The memory of Beatrice, hiding in the woods like a coward, distracted Claire. As the Alpha, she was the one who should have killed Zahlia. She was the one who should have dealt with the evidence. Claire blinked away the anger that clouded her vision. There would be time to think about that later. She hitched up the too-big soccer shorts that Matthew had found for her in his car and took one last look around the clearing. It was good enough.
She and Matthew put the dead werewolf in the trunk and crawled into the car. They drove in silence. Matthew had snapped off the stereo when he started the car. It didn’t seem right to listen to music with Zahlia dead in the trunk. When he turned onto the road that led to his father’s lab, Matthew reached over and squeezed Claire’s hand.
“This is the right thing to do.”
“Yeah,” said Claire, “but it’s still hard, you know?”
“Yes. I do know.” His voice was serious, and Claire was pretty sure he was talking about something more than just what they were about to do with Zahlia. Matthew parked the car in the shadows at the end of the facility and popped the trunk. He walked around to the back of the car. After a deep breath, Matthew reached in to grab the blanket, but Claire stopped him.
“I can carry her faster on my own,” she said gently. “I’d let you help, but if we get caught …” She trailed off.
“It would be really bad,” Matthew finished. “Okay. Go ahead.” He turned away, but not before Claire saw the relief that crossed his face when he realized he wouldn’t have to touch Zahlia.
Claire wrapped her arms around the body and gagged as the smell of death filled her nostrils. She craned her head as far away from Zahlia as she could and lifted her out of the trunk.
“Go open the door,” she panted.
When the faint squeak from the metal door echoed between the buildings, Claire ran as fast as she could. She darted into the darkened lab and nearly collided with Matthew.
Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to be quite so fast. Inhumanly fast. The shocked expression on his face made Claire’s chest ache. Adjusting the blanket-wrapped body in her arms, Claire eased past the lab equipment and headed for the cage. Matthew followed behind her. Claire could hear his almost-silent footsteps. In order to get Zahlia in the cage, Claire had to go in, too. Being inside the bars made the skin on her back crawl. As quickly as she could, Claire dumped Zahlia onto the floor and backed out of the cage. The sight of Zahlia’s body lying on the concrete floor made Claire’s mouth go dry.
Don’t start freaking out now. It has to be this way. Mom would be able to do this calmly. We’re all a lot safer with Zahlia dead, and covering my mother’s tracks with her body doesn’t hurt her any.
“Do you think your dad will call the police?” she asked.
Matthew shook his head. “He thinks cops are idiots. And he’d be totally humiliated if Lycanthropy Researchers International ever found out that his security sucked bad enough that someone could just break into his real lab. Not to mention the government. … Even if he realizes that another werewolf killed her, there’s no way he can tell anyone without losing his credibility. I guess he might try to find the wolf that did it, but dad won’t call the police, and he’s not going to be able to find any of you by himself.”
Claire trusted him. She had to, especially considering how much faith he had in her.
“Okay.” It was more of a breath than a word.
Matthew looked away from the body and let out a long breath. “Let’s get out of here.”
Claire hurried over to the freezer and grabbed the key from its dish. She locked Zahlia’s body in the cage. After a silent moment, Claire wiped her fingerprints off the cage door and the key with the hem of the sweatshirt, put the key back into its dish in the freezer, and hurried out of the lab.
Matthew slid into the driver’s seat and leaned his head against the steering wheel. Claire looked at the back of his neck, the set of his shoulders. She could see what they had just done in the way he held himself. And it was all her fault.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and cursed herself for crying again. “I wish I’d never—” With his head still resting against the steering wheel, Matthew turned to look at her.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m not going to keep telling you that I don’t regret this. I’ll admit, when I first noticed you, first hoped you’d go out with me, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned things going. But I still wouldn’t trade it.” He leaned over and kissed her.
