Claire de Lune

by Christine Johnson

  Claire spun around slowly, staring at the vast room. Camera equipment covered the wall behind her. Lenses and cases, camera straps, tripods, and, of course, the cameras themselves, lay cased in gray foam.

  Marie gestured to a tall wooden stool. “You may sit.”

  Claire perched on the edge of the seat and dragged one toe across the concrete floor. A million questions all crowded together in her head, but being in the darkroom was like going into a country where she didn’t know any of the customs. If what she said wasn’t right—if she asked the wrong thing—she might get kicked out. The quiet settled over her, surrounding her. She felt trapped.

  Her mother picked up a pair of tongs and swirled a blank sheet of glossy paper down into its first chemical bath. “I suppose Lisbeth has already told you what happened last night—the Engles’ neighbors?”

  “Yeah.” Claire swallowed hard.

  Marie sighed and dropped the tongs back onto the table with a clatter that made Claire jump.

  “Our pack—we have been trying to find the cause of these horrible deaths. But we must not be exposed while we do it. It makes searching … difficult. And the longer these things go on, the more dangerous our lives become. The constant chattering of those people”—she spat out the word—“on the television … It just makes everything worse.”

  Claire was pretty sure that by “people” her mother meant Dr. Engle.

  “This is not the first time that our kind have been threatened. We will find out who—or what—is causing this. You do not need to concern yourself with this. There must be other things you’re wondering about? Questions you have?”

  “So, Lisbeth really doesn’t know about any of this?”

  Marie shook her head sharply. “Of course not. Lisbeth knows I have a job that takes me away at a moment’s notice—a job with odd hours, strange comings and goings. I couldn’t leave you here alone when I was off in the woods, any more than I could when I went to Dubai. Lisbeth … filled in the gaps. I know it will be hard for you to keep this from her, but you must find a way to do it.”

  The reality of the situation slammed into Claire. It was like being kicked in the chest. Claire forced back the moisture that crept into the corners of her eyes. She hated lying to Lisbeth. And now she was going to have to do a lot of it. Anger flooded through her, drying the tears that clung to her eyelashes.

  “You’ve been hiding this from her, from us, for years.” Claire’s voice shook.

  Marie shrugged. “You know I am not close with anyone. I find it easier that way. Not everyone does. But werewolves and humans—we were not meant to be friends, Claire. I believe things go better for those who remember that.” She turned away, reaching for another jug of fluid.

  Claire clenched her fists. “How can you act like this is no big deal? First you tell me I’m a—that I’m not even freaking human. And now you want me to lie to everyone, and I’m not even supposed to care?”

  “I do not appreciate that tone. I know this has come as a shock to you—”

  “Well, that’s the understatement of the century.” The words came out soaked in sarcasm.

  “Enough!” Marie’s calm exterior finally gave way. “This is not a death sentence. It is an honor. And if you cannot stop the sass long enough for us to discuss it, then this conversation is over.”

  “Fine!” Claire slid off the stool with a thump. “I’ll just get out of your freaking space, then.” She slammed out of the darkroom and stormed up to her room.

  Claire yanked on the first bathing suit she found and raced out to the pool, throwing herself into the deep end. The taste of chlorinated water pushed the flavor of salt tears out of her mouth, and she began to swim, clawing furiously at the water. She went back and forth across the pool, until she lost count of how many laps she’d completed. She swam until her arms ached—until exhaustion slowly overtook the rage that glowed in her chest.

  When Claire finally crawled out of the pool, her legs shook underneath her. She collapsed, dripping, onto one of the lounge chairs and lay there panting. Eventually her breathing slowed and she drifted into a half doze.

  * * *

  A warm hand shook her awake.

  “Claire?”

  Claire opened one eye. It was her mom.

  “What?” She sounded more sullen than she’d meant to.

  “I want to apologize. I am so accustomed to things that it all seems—well. I should have been more prepared for your reaction. I am sorry.”

