When his body stopped, Frank lay there in the pine straw and dirt, chest heaving, mouth open as he tried to catch his breath and cool his overheated body. He whimpered, the wound to his paw now an angry throb. He stretched, feeling bruises, but no breath-stealing pain of a break. Sitting up in the dim light from the moon overhead he concentrated on shifting back to human. Paws to hands, claws to fingers.
The shock of the change almost made him pass out. But when he blinked away the darkness at the edges of his vision, he could use his shaking hands to take off his backpack and rummage through the contents for his keys. He switched on the small LED flashlight attached to the key ring and pointed it at his injured foot.
A brown shard of glass protruded through the skin. Someone must have thrown a beer bottle from a car window at some point in the past. It had shattered on the shoulder of the highway and remained a jagged pitfall waiting for Frank to gallop over it in his wild run. The sharp glass had to have gone straight through his wolf’s paw pad to be embedded this deep. Inside Frank’s head the wolf whimpered. Shit. This would be hell to walk home on. Best he get the worst of it over with.
Taking several quick breaths, Frank grasped the shard and gave it a swift yank.
“Arrrgh!”
The initial rush of blood gushed out of the wound, and he swallowed several times, shutting his eyes as he waited for the stab of pain to subside. His stomach rolled, and he swallowed down his pain-induced nausea. He broke out in a cold sweat that only emphasized the stickiness of the oncoming night’s humidity. When he’d panted a few more times and made sure the remains of his lunch stayed down, the blood had slowed to a sluggish drip. The curse, of course. Tied to his genes, it had a semi-protective effect, or he’d have been dead from rapid metabolic aging brought on by the shift by the time he reached twenty. And tonight the walk home wouldn’t be fun, but at least he wouldn’t bleed out in the woods.
Frank took a deep breath, scenting the foul odor of the paper mill a few miles away. He was probably a couple of miles from home then, if he took a shortcut through the woods. It would be harder than the easy walk on the side of the road, but shorter. He should be home by 10:00 p.m. at the latest.
He resettled his pack on his back and shifted once again to the wolf. Mindful of his bruised side and hurt foot, he got to all fours. He whimpered when the injured limb first hit the ground, but it supported him when he tried an experimental limp. Beginning a halting three-legged gait, Frank used his nose to take him home.
Getting dressed again in the woods behind the apartment house wasn’t fun. After two hours spent traversing the woods and streets between the interstate and Waycroft Falls, the sweat caked to a briny salt on Frank’s skin. Pine sap glued straw and leaf debris into his hair and made his hands sticky where his paws had walked. He grimaced as he slid his shirt over his grimy skin and leaned against a tree to avoid putting his weight on his tender foot as he pulled up his jeans.
His foot still ached despite his advanced healing, which made Frank wonder if a small glass piece might still be inside, keeping the wound from healing. He hadn’t wanted to check in the dark behind the apartments. Not when he was so close to being home where he could shower and rest.
Walking back to town had given him a lot of time to think. About the play. About Tom. About how hard everyone in the cast and crew had worked trying to make the play a success. About how Annie needed this play to work so the bookstore could stay open.
He swayed on the doorstep of the apartment house for a moment, checking for his keys in his pants pockets. Did he put them back in his pants when he changed? Coming up empty, he unzipped his backpack to dig through it.
The apartment door opened wide, and the hall light illuminated the front stoop.
“Did someone drag you half a mile behind a pickup truck?” Mrs. Anderson had her hair in plastic green curlers and her floral housecoat buttoned up to her chin.
“Yes, ma’am.” Frank answered her automatically. Only when her eyebrow rose did he realize what he was agreeing to and amended it. “I mean, no, ma’am. I wasn’t.”
“Well, are you coming in, or are you going to stand in the dark all night?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m coming in. I need to find my key.” Frank blinked, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. He swallowed down the saliva and nausea that followed.
“Come in and sit down before you fall down.” Mrs. Anderson grabbed him by his arm and with a firm grasp, wrangled him across the threshold and into her apartment.