Claire backed away, leaning into the door behind her. “Matthew, being with me almost got you killed. Listen, I’ve wanted to date you ever since I first saw you, too.” Admitting it made her blush. “But after all of the horrible things you’ve been dragged into because of me, because of what I am … I don’t want to ruin your life. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. So I think—I think maybe we shouldn’t be together.” The words burned like acid in her mouth.
Matthew pulled back and looked at her. “You are not ruining my life. I chose to be here tonight, didn’t I? I know you’re a werewolf, I know what it means, and I don’t care. After everything that’s happened, you can hardly say I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. So, give me one good reason we can’t be together.”
Claire hesitated.
“Unless you don’t want to?” He sounded surprised and a little hurt.
“It’s not that! It’s just—I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how things will be now that I am … what I am. I have to hide, all the time, and lie, to everyone, and—”
“But not to me. You don’t have to hide from me and you don’t have to lie to me because I already know. And I love you anyway.” He took her chin in his hand and tipped her head up, holding her gaze with his. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Claire. Can’t we just work things out as we go along? See what happens? Be a couple?”
The idea stretched out in front of Claire like a stream, shining with possibility. He was right—he already knew everything. There was no reason not to try. And just like that, all the feelings she’d kept wrapped up so tight burst out of their seams and filled her chest.
“I love you, too,” she said. But what she really meant was yes.
The next morning, Claire crawled into her mother’s bed. “Mom?”
“Mmm?” Her mother cracked open one eye. “Is it done?”
“Yes.” Claire buried her face in the pillow, overwhelmed by the memory. She felt her mother sit up next to her.
“Tell me what happened.”
Claire told her the whole story, including the part about seeing Beatrice in the woods. The only thing she didn’t mention was the last conversation she and Matthew had. Her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at Claire.
“You are leaving something out, yes?”
Claire reburied her face in the pillow to hide the heat that rose in her cheeks. “I dunno,” she mumbled.
“You want to see him,” her mother guessed.
Claire felt her shoulders tense, and her mother sighed as she read Claire’s body language.
“Well, it’s not like it’s dangerous anymore. It’s not like he’s going to guess what I am and tell his dad. Matthew chose, Mom, and he chose us. So why shouldn’t I?” Claire turned her head just enough to peek at her mother.
“Oh, chérie.” Her mother sighed and ran a hand over Claire’s hair. “I just think love always ends badly, whether or not you are human. But maybe I am too cynical. And most everyone seems to survive heartbreak, at any rate. I am sure you will too, no matter what happens.” She gathered Claire in her arms and hugged her tight. “You grow up too fast, you know that?”
“Mo-oom,” Claire protested—but she didn’t try to escape from her mother’s embrace.
After a final squeeze, her mother let go and gave Claire a gentle shove in the direction of the door. “Now, go shower and ask Lisbeth to fix us something to eat. I could eat a horse.”
Claire lifted her eyebrows into a question, teasing.
&
nbsp; “Very droll, but how would you get it up the stairs? Non, for now, I think an omelette will do nicely. I am going to call Beatrice. She will not like it, but things have gotten out of hand, and something must be done about it.”
“Okay.” Claire walked out of the room. She leaned against the closed door for a moment, feeling something she hadn’t felt in months—hope that things just might work out after all.
Buoyed by her optimism, Claire convinced Lisbeth to drive her to Emily’s house. She wanted to see Emily, but preferably somewhere without any werewolf evidence stashed in the closets.
Claire bounded up the walk, knocked at Emily’s front door, opened it, and stuck her head in.
“Helloooo,” she called. “Anyone home?”
“Claire? Hang on a sec. Crap!” Emily’s voice floated down the stairs, followed by a series of banging noises. “Oh my God, you’re here!” She came flying down the stairs, the hems of her jeans dripping wet, and squeezed Claire into a tight hug.
“Is everything okay?” Claire asked, while Emily’s jeans dripped on her toes.
“What? Oh, yeah. I spilled some watercolors. You surprised the hell out of me! God, I’ve been dying to see you.” Emily’s enthusiasm made Claire smile.