  Claire squirmed. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you. But I am freaked out.”

  “I know. And I am sure that you have many questions.”

  Claire nodded, picking at the woven fabric of the lounge chair. “So, are there any others—you know, like us, around here?”

  Her mother toyed with her watch. “No. There are no other packs nearby. In fact, Judith and Katherine come all the way from Rochert every moon, because we’re the closest to them. Occasionally, we can scent that une seule, a wolf without a pack, has traveled through. But they rarely stay more than a few days.”

  All the images from the night before flashed through Claire’s mind. The memory of Matthew’s arm wrapped around her shoulders sent a rush of heat through her. It also sent a question sailing out of her mouth.

  “So, how come there are no men werewolves in our—uh, pack?”

  Her mother’s head snapped up. “Oh, chérie, I thought I had—” She sighed and leaned back against the patio table. “There aren’t any males of our species. Anywhere. There never have been. All werewolves are women.”

  Claire’s eyes shot wide-open. “But—they’ve caught them before. I’ve seen it! Those Austrian werewolves that Dr. Engle tried his cure on were male.”

  Her mother shook her head sadly. “Innocent, all of them. Everyone is so anxious to believe in a cure that they believe his claims. Have you never realized that he has no photos of his ‘patients’ in the form of a wolf ? He has evidence of misshapen teeth, of chests with enough hair that they seem furred.” She sighed. “Mortal men misunderstand the symptoms. They misdiagnose. People expect such strength, such … bestiality to be the realm of males. This ignorance has helped us to stay mostly hidden for so many generations.”

  “But then how do we, I mean …” Claire felt the heat of blood rush into her neck, crawl up her cheeks, kiss her hairline. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the pool, unable to meet her mom’s gaze. “Werewolves must, uh, reproduce, somehow?”

  Her mother laughed. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a normal question, one I asked my own mother. We mate with human men.”

  Claire twisted uncomfortably in her seat when her mother said the word “mate.”

  Her mother sighed. “It is a weakness. Because we need men to create another generation, we must live near them. It creates a great risk for us. Our, er, relationships are often short-lived. That is the safest way.”

  Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. It took all of her willpower to ask the next question. “So, my dad … ?” The stories flashed through her head. All her life, her mother had told her that her father had been a kind man, a scientist, killed in a plane crash two months before Claire had been born.

  “For that I must apologize. I had to explain somehow. I knew your father only a few weeks, but because of the morals, the beliefs of the human world … The depth of our relationship … It was a lie. In this world we werewolves are driven to lie a great deal, Claire. More than most humans do. I am sorry.”

  Claire’s stomach twisted, and she tried to swallow back the bile that filled her mouth. She scrambled to her feet.

  “Are you all right, chérie? You look pale.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Claire ran into the house.

  She stumbled into a seldom-used bathroom. Hunched over the toilet, Claire reeled. All the lies her mother had told her spun through her head. That there weren’t any pictures of her father because he couldn’t stand to be photographed. That his family had disowned him,
and wouldn’t speak to Claire or her mother. None of it had ever been true. The hole in her heart every Father’s Day, the little ache she felt every time she saw Emily’s dad joking around with her—it had all been for nothing.

  The reality settled around her like a cage. The silky gray fur on the back of her hands last night, the warm blood of a fresh kill—this was her identity. And, really, it always had been. Claire leaned her head against the cool marble of the bathroom wall. Nothing she’d believed about her life had ever been true. So when I was with Matthew last night, was that just another lie?

  Still shaking, Claire crawled back up the long staircase to her room. She flopped down on the little cushioned bench in front of her vanity and stared in the mirror. The wild, freaked-out look in her eyes just made her feel more like an animal. Which I am, she reminded herself. I’m a werewolf. She couldn’t get enough air. Her heart started to race as she struggled to fill her lungs. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her palms. The itching she’d felt yesterday came back worse than ever and she stared in the mirror, horrified to see fur slowly pushing its way out of her skin, covering her ears and the backs of her hands.

