by R A Watt
She whispered in my ear, “Wow, you’re hot.”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face again.
Rachel loosened her grip and I sat back. “Huh?”
“I said you’re hot, like you have a fever or something. I’m freezing with these covers on, and you feel like you’re burning up. Are you okay?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, no, I feel fine. It’s hot out today and I just kinda run warm all the time,” I mumbled as I stood back up.
“I see,” she said, smiling weakly. Suzanne was standing at the door watching, and Sybil was looking toward the hall. “Come back tomorrow?”
“Hopefully,” I said, thinking of the night ahead.
“Well, hopefully you will,” she added. I blushed again and made my way to the door, looking back to her.
“Glad to see you are awake,” I said as the nurse pushed past me with some linens in her hand. Mrs. Denning pulled Sybil aside and they had a spirited conversation in hushed tones farther down the hall. Suzanne and I waited without comment.
Their discussion got louder and more serious. Eventually Sybil threw her hands up. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” As Sybil brushed past us, Mrs. Denning gave her a disappointed look. Suzanne and I left and caught up to Sybil.
“What was that about?” Suzanne asked.
The front doors of the medical center slid open as Sybil glanced back. “Nothing. She’s worried about my basketball injury.”
“What injury?” I asked.
She pointed to her eye. “Remember? The elbow I took yesterday.”
We didn’t answer.
It was almost three thirty and we needed to get ready for the big night. I only hoped things would go well enough that we could see Rachel again.
Chapter 37
My dad was uncharacteristically enthusiastic that I was planning another sleepover at Jermaine’s house that night. Telling him it was actually at the neighbor’s house would have set off a number of alarm bells. My dad was pleased that Suzanne and I were fitting in and making friends. Suzanne made up a girl’s name that didn’t even exist for her excuse. And at her age, that probably should have set off some kind of fatherly alarm.
Sybil being with us for the whole afternoon probably helped, too. He had no clue.
Though as I got to know Mrs. Leclair better, I almost thought introducing them might not be a terrible idea. Dad needed a woman in his life, and for a lady her age, she was kinda pretty. Plus, her knowing my deepest secret would be about the best possible combination.
And she was an amazing baker.
When it was time, I went to Mrs. Leclair’s first. The girls would come thirty minutes after.
She was puttering in the kitchen when I arrived, making pastries called Kouign-amann. The scent was so strong I knew what she was up to before even getting close to her house, and it set my mouth watering. She seemed genuinely happy to entertain our ragtag little gang, food and all.
“Mrs. Leclair, have you ever, umm, put a wolf down?” I asked, munching on her baking.
“Me? Heavens no. That was for Luc to do; I haven’t the stomach for it.”
I had a million questions for her, maybe more, and she was the only one who could answer them. Most would have to wait, I thought as I leafed through the scrapbook at the kitchen table.
“After this is over, assuming we win.” I shifted uneasily. “Can I come over . . . spend some time here and pick your brain on things? Maybe you can translate some of this book for me? I have so many questions, and nobody to talk to. I feel like there is a lot in here.”
“May you?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she smiled, “Old habits. The question should be, May I come over? And to answer you, yes of course. I would be more than happy to pass on what I know, and any other book I have downstairs. I imagine you must be feeling quite anxious and scared, poor dear.” She came over and ruffled my hair. “Another amann?”
I nodded. Supper had been filling but I would need my energy.
“You should meet my dad, too. You guys might hit it off.”
For the first time, Mrs. Leclair blushed a little. “I would like to meet your father, but strictly as neighbors. I’m quite embarrassed I still haven’t invited him over after what we’ve been through.”
I snickered to myself. It felt good to make someone else blush for a change.
“Mrs. Leclair, do you think if things don’t go as planned and I need to transform tonight, will it happen automatically? Is there a way for me to force it? And if I do, what if I hurt the wrong person?”
She turned around, dish cloth in hand. “Would you please call me Geneviève? I’m not your principal,” she said with a wink. “I really don’t know. How it works to make the transformation happen is beyond me. But I can tell you that your grandfather could willingly change whenever he wanted, and very quickly at that. So it is possible; I’m just not sure as to how many months or years of practice it takes.
“And to your second question. It is as I explained to you before: you must not give in completely, keep your humanity at the forefront of your mind. Hold on, keep focus, and you will be able to differentiate right from wrong, friend from foe. It will be of the utmost import tonight.”
Remembering the other night, I knew what she meant now. Kind of. Only, letting it take over was much easier than holding on.
“Do regular bullets hurt them?”
She nodded. “Just temporarily.”
“Do you have any?”
She thought about it. “Yes, I do. But why?”
“Well, if the gun holds six bullets, we might as well fill up the empty three chambers with something. It’s better than nothing.” Or that’s what I figured. “And, why silver bullets? Does silver magically kill them? Why can’t we just make more?”
She smiled. “Oh? Why hadn’t I thought of that? Let’s skip down and make a few more silver bullets for tonight.”
“No?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I wish it were that simple. Suffice it to say, constructing silver bullets is much more complicated than you might imagine. It’s softer and less dense than lead, and must be heated to almost two thousand degrees to melt properly. Over the years, Luc mixed in a little lead to make it cheaper, harder, and fire straighter. Though it was less pure in form, it seemed to make no difference as to its effectiveness.