“So, do you have time to do something?”
“Um, of course! Do you mind waiting while I get the paint cleaned up? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Em, I’m even willing to help. Where’s the carpet cleaner?”
Emily turned and headed for the kitchen. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re the best friend ever?”
Claire followed her, still grinning. Things with Emily wouldn’t ever be the same as before, but maybe she could make something new. A friendship that was good in its own way, even it if wasn’t normal.
That afternoon, the local news interrupted the regular talk show. Claire had to turn it up—downstairs, Lisbeth had her music on loud enough that Claire could hear it in her room. The camera cut to a very pale Dr. Engle, his tie crooked and his hair a mess. Claire noticed that the building behind him wasn’t the same lab where he’d imprisoned her mother.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. I am sorry to tell you that when my colleagues and I arrived this morning, we found the werewolf deceased. We are working to determine the cause of death, though we believe some sort of parasite—perhaps a nematode—may be involved. Of course, we are deeply saddened that we were unable to cure this, erm, creature. Its death marks a blow to our research and also to the small group of …”
Claire clicked off the television and walked over to her closet. Bitterness coated the back of her throat. She could taste it on her tongue like medicine. He hadn’t even said that Zahlia had been killed. She’d guessed that he wouldn’t. After all, if the public thought he couldn’t keep his “research” safe, why would they trust him to keep the werewolves away?
* * *
More than a week later, Claire pulled the last clean pair of shorts off her shelf and yanked them on. On top of everything else, she was going to have to do laundry. Great. The TV was on, and a flustered-looking Dr. Engle was being interviewed yet again about the mysterious death of “his” werewolf.
Her bedroom door swung open and Claire’s mother peeked in.
“Don’t you knock?” Claire asked, exasperated.
“Sorry. I did not think you would be up.” She looked at the television. “Are you watching that?”
Claire nodded. “Yeah.” Under her breath, she muttered, “What a total bastard.”
Her mother smiled, her hearing good enough to catch what Claire had said. “The cowardly choice is often the easiest. At least there will be no investigation by the police—you should be grateful for that.”
“I guess.” Claire scooped up a heap of laundry and tossed it onto her bed.
“Tonight we gather,” her mother said quietly, checking over her shoulder to make sure Lisbeth was still downstairs. “I am anxious to see everyone. We will leave at midnight and not a moment later. Please be ready.”
Claire stopped sorting the laundry into piles and looked at her mother. “Yeah, I will. Be ready, I mean.”
A smile darted across her mother’s face so quickly that Claire wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.
“I think you will enjoy this gathering more than you anticipate. But you must trust me.”
Claire looked down at the dirty T-shirt in her hands. “I do trust you. But I don’t really trust Beatrice. Not after everything that happened.” She looked up at her mother. “I know I’m probably not supposed to say stuff like that, since she’s the Alpha and all, but it’s true.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “I understand that. But it is not Beatrice’s fault, Claire. I blame myself—if I had been willing to teach you sooner, perhaps you would better understand our ways, perhaps you would not have been so surprised by Beatrice’s decisions.” She sighed. “But mostly, I blame Zahlia. Her stupid, selfish actions have seriously hurt the bonds of our pack. It will take some time to rebuild them.” Her mother was quiet for a long moment. “Still, I believe something will happen tonight that you will like.”
“If you say so.”
Her mother smiled, slipped back into the hall, and pulled the door shut behind her.
Claire hated it when her mother got all mysterious like that. When she’d found out what her mother really was—that she’d been living a hidden life all those years—Claire had thought maybe that explained it. She thought that the cryptic little comments and secrets would stop. Guess not.
One of the piles of laundry in front of her started to ring, and Claire dug through the clothes until she found her cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Claire.” Matthew’s voice was unusually quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, my dad’s just on a megarampage, and I’m trying to stay out of the way.”
