The Goodnight Kiss

by Gwen Rivers

  I draw a chart in my notebook, labeling trial 1, trial 2 and trial 3. Aiden hasn’t touched the green five star he carries. I have yet to see him open it in any class. For an odd moment, I wonder if it’s a prop. Something visual to help him blend in as a student. The way my bait clothes help me blend in at a club or a rave.

  The first piece of paper, the one soaked in water, doesn’t burn. Shocker. The second one, the one immersed in pure ethanol ignites.

  “Imagine that,” Aiden drawls. “Alcohol is flammable.”

  Not bothering to answer, I use my tongs to retrieve the third piece of paper, the one soaked in the mixture of water and ethanol and hold it to the open flame. For a moment nothing happens, then a quick flare as the fire ignites the alcohol.

  “Watch it!” Aiden barks.

  Startled, I drop the paper. The water protects it, but my sleeve, which has gotten too close to the burner, alights.

  I jump up, a scream working its way out of me, but before I can do anything, Aiden has a hold of my arm. There’s a searing pain as though the fire has reached my skin, but it dulls to a warm glow of contact.

  “You okay?” His hand falls away just as I’m getting used to the rare sensation of being touched.

  I peer at the sleeve of my flannel. Scorched. The skin underneath it is unmarked.

  I look up at him and my breathing goes all wonky again, though this time it might be from genuine fear. “What are you?”

  “A wolf in man’s clothing.” The sardonic smile is back but it’s hiding something. There’s something lurking in the depths of those eyes. It’s gone before I can name it.

  The bell rings. He gives me one last wink before disappearing out into the hall.

  I wouldn’t do well in prison. It’s a fact that I’m reminded of every weekday at 2:15. The final bell is the sound of freedom, or at the very least a temporary reprieve. Society wonders why the school system seems broken, why incidents of violence, bullying, and suicides are on the rise for teens. A boundary is created, and a large group of individuals are crammed into it, forced to interact with one another. To cope with a schedule that strips away choices, simple matters like when to eat, when to pee, when to exercise and when to sit still and listen because the adults know best.

  Isn’t it amazing we can function at all?

  When the bell rings, every cell in my body seems to exhale, a breath I have no awareness I’ve been holding until it expels in a great roaring whoosh. I roll up both sleeves to disguise the fire damage to my shirt on my way out of the room. A quick trip to the locker to discard my chemistry book and then I’m the first out the glass double doors, sucking in the sweet smell of freedom as the sun hits my face.

  Cool mountain oxygen fills my lungs. I love fresh air and its medley of flavors. From the crisp fall wind scented with leaves and apples to the freezing stab of winter gusts. The sweet breeze of spring and even the damp heavy humid air of summer. The crackle of energy it carries just before a storm and the cold stillness before a snowfall when the world itself seems to be holding its breath. If I ever was to write poetry, it would be an ode to air.

  Other students stream by me down the cracked concrete steps toward cars and busses, chatting and laughing, texting and bitching. I wait. No sign of Aiden. A feeling washes over me. I decide it is relief, not disappointment.

  Sarah shoulder-checks me on the way down the stairs. “What’s doing, Nic? Waiting for the short bus?”

  “You’re so funny. Oh wait, you just think you are.” The banter is a solid distraction, a way to pretend I’m not looking for Aiden among the throngs of the freshly paroled. Curiosity isn’t in my wheelhouse. I’m a planner, a meticulous researcher. Giving in to whims creates chaos and exacerbates risk, two things I try to avoid.

  “C’mon slag, I’ll give you a ride.” Sarah heads to her POS and after one last glance around, I follow.

  Our home isn’t exactly on Sarah’s way, but it’s not unusual for her to drive me. She spends the least amount of time possible in her own home during any given day. And if Addy’s still on the warpath over the license thing, better to have Sarah around as a buffer.

  Puffy white clouds scud across the sky, and I can smell rain not far off. The wind is picking up so that the undersides of the new leaves are flashing us as we drive by. A storm brewing in the distance. Addy will need help at the clinic if she has a full house.

