by Peter Moore
“We can tell you, ma’am, that we’re not here to investigate your daughter. The call came in about your son.”
“Are you Daniel Gray?” Agent Tall asks.
I take a breath. I feel really calm. That’s got to be from the sedative.
“Actually, it’s Dante. Maybe you have the wrong guy.”
Agent Little answers in his deep voice. “Well, the call came in about Danny Gray. So, that’s our mistake, assuming ‘Daniel.’ But it was at this address.”
All I have to do is make sure I keep my voice steady. “Did the caller know that I had genetic treatments?”
“The caller said there’s reason to believe that you did not have the treatments, and we’ve checked to confirm that you are not, in fact, registered.”
“Wait, who said this about me?” I ask, as if I were more curious and amused than mad.
Agent Tall says, “As I said, it was an anonymous call. Now, it’s a second-degree felony if you did not have successful treatments, and you’re not registered.”
“I had the treatments,” I say at the exact same time that Mom says, “He had the treatments.”
The other agent, with a lower voice, says, “If you can show us the medical records verifying that each child had successful LRT as infants.”
“Well, I don’t keep my documents in the house. They’re in a safe deposit box.”
There’s a short silence, then the smaller guy speaks. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment?”
I can hear the agents talking to each other but can’t make out what they’re saying. Where’s Troy? Oh, right. He said something about picking up a suit he had made at the tailor’s. Not that Mom hasn’t been doing a good job of handling these guys. I’m going to take a stab at this.
“Excuse me?” I say. “If I didn’t have treatments, my wulftag would be dark and clear, right? Well, look.”
The agents come back toward me.
I’m not sure why, but Mom takes my wrist and pushes my hand back down to my side. “Now, listen,” she says to the agents. “I let you in here and you’ve asked questions, and I allowed this without even asking to see a warrant.”
“Ma’am,” Agent Little says with a patient smile. “If you’d like, we can have warrants faxed immediately. Warrants to search the entire house. That tends to be disruptive, and unfortunately once in a while an accident happens and things get broken. But we can just look at your son’s hand, examine the lycanthrope identification emblem—or lack thereof—and put this whole matter to rest.”
I look to Mom. She shrugs. Even doped up as I am, I can tell she’s faking indifference to show the agents she’s not intimidated.
I put out my hand for them to see. Agent Tall reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a pair of rubber gloves, which he starts to put on.
Mom lets out a disgusted Harrumph! “I would expect that you, being experts on all matters wulven, would know that being a wulf is not contagious.”
“Thank you,” says Little. “We’re well aware. But when you touch as many as we do on any given day, it doesn’t hurt to be hygienic.”
Agent Tall holds my hand up, turning it slowly back and forth. “I don’t see anything.”
Little reaches into his pocket for a small flashlight, which he uses to shine a blue light on my hand. My wulftag shows up more clearly, now. “There’s still a trace here, which isn’t the standard vampyric ink rejection.”
Without missing a beat, Mom says, “When the tag didn’t fade away completely the pediatrician checked Dante’s blood and found him to be severely anemic. Because of that his V-beta541 cells were deficient, and we were stuck with the trace elements of the tattoo. We’re just glad it faded enough to be unnoticeable.”
Agent Little nods. “I’ve heard of that happening.” He flicks off his little flashlight and puts it away. “So what happened to you?” He nods toward my face.
“I got in a fight at school.” It hits me and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. “And I would be willing to bet anything that the so-called anonymous tip came from a guy named Gunther Hoering. Maybe you should go after him, nail him for obstruction of justice or something.”
Agent Tall smirks. “That’s a good tip,” he says. “We’ll take it under advisement.”
Little says, “We’re sorry for the disturbance. You understand, we’re just doing our job. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“You have yourselves a nice day,” Agent Tall says.
Funny that she would mention anemia. As soon as the outer door closes behind the LPCB agents, I feel light-headed and dopey. I plop down in a chair.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“Globin crash. Either that or the drugs Dr. Mellin gave me.”
She grabs her purse and takes out a porta-hemometer that she slips over my index finger. She waits for the readout. “Hmmm. Not too low. It’s probably the medication.”
“I think I’m going to lie down for a while.” She reaches to support me when I stand up, but I shake my head. “I’m okay now. Maybe I can sleep it off.”
I make it upstairs fine. When I get to my room, I see a note taped to my Sol-Blok canopy. It’s Paige’s handwriting:
Danny,
I really, really, REALLY don't want this awful, terrible, sucky thing to happen to you. It's totally and completely not fair. I hate that you have to be locked up in that disgusting room for so long. This whole thing just really bites and I feel bad for you. I hope you're going to be okay.
Sincerely, Paige (your half-sister)
P.S.
I'll miss you.
I go into her room and tap on the door before opening it. I lean in. “Thanks for the note. And everything’s fine downstairs. See? Just like I told you, nothing to worry about.” She looks unconvinced.
I have to call Juliet to end things right. Wait. Did I tell her that we have to break up? I don’t remember. Hang on. Think. I told her about changing schools. Oh, then I got into the breaking-up part. How far did we get?