“I saw him on TV. I thought he was at his lab. Where are you?”
“I’m with him. They finally moved the body today, and he needed help. He and his lab tech weren’t strong enough to move her, and I figured if I helped, then it wouldn’t look suspicious if they found my fingerprints there later, or something.”
“Smart.”
“Thanks. Anyway, he dragged me over to the other lab for his latest interview, and they’re almost done asking questions, so I thought I’d call while I had a chance. Listen, if I can get out of here later, do you want to do something tonight?”
Claire sighed. “I wish I could, but I’ve got some, uh, girl stuff to do later. I think I’d better stick around here tonight.”
“‘Girl stuff’? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
The teasing in his voice made Claire warm all the way down to her toes.
“You got a better idea?” she shot back.
“Nah. Oh—they’re finishing up. Okay, not tonight, but tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah, tomorrow’s good,” she said.
“Good. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
When she’d flipped the phone shut, Claire sat between the mounds of laundry, turning the phone over and over in her hand, and smiled to herself.
Claire carried a basket of dirty clothes downstairs and found Lisbeth pulling a load of clothes out of the dryer.
“Hey.” Claire tipped the basket of laundry into the empty washer and grabbed the detergent. Lisbeth smiled but didn’t say anything. Something about her eyes looked funny too. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Lisbeth pulled a pair of jeans out of the pile and started folding.
Claire hesitated. Something was going on. “Are you sure?”
Lisbeth sighed. “Yeah. I guess it’s time I told you. Do you remember Mark—the guy I met a while ago, the one from yoga?”
Claire nodded.
“Well, we’ve been seeing each other. A lot. And it’s getting pretty serious. He wants me to move in with him.”
Everything clicked into place and Claire fel
t her mouth drop open. The late-night phone calls, the weird outings after dark—Lisbeth had a secret boyfriend. Delight flooded through Claire. If Lisbeth moved in with him, everyone would be happy. She’d have more freedom. Lisbeth would finally have a life of her own. And maybe her mom would be forced to buy her a car after all. It was perfect.
“So, why do you look so worried? Don’t you want to live with him?”
“Of course I do! I’m just—I’ve been anxious about you. I know you’re not a kid anymore, but I feel like I’m abandoning you.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Come on. You wouldn’t be abandoning me. I mean, I’m already doing my own laundry, right? And besides, we could still hang out.”
Lisbeth looked relieved. “Of course. I mean, I’d still work here, if your mom’ll let me. I just wouldn’t live here.”
Claire grabbed her empty basket. “You should do what you want—I’m going to be fine. Really.” She stared hard at Lisbeth, trying to get her to see that she meant it. “You should go talk to Mom.”
Lisbeth grinned. “Maybe I will.”
At exactly midnight, Claire met her mother in the hall.
“Ah, thank you for being on time,” her mother whispered. Her face looked drawn.
At first, Claire thought it was just because she was so thin from her time in the cage, but there was something else. She studied her mother out of the corner of her eye. She’s nervous. The realization startled Claire. Why would her mother be nervous now? Is she afraid I’ll screw up, or something?
“So, what’s happening tonight?” Claire murmured.
“I’m not telling you. But it’s nothing to be worried about, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Then why are you tense?”
Her mother stopped and stared at Claire. “My goodness, chérie, you certainly have come into your own. I had no idea you’d become so observant.”
The compliment glowed in Claire’s chest, but she crossed her arms, waiting.
“Still not telling you.” Her mother pulled open the back door and stepped out into the yard. “Surely you have twenty minutes’ worth of patience in that young soul of yours?”
Claire tried to relax, but the idea of seeing Beatrice made her skin crawl. No matter what her mother said about the laws and traditions of werewolves, Claire still thought Beatrice had done the wrong thing. She hadn’t even listened before she made her decision. She hadn’t cared that Claire might have a better way, or more information. She’d just taken the easy, safe, mother-killing way out of the whole thing.
Claire de Lune Page 23