  “Head for the office first,” I instruct Sarah as we approach the first turn off to our property. She does, and I note that she has been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride. No obnoxious autotuned music, no quips or even complaints.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She nods, her eyes hidden behind little heart-shaped sunglasses. “You?”

  “Fine.” Since I’m lying I figure she is, too. I make a mental note to ask again later.

  Mountain Veterinary Clinic is written in scrolling wrought iron above the stone archway. Sarah drives through it and parks in the gravel lot in front of the newly renovated barn that houses Addy’s practice. The only other vehicle in the lot is the battered pick up that Addy drives around the property.

  Chloe is sitting behind the tall reception desk, sorting through stacks of manila files. She looks up as the bell over the door jingles and grins when she sees us. Her scent is cloves and nutmeg, usually a sign of an easy day. “Hey girls, how was school?”

  “Soul shattering as usual,” I reply. “Looks like a storm’s coming in. How many do we have?”

  “Just two overnighters. Addy will bring them up to the house if it gets too bad. You want to stay for dinner, Sarah?”

  “Who’s cooking?” Sarah knows that the three of us rotate kitchen chores throughout the week.

  It’s my turn to cook, Addy’s to clear and Chloe’s to sit on her ass with a glass of red wine and channel surf. “I am.”

  Sarah wrinkles her nose. “Let me guess, rabbit pellets and cardboard?”

  “Quinoa patties and green salad,” I correct.

  “Close enough. Think I’ll pass. I should probably check in at home anyway.” She hesitates for a moment and I know it’s because she really doesn’t want to go.

  “Kitchen’s open twenty-four/seven if you reconsider,” Chloe says lightly.

  This gets a smile from Sarah. “Thanks. We on for Club Yours tomorrow, Nic?”

  I nod. Club Yours is our Saturday haunt. Full of college kids, which is why Sarah likes to go. Not the best hunting grounds since it’s in town, but occasionally I pick up a stray who wanders into my territory. Mostly it’s part of the ritual of going out and being seen, deepening the cover of normal teenager looking for some fun and excitement that my aunts and I have meticulously erected. “Sounds good.”

  Chloe watches Sarah back out of the lot then turns to me. “Issues at home?”

  I nod. “The cops were there again last night. Joe’s going to kill Sarah or her mother.”

  Chloe knows what I’m bucking for, a reason to take out Sarah’s stepfather, my way. “Addy won’t budge on it, Nic. It’s too much of a risk. I’m sorry for her, you know I am. Perhaps the human authorities can do something?”

  I shake my head. “Not unless Sarah or her mother report him and press charges. Right now, it’s just neighbors phoning in complaints. It’s not enough to get him out of their space.”

  Addy pushes her way through the swinging door. “Chloe, I need a hand back here.”

  Chloe gestures at the files. “I’m in the middle of this mess.”

  “These anal glands won’t express themselves. The Fosters will be here at five and I don’t want this dog leaking all over their upholstery.”

  “Ugh, way to glamour it up,” Chloe grunts then holds up her Ombre manicure that ranges from pale pink to siren red. “And I just did my nails.”

  “I can take over the filing,” I offer. It’s a job I’ve done many times on weekends and during the summer.

  “Yes, let Nic do it. She’s better at it anyway.” Addy leaves, knowing Chloe wi
ll follow.

  “Thanks so much for that. Anal glands. Gods, how the mighty have fallen.” With a dramatic sigh, Chloe disappears into the inner sanctum, the smell of burnt waffles trailing her.

  I start with the files on the desk, checking to make sure that the day’s updates have been properly logged and all fees are paid in full before storing them back beneath the desk. Then I pull the files for the following day and move on to the reminder calls. As the next day is Saturday, it’s a brief list. As usual, Chloe was making a mountain out of a molehill, the work efficiently taken care of in under an hour. Her nails probably took twice as long.

  I sit on the spinning desk chair, idly pushing in a ninety-degree arc first clockwise, then counterclockwise. Back and forth, back and forth. One eye on the road for the anal glands’ owners. And for the wolf. The man. The man-wolf? The werewolf?