I can’t do it now. That stuff Dr. Mellin gave me is really kicking in, and I can’t think clearly. I’ll sleep a little and call her later. I get into bed. Lots of time before sundown. I’ll get back to her. I’m not even worried. If I close my eyes, I’m sure that before I know it, I’ll…
Beep beep beep…Beep beep beep…Beep beep beep…
I wake up and my cell is on the floor, beeping and turning in a slow circle from the vibrating. My Sol-Blok shields are covering the windows, which means it’s still light outside. The clock says 4:47 p.m.
It’s Juliet. I was all zoned out and didn’t call her back. But my mind is clear now. “Hi. I’m so sorry. I know we were in the middle of a pretty intense conv—”
“An intense conversation? Yeah. We’ll get back to that.” Her voice is tense, her words clipped. “But right now, you need to go to your computer and look at what I just sent you.”
“What is it?”
“Just go look. I’ll hold.”
I turn on the computer and bring up my e-mail window. Right up top is the forwarded e-mail from Juliet:
Fwd: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Animal Lover
u backed the wrong horse—or dog. your little howler is due for a trip 2 the aspca 2 get neutered. but Im writing 2 u bcuz u r in need of punishment 2. it is tru, u r not a vamp, just a human, but itz still disgusting 2 see a mixing of species. would you also go out with a monkey? a mule? its called bestiality and u r a tramp and u r disgusting. u r an offense to humanity and u will pay, u little skanky…
It went on, but I didn’t need to read anymore. It was all curses and threats.
“Where are you now?” I ask Juliet.
“I’m home. I’m not going to school tonight. I don’t think I could concentrate in class, thanks to your little bombshell and your friend’s love letter.”
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going to happen
with us…I’m really sorry I didn’t call you back. I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. But I’m absolutely going to take care of this. And I promise that it won’t happen again.”
“I don’t want to get e-mails like this. Or any other—”
“I’m on it.”
“Jess, I never ask you for anything. Please just do it.”
Jessica squints at me from her bed. “What are you talking about? It’s still daytime. I’m sleeping.”
“You’d be getting up in a couple of hours anyway. Come on. It’s important.”
She doesn’t even open her eyes. “Just call her on the phone.”
“I don’t need to talk to Juliet. I need you to help me.”
“Forget it. I’m not going to get in a Sol-Blok suit right now. I’ll take you later.”
“It can’t wait until later. Tonight is it. I won’t be…able to go later.”
She looks at the clock on her Sol-Blok canopy. “You’re crazy. It’s five in the afternoon. You’re going to…you know, Change, really soon. Mom would never let us go out now.”
“You heard Dad. It won’t happen until, like, nine. That’s four hours. Lots of time. We’ll sneak out the back. Please, Jess. I’m asking you. Please.”
She sighs, thinks for a minute, and then throws the covers off. “Grab my stupid Sol-Blok suit from the closet. Get yours on, too. I’ll meet you in the car.”
“I never should’ve agreed to this,” Jess says. “Mom’s going to skin us alive if she finds out.”
“It’s not going to take long. The faster you get there, the sooner we’ll get back.”
“I can’t fly over other cars,” Jess says.
“Then go another way.”
She shakes her head. “Are you wearing Troy’s Helio Guard running suit?”
“Yeah, and don’t remind me how much it cost. I know.”
“Why didn’t you just put on a regular Sol-Blok suit?”
“Because I may need to move fast and I can’t do it in a Sol-Blok suit.”
She turns the wheel and heads up a side street.
“What do you mean about needing to move? You can’t get in another fight.”
“I can if I have to. I think that’s your left turn up there.”
She turns to look at me. Through her faceplate, I can see worry in her eyes. “Put on your gloves and headgear.”
I’m hot, even though she has the AC on. That’s the problem with all the sun-blocking clothing: it’s heavy and a little stiff. “I don’t need that until I get out of the car.”
“And if my windshield or windows break? Then what? You fry. Put the headgear on or I’m stopping.”
“Fine.” I pull the black head sleeve on and adjust it so the speaking grill is over my mouth and the hearing grates are over my ears. I put the goggles on, check all the seals. I must look like a ninja going out for a run. It’s ridiculous, but that’s not my concern right now.
“You know for a fact that he’s at home?”
“Oh, yeah.” Before I woke Jess, I got his number and called him. “This is Danny Gray.”
“Hi, pal. Good to hear from you.”
“Are you at home?”
“Yes I am.”
“Good, Stay there. We have some business to address.”
“I can hardly wait.”
That’s what he thinks. I’m just this side of pure rage. And my muscles are all pumped and primed. “Can you drive a little faster?”
She shakes her head. “This is a bad idea.” She takes a left turn, a shortcut.
Out of nowhere, it feels like a hot nail has been driven into the end of my index finger. “Ow!” I shout.
“What?”
There’s a small spattering of blood on the dashboard. I look at my hand and can’t believe what I see. A short, sharp, curved black thing has pushed out through the bottom edge of my fingernail.