She led him to her heavy claw-footed chintz armchair. As if he was boneless, Frank fell into it. He winced as his bruised backside hit the uncomfortable springs beneath the thin upholstery. He squirmed a little in the chair.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea.” Mrs. Anderson’s flat statement allowed no argument, and she shuffled in her pink pom-pom slippers to the kitchen.
Frank closed his eyes, sinking into the scant padding of the hard chair. Would she notice if he fell asleep right here?
“You’ve got blood there.”
Mrs. Anderson’s voice shocked him from his dozing, and Frank sat up straighter. How long had he been out?
“What?” He looked at where her bony finger pointed. His white Vans were now an ugly red brown on one foot. “Oh. Yeah. I…um…went hiking in the woods, and I took my shoes off, but I think I must have trod on some glass or something.”
“Let me see. Take it off.” Mrs. Anderson pulled a folded stepstool from the foyer closet. She wrestled it open with a squeak and sat down in front of him. “Well.” Her frail hands waved at his foot.
Frank lifted it, and she grabbed it, pulling it into her lap. Mrs. Anderson dropped the shoe and peeled off his blood-soaked sock. She tossed it on the shoe while her lip curled with disgust.
“Humph. Gonna need to wash this off.” She let go of it and stood up. Frank caught himself right before his heel thumped onto the wooden floorboard.
“You don’t need to bother, Mrs. Anderson. I can do my own first aid.” He opened his mouth to protest more, but instead it cracked wide in an involuntary yawn.
“Nonsense. I was a school nurse for ten years before I became a housewife.”
Frank stifled a grimace as he imagined a school full of children facing down a younger but no less stern Mrs. Anderson.
She returned with a dishpan and a washcloth. “I’m tempted to make you wash your face, but your foot needs it more. I’m going to clean the wound so I can see if you need stitches.”
“I don’t think—” Frank held his foot back.
“That is apparent. Now give it to me.” Mrs. Anderson frowned. “If you had the good sense God gave you, you’d stop acting like a martyr and get it over with.”
“I…” But Frank shut his mouth on the objection. He’d engineered enough drama today, what with running out on the play like an angsty teenager. Tom didn’t have to stay in Waycroft Falls just because Frank wanted him to. And it hadn’t been his finest moment when Frank had a fit about it in front of the whole cast. He hoped they all thought it was part of the game.
Ignoring his hesitation, Mrs. Anderson grabbed his foot and yanked it into her lap.
“You know, a lot of things are easier if you get them over with.” She dabbed at the bottom of his foot, the gesture gentle but firm. “It’s not just a Band-Aid that works with. Sometimes it’s secrets.”
His insecurity with Tom. The play. Frank had realized limping back through the woods that most of his outburst had been about one thing—he didn’t want to tell the rest of the cast about his Galen’s. But he needed to for the play to go forward. And the whole town would know by the end of the play’s run.
“There’s still something in the wound. This might sting a moment, but it’ll be over quickly.” Mrs. Anderson held her magnifying glass in one hand and a businesslike pair of tweezers in the other.
A twinge of pain echoed in his limb when she closed them on something. Frank gritted his teeth. She held up the tweezers with a tiny
piece of bloody glass between the tines.
“Got it. Amazing how such a little thing can cause so much trouble.” Mrs. Anderson slathered the wound with some ointment and left a loose bandage on it. “I’ll expect an apology for being such a baby about this.” She left with the basin and the bloody washcloth.
“Sorry, Mrs. Anderson. I appreciate this,” Frank called after her retreating form. He owed an apology to Tom too. And to his castmates. He’d tell them about his condition at the next rehearsal. Get it over with. And if they treated him any different… Frank exhaled, the throb in his foot subsiding now that the wound was clean. Well, if they treated him differently, he’d have to show them he wasn’t different. He was still the Frank they knew.
“Here’s your tea. Drink it.” Mrs. Anderson thunked a mug on the side table.
She dragged the stepstool away. Frank upended the cup, swallowing down the hot tea with a grimace. Then he levered himself up from the chair and grabbed his shoe and pack.