  There’s no such thing as a werewolf.

  Yet Aiden said he was a wolf in man’s clothing. He admitted it to me. What else could he possibly be? And how can I, the adopted child of the Fates with a toxic kiss, discount any possibility?

  Especially after the fire incident. Slowly, I unroll the burnt edge of my shirt sleeve and examine it. It had caught fire, I’d felt the heat, the blistering burn on my skin. He’d extinguished it with nothing more than his hand. It wasn’t possible. He had nothing to douse the flames, not water or fire-retardant chemicals. Yet I was whole, not marred in any visible way. So why do I feel different than before I’d walked into chemistry class? It’s like his touch has altered me.

  In no story I’ve ever read does a werewolf wield power over fire. But Aiden did. What could it mean?

  I swivel the chair to face the computer and log into the clinic’s files. Though I’m not expecting to find anything, I type in the last name Jager and hold my breath as the ancient machine hunts. Surprisingly, it comes up with a match. Emily Jager had come into the vet’s office a week ago, bringing her new Labrador puppy for a round of vaccinations. New patient, no history of dog ownership. Could this Emily be in any way related to Aiden?

  I scribble down the address and shut the screen down just as Chloe emerges from the back room, a disgusted look on her face.

  “Filing’s done. Can I borrow the truck? I need to run into town for something.”

  “Sure kid. Fill the tank while you’re at it. Pick me up the latest trashy mags and something chocolate.” She goes to her purse and fishes out a twenty.

  “That won’t fill the tank.” I point out.

  She grumbles and then hands over another twenty. “I want change.”

  “Change starts from within,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Smartass.”

  It takes effort not to run for the truck. I want to be moving quickly, covering distance, finding out answers. Never have I felt so…out of control.

  Not since I was six years old.

  The storm breaks just as I finish pumping gas. I buy Chloe’s magazines and a bag of M&Ms from the attached convenience store before heading to the address scribbled on the office stationery.

  Emily Jager’s home is a small brick ranch on a large lot off the county highway. The yard is fenced with split log rails and chicken wire. A decade-old Honda Civic is parked under the carport, safe from the rain coming down in fits and starts.

  I idle at the curb, wondering what to do next. This is exactly why I don’t act on impulse. My choices are limited. I can go knock on the door, ask if Aiden lives there or if Emily knows him. She might not. Jager isn’t an unusual surname.

  And if he’s there? Then what? What can I say?

  I jump as the passenger car door is yanked open. Aiden climbs in, his hair soaked from the now pouring rain.

  I stare at him as he stares straight ahead through the windshield.

  “You can’t be here,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask, wondering if he’ll keep his promise of telling me the truth.

  “Just drive.”

  So, I do. The truck fishtails, and we speed on down the road into the encroaching darkness.

  Questions and More Questions

  I point the truck toward home, wondering what I’ll do with Aiden once we get there. It might not be smart, taking him into my territory, but I have the advantage there. The wood chipper would be an option, bleached down after Paul Anderson and my guess is that Aiden could disappear just as readily as he had appeared.

  Aiden’s shoulders relax as we turn into the wooded drive. “You can’t go there, Nic. You’re not ready.”

  “Ready for what?” The cryptic statement has all the hairs rising on my arms.

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he snatches up the bag of M&Ms. Tearing into it, he upends the package over his mouth, emptying it in five seconds flat.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Did I say you could eat those?”

  He chews, swallows and then smirks. “Better to ask forgiveness than beg permission. Do you have any more food?”

  “What do I look like, an all you can eat buffet?”

  He flashes me a lecherous grin. “Since you asked….”

  Too late, I hear the double entendre. Real smooth, Nic. He’ll think you’re trying to get in his pants.

  “Never mind. Here, go nuts.” I reach across and pound the side of my fist against the dashboard compartment twice. It falls open, revealing my stash of chocolate protein bars.

  Aiden helps himself, making short work of all five chocolate-covered snacks. “Thanks. I need something to take the edge off.”