Jessica turns to look and gasps. “Holy…What the hell is that?”
“I think it’s a claw. Don’t worry about it. Just hurry.”
“Don’t worry about it? You said you’re not supposed to change for another three or four hours! What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” A tiny bit of blood wells up at the base of the claw, then stops. The bottom of each nail is purple with blood, like each one was hit with a hammer. What’s that curved white part of the nail called? Oh, right. I remember, courtesy of Constance, of course: the lunula. Little moon. How perfect. I’m bleeding into the little moon.
I pull on the Sol-Blok gloves as Jess makes a left turn. “We should just turn back and get home.”
“No! We’re only two blocks away from his house. There it is. Make the second left. Go.”
“I’m going,” she says.
She doesn’t even slow down for the turn and I’m thrown against the door. “Good job,” I say. “That’s it up ahead. Green house on the right.”
She slows the car and I jump out before it’s totally stopped.
“You have two minutes,” she says, trying to sound firm in spite of the quaver in her voice.
“That’s all I’ll need. Hit the horn,” I tell her, and she does. The middle of the five garage doors starts to open. It’s so slow, I wonder if it can somehow sense I’m in a rush and is taking its time to spite me. I look at the sunlight sensor strips on my sleeves. They’re still red.
The door lurches to a stop when it’s fully open. And there, standing in the shadows at the back of the garage, is Gunther Hoering. No Sol-Blok suit.
I stride toward the garage, and as I get closer, he bursts into laughter. Still in shadow, he says, “Is this Halloween? What are you wearing?”
“Come on out and see.”
“Oh, I can see fine from here. It’s a Helio Guard running suit. From the fit, I’d say it looks like you borrowed Daddy’s. It’s an awful shade of green, and the blue stripes are doing nothing to help. Oh, wait. Now I get it. You’re wearing a running suit because…you’re…a mooon-runnnner. Clever.”
“You crossed the line and I’m here to tell you that it’s going to stop.” It’s kind of hard to sound tough while talking through a voice grate. I look at the sensor strips: purple. Still traces of sunlight.
“I crossed the line? What about you telling LPCB agents that I phoned in a tip about you? I don’t know where you came up with that flat-out lie, but I can tell you—”
“You did phone in the tip. Anonymously. Like a coward.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to. I’m guessing they went back and traced the call.”
“Even if I did make the call, the tip wasn’t false, mongrel. You are a moonrunner.”
“Yeah? Prove it.” I check the strips. Darker purple, but not blue yet. “I’m not even here about the LPCB.” I walk into the garage. “I’m here about the message you sent to Juliet Walker. You have a problem with me, you deal with me. Leave her out of it.”
Gunther Hoering laughs at me again. “I don’t take orders from anyone, much less from dogs. Usually you discipline a dog by smacking it on the nose with a newspaper. But since I don’t happen to have one available…” He reaches into a tall bag next to him and pulls out a golf club. “Now get the hell out of here.”
“I’m not leaving until I get it through to you that—”
He swings the golf club at my head. My mind says run away, but my body has other plans. Before I know it, I catch his wrist in my left hand and twist, so the other end of the golf club is in my right hand. I drive him back against the wall, pushing the shaft of the club hard against his throat, pinning him.
Gunther is pushing against the golf club as hard as he can, but it’s not moving me back even one inch. In fact, I press it harder against his throat, making him cough.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Juliet Walker does not exist to you anymore. Neither does Claire Yates, if that was your next move. And add my sister to the list. You don’t talk to them. You don’t e-mail them. You don’t call them. You don’t even look at them. Cl
ear?”
His lips move, but no sound comes out. He might be surrendering or he might be cursing. No way to tell, and it doesn’t matter much to me. I made my point. I give the golf club one more shove against his throat before I let it clatter to the cement floor. I walk backward, watching him as he coughs and sputters.
Jess beeps the horn, telling me to move.
I’m still backing away from him. I step out of the garage.
“I’m done messing with you,” I say. “Push me and see what happens.”
On my next step back, I hear a sound like a thick branch breaking. But it’s not a branch—the sound is inside my head, and it feels like ice picks being jammed in my ears. I double over for a second, but force myself to straighten up. He might charge me.
The sensor strips on my Sol-Blok suit are solid blue. It’s night. The full moon is coming fast.
I run to the car.
Gunther Hoering shouts at me from his garage. “I know what you are! I know! And you’re not going to get away with…”
But I don’t hear the rest of what he says. All I hear is the car door slam and the engine roar as Jessica hits the gas.
It hits me hard, all at once. The pain, the shakes, the fear. I’m in the front seat, next to Jess, and she’s doing her best to drive home fast without freaking out.
Every joint feels like it’s exploding. My shoes are getting tight.
My throat feels like it’s closing up.
And that killer headache is back.
“What should I do for you?” she asks.
My body starts shaking, like with chills, only much stronger. “Just get me home.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.” The shaking gets worse.
“Why is this happening?”
“I don’t know. I can’t talk right now. Just go.”
It’s killing me. I can’t take this.