  “Oh, no. Nonono,” Claire moaned.

  This can’t be happening. It’s not even night! Anger surged through Claire as she stared at the thick fur. I will not let this happen. I don’t care what family I was born into, I’m not doing this. She leapt to her feet, knocking over the bench. Her mother had never shown up to dinner covered in fur—there must be something she hadn’t told Claire—some way to hide it. How could she leave out the fact that I might randomly turn into a fur-covered freak? It’s not the full moon anymore! Oh my God, this is going to happen to me all the time, isn’t it?

  Fine. I’ll go back down there and make her tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do about this.

  Claire spun around and headed for the door.

  “Claire?” Lisbeth knocked gently. “Everything okay in there?”

  Damn. Claire glanced at the doorknob. Unlocked. Damn! “Uh, yeah, Lisbeth. I just knocked something over.” Claire hurried over to her bathroom, anxious to get another door between the two of them.

  “All right, if you’re sure.” Lisbeth sounded doubtful.

  “Yep, just getting in the shower,” Claire called, slamming the bathroom door behind her and locking it. She slumped against the wall, relieved. She took a deep breath, and thought about what her mother had told her the night before—that she had to pull herself back into human form, like stuffing the fur back under her skin.

  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. After a few seconds, she cracked open an eyelid and looked at her hands, which were still covered in fur. It’s not working!

  Claire’s gaze fell on the razor sitting on the edge of the tub. I said I was getting in the shower. Maybe I’m not such a liar, after all.

  Shaving the fur off the backs of her hands was easy, but her ears still had dark patches when she was finished. If she kept her hair down over them, they looked normal enough. Claire wadded up the damp clumps of fur in a pile of toilet paper and buried them in the trash can. She stared at herself in the mirror. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

  Claire stomped downstairs, looking for her mother. On her way to the darkroom, she ran into Lisbeth, her arms full of laundry. The pile of clothes flopped out of her grip, landing on the floor. On top was a lavender T-shirt of Lisbeth’s, spattered with dark stains.

  Lisbeth blinked twice and then looked at Claire. “I hope those wine spots come out in the wash.” She gathered up the clothes and held the bundle to her chest.

  Wine? Claire wondered. Lisbeth never drinks.

  “So,” Lisbeth said, her voice breezy. “Off to storm the castle?”

  “I’m going to go talk to my mom, actually.”

  “Not right now you’re not. She just left to go meet with some potential clients—said she wouldn’t be back until late.”

  “What? How could she go when I just—” Claire barely caught herself in time. Not telling Lisbeth what was going on was harder than she’d thought it would be.

  “When you just …” Lisbeth prompted.

  “Never mind.” Claire turned around and headed back upstairs. I’ll just wait until she gets home. I can be patient. And then as soon as she comes in, I’ll make her tell me everything she left out—like how to keep from turning into a wolf in the middle of the freaking afternoon.

  “Hey, Claire?” Lisbeth called after her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your ears look sort of funny. Is that rash back? Maybe I should call Dr. Abramowitz and get you an appointment.”

  Claire’s hand crept up to cover the mark. “It’s nothing. I just burned myself with a flat iron.”

  Lisbeth frowned. “Oh, okay.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Claire bounded upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. The cell phone sitting on the edge of her vanity caught her eye. The screen flashed at her—four new messages.

  Claire flipped open the phone and speed-dialed her voicemail. The first message was from Matthew. His voice sounded shaky, and Claire could hear other people and cars in the background.

  “I just wanted to make sure that you got home okay, since—well. Since what happened at the neighbors’ last night. Call me, okay?”