  I shake my head. He’s just downed about eight hundred calories, not out of the ordinary for a teenage boy. In fact, it’s the first normal thing I’ve seen him do. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I’ll tell you once. Don’t get in my way.”

  My warning doesn’t appear to faze him. “Wouldn’t dream of it. In fact, I’m here to help. Like I just did, saving your ass back there.” He chucks a thumb in the direction of the brick ranch.

  I divide my attention between him and the winding road. “Oh really? What was the danger?”

  He wags one finger back and forth. “I told you, you’re not ready.”

  “And I should believe you, why?”

  “Because I’m here to help you.” Green eyes, the same shade as the leaves dancing in the gusting wind, fix on me. There’s something lurking in his eyes, something wicked and ancient. And powerful.

  I turn back to the road. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “I know you are.” There’s some other meaning in his words, a tone that is both new and familiar. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was…flirting with me.

  I decide to ignore the innuendo and spell the situation out. “Look, I can handle things just fine on my own. So, I don’t need or want your help.”

  His jaw clenches and a muscle jumps as if he’s grinding his molars together. As though I am somehow frustrating him. “You’re under the impression that I’m giving you a choice in the matter. I’m not.”

  His arrogance pisses me off. He may be a fire-snuffing wolf man, but I’m not in the market for a stalker or a sidekick, regardless of his abilities. “You said you’d tell me what I wanted to know. Well, I want to know who the hell you are and how you can do…what it is you can do.”

  “No, I said I would tell you the truth,” he counters. “Big difference.”

  I slam on the brakes so hard that the truck skids to a stop sideways. “Okay, then get out.” The rain picks up, pouring down onto the truck by the bucketful but I don’t care.

  He gives me a long look, then pops his door. “As my lady Nicneven desires.”

  My heart stops. It stills in my chest for a moment too long before staggering back to a regular rhythm. That name, I have never once heard it spoken aloud. Not by my aunts, not by any doctors or teachers. Most everyone believes my name is simply Nic, or perhaps that it’s short for Nicole. Yet I know it’s mine, have seen it in writing on my adoption papers. I feel the truth of it like a shadow lurki
ng in a dark corner of my withered heart.

  There’s power in a name, power in knowing someone else’s name, in wielding it like a weapon. Aiden might as well have fired a flaming arrow into my chest.

  Aiden is outside, the rain soaking through his t-shirt and jeans his hand on the door, ready to shut it.

  “Wait!” The cry tears from me, as though something important came forcibly detached. “How do you know that name?”

  He stares at me a moment. “I have known it for centuries. When you first told it to me.”

  I blink at him. He looks seventeen, maybe eighteen. And I damn well know I am sixteen. Centuries? “That’s…not possible.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s the truth.” He shuts the door and then jogs into the trees, moving through the rain like it’s of no significance. Perhaps it isn’t for him. He pulls his shirt over his head, drops it carelessly on the ground. He pauses long enough to yank off one boot and its accompanying sock, then the other. His hands go to his pants and I watch as his bare ass appears, and the denim is tossed aside. He turns back to me as shameless in the revealing as I am in the watching. He has nothing to be ashamed of, his body is perfect, like a statue come to life. Aiden nods once, as though acknowledging my voyeurism, then vanishes into the undergrowth.

  I’m tempted to go after him and my reasons have nothing to do with the perfection of his naked form. My shaking hand grips the door handle. But I don’t budge. I don’t even breathe. There is no sound other than the steady drag of the windshield wipers across the glass and the constant drum of water falling as though the skies need to scour the ground clean of all that just happened.

  Time passes, no idea how much. His cedar and sage scent lingers in the vehicle. My thoughts are like a flock of butterflies, flitting around inside my skull but never perching long enough for me to grasp. A howl sounds in the distance, startling me back to awareness. The noise grounds me once more, I shiver, then shift the truck into drive and head for the house.

  The Subaru is nowhere in sight. Addy and Chloe are still at the office. Good, I don’t want them to see me so…shaken. It takes me a moment to find the right word to fit the feeling. It’s a new sensation for me.