“Thanks, Mrs. Anderson.”
She turned, a look of suspicious surprise on her face. Her lips pursed. Was that disappointment?
“Go on then.” She waved him away and ignored Frank as he let himself out.
He hopped up the stairs, his mind already a whirl with worries about the next rehearsal. It would be hard, but once he told everyone, his curse would no longer be a sword looming over him. Maybe he’d even have an easier time in town. A few people might sympathize.
He wouldn’t need to hide anymore. That would be a good thing. Right?
Frank let himself into his apartment and dropped onto the sofa. He rummaged in his pack for his phone and pulled up his contacts.
“Tom? Yeah, it’s Frank. I’m sorry I acted like an ass. You’re right that the cast needs to know. Let’s tell them at the next rehearsal.”
On the other end of the line, Tom remained silent for a long moment. “Frank, I know you’re worried about this. If you don’t want to—”
Frank interrupted him. “No. I’ve thought about it and this is important. This could be a teaching moment, right?”
“Yeah.” Tom’s exhale was shaky.
“I want that.” And Frank realized he did. The warmth in the pit of his stomach bolstered him. He wouldn’t have to hide anymore.
Chapter Sixteen
Frank scratched at his arm, feeling the bite of nerves as his talons extended. Fingers, fingers, fingers not claws. They retracted, and he soothed the red skin with a rub. His anxiety thrummed in his muscles, urging him to move even as he strained to stay still during Tom’s initial notes to the cast. His inner wolf paced inside his mind.
Gabriella looped her arm through his elbow. “Deep breaths. One in, one out. One-two in, one-two out.”
Frank nodded and began the exercises she’d showed him. His heartbeat slowed its frantic pace.
“Okay, tonight we’ll run straight through act two. Then we’re only doing full rehearsals until opening night.” Tom stood in front of them, center stage. “Remember what we decided on when we worked on your sections. We’re bringing it all together now.” Tom looked at each player. “We can do this.”
Tom turned to Frank. “Are you ready?”
Frank took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”
Tom gave him a thumbs-up. Frank stepped forward and began his explanation.
“Some of you already know, but for those of you who don’t, I’m not using special makeup or a mask to become the beast. I have Galen’s syndrome.”
Tom’s focus shifted from person to person, and Frank followed his gaze, looking to see what everyone thought, gauge whether they showed horror or curiosity.
The room stilled as the information sank in. Tom asked, “Does anyone here not know what that is?”
Two hands went up. Frank swallowed hard.
Tom looked to him. Frank pressed his lips together, gathering his courage to explain the condition.
“Galen’s syndrome is a genetic curse.” Frank stared at his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers, wanting to look up and see whether everyone was rolling their eyes or checking their phones or listening. Unable to bear it, he glanced up. Most of his castmates were sitting quietly, staring at him. He cleared his throat.
“It works like a genetic mutation. Only, its origins come from a curse that was placed on an ancestor of mine. I have lycanthropy because my mother and father both carried a recessive cursed gene. Lycanthropy enables me to change from human into a wolf form.”
“So you’re a shape-shifter, then? Like a werewolf from the movies?” Danny’s brow furrowed.
Frank shook his head. “No. Werewolves in movies are created when another werewolf bites them. I can’t infect someone with Galen’s.”
“But you could pass it down to your children.” Emma spoke up.
“Yes.” Frank exhaled.
Aimee twirled a finger in her hair. “So do you know what’s going on when you change, or like, are you really a wild animal?”
Frank frowned. “I’m still me. It’s a curse that changes my shape, not my intelligence.”
Aimee’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
Frank held up a hand. “It’s okay. If you’ve never been around someone with Galen’s, you don’t know.” He swallowed. His inner wolf had its tail between its legs. “That’s why I’m telling you all. I’ve been quiet about my condition, so only a few people in town know. But I agreed to be in this play where my Galen’s will be an actual part of the production.”
“I’ve never even heard of this before,” Campbell offered. “It’s not dangerous for you to perform like this, is it?”