“And as for why? Well, in alchemy, gold is to the sun as silver is to the moon. Your strength is also your weakness, in some ways akin to an allergy, I suppose. In your lycan genetic makeup, after you transform, a notable blood byproduct is sulfur. And when mixed with silver it produces silver sulfide, which in a werewolf doesn’t dissolve and blocks the blood vessels—effectively stopping the heart.”
I was trying to understand what she was saying, but it sounded very technical. “So, it would be like a bullet made of peanuts to someone allergic to them?”
She smiled. “Yes, I suppose. If a peanut could penetrate the skin, of course. Nothing about silver, or a peanut, is dangerous on its own. How the body deals with it is a different story.”
Flipping through the treasure trove of information was frustrating because most of it wasn’t in English. There was a page full of photos—sepia in appearance—and looked old. One photo in particular caught my eye. It was of three young men, all in dark pants and rolled up light-colored collar shirts, maybe in their early twenties. One held a spade upright, and they were all arm-in-arm with big grins and a vineyard behind them. Each of them had slicked back hair and leather work boots.
“Who’s that?”
She leaned over and squinted at the picture. “Why, that’s Hubert and his brothers, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Was that here? In California?”
She shook her head. “No. That would be in France. His brothers . . . they never came here. His leaving was the reason they stopped speaking; I think the family never forgave him for deserting them. As they saw it, anyway. But as I said, he wanted to
change, to end the line. It was something they didn’t agree on.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Are they . . . lycans as well?”
She pursed her lips and nodded.
“Do you know them? Their names? Addresses?”
Mrs. Leclair shook her head. “Sorry, no. He did not speak of them often.”
I had family, outside of my tiny family here. And they had the same genes. They were like me.
I flipped through a few more pages, hoping for more family photos, but then my heart stopped.
Near the end of the book was a much older faded and yellowed black-and-white photograph, curled at the edges. It featured an elderly woman with long, white hair.
Her expression was grave and serious. With her left hand, she fingered a pendant necklace drooping over her blouse.
She was seated in a wooden wheelchair.
Chapter 38
My heart rate exploded.
“Geneviève! Who is this?” I put my index figure on the picture and stood up from the table.
Mrs. Leclair wrinkled her forehead as she focused on the picture, then a look of understanding appeared. “Oh, that is her, of course, Sabine—Sabine Martin. Near the end of her life, I believe.”
Sabine Martin.
I dropped my head in close to the picture. It was her. Definitely her.
The photograph was blurry, but my eyes were drawn to her pendant. The same C-shaped pendant that had hung from her neck in my dream. It was also the same shape as the little ornament in my grandfather’s leather pouch.
I pointed to it. “What is that? Why does she have my grandmother’s necklace on?”
Mrs. Leclair studied the picture. “Her lavaliere? Why would you say it’s your grandmother’s?”
“Because if you look close, it’s the letter C.”
Mrs. Leclair shook her head and smiled. “No, that’s not a C. That’s a crescent moon, a sort of sigil of the lycan. These ancestral moon pendants are passed down from generation to generation. No doubt it’s hundreds of years old. Why are you so alarmed?”
Rubbing my face and pacing away from the table, I could almost hear those cackles from my dream. I looked up, crossing and uncrossing my arms. “I know her. I’ve dreamt of that woman. And I found that lycan ornament thing in my grandpa’s stuff.”
“Are you sure? About her?”
I nodded and flipped the book closed. “Trust me, you wouldn’t forget that woman.”
The doorbell rang, shattering the tension in the room, and I jumped. Our conversation had been intense. Together, we opened the front door to Sybil and Suzanne.
Suzanne gave me an odd look. “You okay? You look white. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Almost,” I mumbled and then coughed as we returned to the kitchen.
It was almost seven o’clock, and the other two would be arriving shortly. We hoped to be on our way within the hour. Sybil was quiet, but Suzanne made up for it with small talk, and Mrs. Leclair showed her the photo of Grandpa and his brothers. Fifteen minutes later, Jermaine arrived.
He looked nervous.
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked.
He nodded. “No, but I will anyway. The way I see it, is if you don’t succeed, he knows that I probably know. So it’s just a matter of time before he comes for me. Might as well make sure.
“Plus,” he continued, “the Iz only has room for one wolf man, and that’s one of my best friends.” Jermaine smiled and punched me lightly on the shoulder.
I felt myself blushing at the compliment. “Thanks buddy. We need you.”
“Would anyone like a pastry or snack?” Mrs. Leclair asked, pouring waters all around. The girls declined but Jermaine happily grabbed a few pastries from the platter.
Sybil put her backpack on the table and unzipped it. Carefully, she removed the weathered old six-shooter pistol inside. Mrs. Leclair went down to the basement to retrieve some regular bullets to fill up the empty chambers.
“Are you sure about this, Sybil?” I asked. “I know I can’t.”
She bit her lip, a dark and distant look in her eyes. “Yes.”
