.” He smiles at me, then puts his gauze pad on his thigh and carefully bends over to retrieve his water bottle. I watch, stunned, as he raises his stiff right arm to his face. His teeth have changed. They’re not human teeth. They’re wolf teeth. The canines are long and curved. He bites into his own wrist with one of those wicked teeth. Blood rises to the surface of the wound and spills out. He holds it over the water bottle, letting the slow, thick blood run into the bottle for a few minutes. Then he turns his wrist and presses the bandage over this new wound.

  Leaving the bitten wrist turned up, he lifts the bottle and hands it to me. The blood is sluggish and very bright in the bottom of the plastic container.

  “Boil water,” he says. “When the water is at a rolling boil, add one fresh leaf of that wolfsbane that grows in your mother’s flower garden. Leave it in the water for sixty seconds. No longer. Take out the leaf and add the blood. Make your father swallow a teaspoon of it. It won’t be strong enough to cure him, but you will see that I am sincere in my offer.”

  “Wolfsbane is poisonous. I’m not doing that.”

  “Give me what I want and I will tell you the formula to reverse the curse completely,” he says, ignoring my concerns.

  “How do I know this won’t kill my dad, then you’ll come after Chrystal again anyway?”

  Suddenly, with more strength than I would have guessed he has, he pushes himself off the bench, reels for a moment like he’s dizzy, then gives me one final look.

  “You are an incredibly stupid boy. There are forces at work, lives entwined, that reach back for centuries. You and your family are just tiny pawns to be used along the way.”