  Claire deleted the message. The next two voicemails were from Emily. She demanded details about the night before—what had they watched, had the outfit worked, had they kissed? Claire was dying to talk to Emily but not about Matthew. She wanted to tell her best friend that her mother had ruined her life last night. But she thought about the dead-serious look on her mother’s face when she’d told Claire not to say anything. And also she didn’t really know how Emily would take that sort of news. Claire sighed and deleted Emily’s voicemails. The last message was blank. Claire checked the missed calls list—it had been Matthew, again.

  There was no way she could talk to Matthew right now. It sucked that he was worried, even though it sent a little ripple of happiness through her middle to think that he had called—twice—just to check on her. The phone buzzed in her hand and Claire looked down at the screen. Emily. Claire shut her eyes and answered the phone, throwing herself down onto her unmade bed. She braced herself for Emily’s inquisition.

  “Hello?” Claire tried to make her voice sound normal.

  “Hey.” Emily’s voice held none of its usual excitement. She sounded sort of depressed, actually.

  “Are you okay?” asked Claire.

  “Not really.” Emily’s voice trembled. “Mom and Dad freaked out about the Engles’ neighbors. They’re talking about making me go stay with Aunt Masie until school starts. On the stupid farm. I am so, so pissed off right now. I don’t even think they get cell phone reception out there. Oh my God, Claire, I’m going to die if they send me away for the rest of the summer!”

  If they send her away, at least I won’t have to think of a way to hide this from her, too. Her best friend was about to be shipped off and her first thought was “great”? Guilt filled Claire’s throat. It choked her when she tried to talk. “Emily—that’s horrible. I know your parents are sort of paranoid, but this is really over the top.”

  “I know. I swear to God, Claire, they’re actually trying to ruin my life.” The thought of Emily leaving made Claire ache. She’d never been away from her best friend for more than a week. Now they would have to spend the whole summer apart if they couldn’t think of a way to stop Emily’s parents from going off the deep end.

  “Emily, breathe. They’re just worried about what happened to Matthew’s neighbors. My—my mom’s totally freaked out, too.”That’s only sort of a lie, right? She said that the pack is worried about what’s happening. …

  Claire hadn’t ever hidden anything this big from Emily. And it sucked.

  “Oh my God, I didn’t even ask you about yesterday! What happened? How was it? Did he kiss you?”

  Claire bit her lip. She didn’t really want to talk a
bout Matthew, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to Emily about everything. “Almost. He would have if his dad hadn’t interrupted us.”

  “Oh my God, didn’t I tell you he liked you? Were you so mad at his dad?”

  “Not as mad as Matthew looked,” Claire admitted. The memory of Matthew’s frustrated expression made her smile.

  “Well, next time for sure. There is going to be a next time, right? Have you talked to him today? I mean—has he called you?”

  “Uh, yeah, he called, but I haven’t called him back yet. I just got up a little bit ago, and then my mom wanted to talk to me and stuff.”

  “Then why are you still talking to me? Get off the phone and call him! I have to go beg my parents to see reason, anyway. Call me later, okay? And do you wanna hang out tomorrow?”

  “Sure, tomorrow sounds great,” said Claire. “I’ll call you. Good luck with your parents.”

  Emily groaned and hung up the phone without saying good-bye. Claire caught sight of her face in the mirror and it stopped her cold. It’s because of me. Emily’s parents are going to send her away because they’re afraid of me. …

  Chapter Five

  IT WAS WELL after dark before Claire could bring herself to call Matthew. “Hello?”

  “Um, hi, Matthew.”

  “Claire!” Relief flooded his voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry about your neighbors. Things must have been pretty nuts around there today, huh?” She hoped that he would just think she sounded shaky because she was upset about the murders.

  “Totally. My dad’s in hyperdrive, and if the news guys aren’t in our living room, the cops are. He doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that it was our neighbors who were attacked, so he’s taking it way more personally than usual. Mom and I are just trying to stay out of his way.”

  Claire’s head spun. She sat down on the edge of her bed and drew in a deep breath.

  “Claire?”