“No.” Tom interrupted before Frank could speak. “Frank isn’t a violent person, and he’s not aggressive when he shifts.”
Gabriella interrupted. “This is taking a tremendous amount of courage for Frank to come out like this to the entire town. But on the upside, our little play has a good chance of being well attended and educating more people about Galen’s syndrome.” Gabriella patted Frank on the arm. “And he’ll be the most convincing Beast this fairy tale has ever seen onstage.”
Frank thrust his twitching hands behind his back. His insides still quivered, but Gabriella’s and Tom’s support helped.
“Can we see it?” Stan asked.
Frank hesitated. “Um, sure.” He was wearing shorts today, which he could keep on, but he shouldered out of his polo shirt and kicked off his shoes.
“Dude, what’s your workout regimen? You are ripped,” Danny crowed. One of the female players giggled, and Frank turned red.
“Let’s be professional, people.” Tom’s harsh voice cut through the laughter, but he winked at Frank.
Frank flung his shirt onto a chair and closed his eyes. Hands to paws; fingers to claws. The hair sprouted first, and then he registered the pull of his bones reshaping. He opened his eyes, looking up into the circle of people. Nervous, he opened his mouth to pant.
“He won’t be a dog during the play, right?” Reina shot a look at Tom.
“No. He’ll be halfway. Um…” Tom reached over to grab the tablecloth off the dining room table set. He held it up in front of Frank. “Frank, can you shift to where you can speak?”
Frank gave a lupine yawp and ducked his head. Paws to hands; claws to fingers. He forced his eyes open, gauging the shift in his bones and sinews. His arms lengthened; his legs bunched. He stood, his ankles still long, balancing on the balls of his feet. His clawed hands scrabbled for the shorts that had fallen to his feet, and he pulled them on, able to zip them if not manipulate the button. When Tom took away the cloth, Frank steeled himself for the gasp.
Not in fear. Please not in fear. Reina stepped back. But Aimee and Danny surged forward. Emma and Campbell hung back. Stan at least looked curious. Celia had a frown on her face.
“This is amazing.” Aimee reached out for his arm, taking his clawed hand in hers.
“So cool, dude.” Danny clapped him on the back. “This’ll be the best play eve
r.”
Campbell, the oldest member of the cast who played Beauty’s father, nodded. “It will be the most authentic version onstage.”
“It will put us on the map.” Gabriella grinned.
“Okay, everybody, show-and-tell is over.” Tom clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s begin at the start of act two.”
“Places,” John called and settled in with his notebook in his lap in the front row.
Tom grabbed Frank’s arm and leaned in close. “You did great.” The whisper caressed Frank’s ear, and then he felt an unexpected brush of Tom’s lips against his furry nape.
Frank swallowed, wishing they were anywhere but in a room full of actors.
Tom smirked. “Get up onstage, leading man.”
Frank trotted backstage, his heart a little lighter.
TOM SAT DOWN beside John. His players scrambled into position. The dinner scene required Beauty to enter and eat while wooed by the beast.
The scene began with the invisible servants in black—Celia, Aimee, Stan, and Reina—all setting out the food and making the table look inviting. Then Frank entered, imposing in his half-shifted state, his muscular, hairy chest bare. His lupine legs remained, however, giving him an alien walk. His snout jutted forward, over his jaw. His ears twitched, bracketing the thick red-brown mane of hair that extended down his back. Frank bared his teeth, slumping into a chair at the table.
Reina, in the whirling dance of the servants, rotated across the stage, placing a candelabrum in the center of the table before twirling behind it to stand motionless with the other servants.
Gabriella stepped onto the stage, her back stiff, her hands clenched.
“I am here as you commanded, Beast.”
Frank rose from his chair, his claws making scratching sounds on the stage as he walked to her.
“So you are, Beauty.” Frank strained to project through his half-shifted vocal chords. The sound emerged a little like a lupine yawp shaped around words, the “oo” sound of “so” and “you” drawn out almost into a yodel. It gave a strange higher register to Frank’s voice, making it alien but still understandable.
Wolf Around the Corner Page 15