Mrs. Leclair returned and took a deep breath. “You have only one chance. The Vincent boy will be fast, strong, and presumably have no qualms about killing. You must strike first. If he gets the upper hand, you have no hope. I’m afraid his size and experience will easily overpower Teavan once transformed, so your only chance are those bullets. Follow the plan and it will work, they always do. Do your best to remain calm.”
It looked like Sybil had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had a thousand mile stare and remained silent. Suzanne shifted in her seat, and we went over the plan again. I kept looking up at the clock. It was getting near eight and Kevin hadn’t showed up yet. Jermaine sent him a text.
My bag was on the floor, and I grabbed it, heading to the bathroom. I quickly changed and put on the extra clothing I’d brought, happy to have thought ahead. A loose pair of athletic shorts and one of my dad’s big old T-shirts.
Inside the bag’s zip pouch, I pulled out the token-shaped medallion Jermaine and I found in the cabin. That subtle, but gentle tingle emanating from it wove into and through my fingers, and although it kinda scared me, I also felt drawn to it. Much more now than in the cabin that day. With little further thought, I put the leather strap over my head and tucked the medallion under my shirt.
The doorbell rang as I reentered the kitchen. Mrs. Leclair went to the front room to let Kevin in.
“Oh crap,” Jermaine sighed, still seated at the table, looking at his phone. “He ain’t coming.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Kevin. He texted me back, ‘I’m not coming. I’m really really sorry’,” Jermaine answered, reading the message.
Suzanne stood up from the table. “Then who . . . ?”
I bolted to the front room. Mrs. Leclair stood with the door open, the porch light on, looking outside. “Allô?” she called out.
There was no one there. I inhaled the crisp night air and registered what I feared.
I pulled her back in quickly but gently and locked the front door.
“It’s not Kevin, he’s not coming. It’s him. It’s Bruno.”
Chapter 39
The hairs on the back of my neck were standing, my heart was racing, and I could smell his scent. All my senses were in overdrive.
The girls and Jermaine stood there, wide-eyed.
There was a pounding on the back door.
As I pushed past them to the kitchen and the back door, everyone started panicking. Suzanne did the sign of the cross on her chest and muttered, “Please let it not be her.”
At the back door, I engaged the bolt lock. I peeked through the tiny window. Nobody was there.
“It’s Bruno,” I said, stepping back in the brightly lit kitchen. “Cut the lights, all of them!”
“How do you know? Maybe it’s just Kevin playing a trick?” Jermaine asked as I flicked the kitchen lights off.
I didn’t know how I knew, but I just did. “Trust me. He’s here. He knows.”
Kevin. He ratted us out.
Mrs. Leclair turned out the lamps in the front room and hall. It was dark inside now, giving us a better view to look out. The porch light was still on, but there was nobody on it as I approached the big picture window in the front room. Just the empty wicker lounge set.
And on the glass-covered wicker coffee table lay a cell phone. “Look,” I said, pointing it out to Sybil.
“That’s mine,” she whispered. A chill ran through the room.
Suzanne came over. “Mrs. Leclair, w-what do we do?” Her voice was shaky, and she stuttered the words.
Mrs. Leclair looked at Sybil. “Are you ready, dear? This changes nothing. There is just no element of surprise. But he still doesn’t know you have those three bullets.”
Except he probably did.
My pulse quickened and I could almost feel it in the pit of my stomach, stirring to let loose.
Maybe it wouldn’t be difficult to summon the change if I needed to.
Part of me wanted to run to the basement and lock us all securely in the safe room. Part of me wanted to call my dad; he was so close, but he would be of no help. Neither would the sheriff.
We had no choice. This was it.
A vision of Rachel hooked up to medical equipment with bandages on her arms and face came to mind, and I growled. It startled Sybil beside me, and she stepped away with an incredulous and fearful look in her eyes. “Teavan?”
I shook the thought away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
They all stared at me. Had the growl been that loud?
“Can you see him?” I asked, trying to deflect their gazes.
Nobody was brave enough to leave the front room—safety in numbers. We stood away from the front window but kept searching the treeline.
Then, right in front of us, Bruno jumped up, inches from the window, and banged on it with his open palms. It sent a shockwave through the still room. His face was unholy and twisted. His eyes searched the room until he found mine.
We inched back, and Jermaine and Suzanne both shrieked as Bruno pounded again more fiercely, this time shattering the glass with an inhuman war cry.
He growled and jumped on the window frame, arms held high.
Before I could even consciously decide, I ran at him full tilt and dove. Our bodies collided, and my inertia sent us over the porch and crashing through the weak, wooden railing onto the gravel of the driveway.
Bruno scared me even in his normal form; the thought of him transformed into a werewolf was much worse. As we wrestled, I thought he would expect to beat me mercilessly in his wolf form, but Sybil would shoot him before he had the chance. The confrontation wouldn’t need to go any further and it could all be over in the next sixty seconds.
How wrong I was.
Chapter 40
We both rolled in different directions and leapt to our feet at the same time, arms outstretched and ready for battle. I backed up closer to the house as he eyed me, and removed what was left of my ripped shirt from our skirmish. The smoke from the northern wildfires was thicker, blanketing the yard and trees in a thin white haze.