“Nothing, I… I just noticed how different you act when you’re not around your friends.”
“What do you mean?” he asked defensively and narrowed his eyes.
“Nothing bad, I swear. It’s just that when you’re not around Jack and them, you’re all quiet and stuff.”
He grunted and his eyes fell back to his book, but they didn’t move. He looked back up at me after a moment, “Is it really that obvious?”
“It is to me.” I shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about anyone else noticing, I just had certain expectations of you because of your friends. I sorta feel like an asshole for stereotyping you, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it; I did the same thing to you,” he said and cracked a brief smile.
“Oh?”
“Well, it was pretty freaky to see you lose so much weight that fast. I figured you were doing drugs or something.”
“Not by a long shot. Don’t feel bad though, my parents thought I was bulimic.” I almost laughed and dug through my backpack. My hand touched worn creased paper, and I pulled out the werewolf book from the library. As soon I looked at it, an idea blossomed and I flipped through the pages to see if I could find… yes!
“Did you think of something?” Bo asked.
“You know what, I think I did… Ever heard of King Lycaon?”
“Wasn’t he the guy who tried to feed human flesh to Zeus, and was turned into a wolf?”
And you know this how? I struggled to keep my curiosity from showing. Surprise was unavoidable though; I hadn’t expected him to actually know the legend. “Yeah, pretty much; want to do the project on him?”
“Sure, no one else has him,” I was pretty sure no one else even knew about him, except maybe Loki, “is that book yours,” he held out his hand and I gave it to him.
“No, it’s from the library, why?”
“I’ve just heard a lot about it. I never knew we had a copy here.”
“I heard it sorta circulates around the state.” Largely because Fen kept ordering it.
“What made you pick it up?” he asked as he scanned through a few pages then paused on one of the woodcut illustrations.
“I dunno, just sorta caught my eye I guess, I thought it looked little a little out of place.” I’d like to thank the Academy… We were both acting; I could only hope he didn’t realize it. “I really like mythology, hence this class, so I sorta ate it up. C’mon, let’s go see if Mrs. Coulter’s okay with it.” I tried to seem nonchalant as I stood and walked over, but my mind whirred. Why did he know about King Lycaon? And how come he’d ‘heard’ about the book before?
The bell rang as I talked to Mrs. Coulter, and Bo stuffed a wrinkled shred of notebook paper into my hand with his phone number as he walked past. I watched his back as he walked out of the classroom, and my wolf stirred.
I made a mental note to keep an eye on him.
After the final bell, I maneuvered the chaos of the hallway and paused at the auditorium doors. I rested a hand on the ornately carved wooden doors, and an image flashed in my mind of a window, frosted and opaque, with a figure on the other side holding a hand to the glass. Only one idea left, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know anymore. I was almost afraid, but I still had some hope that I was jumping to the wrong conclusion.
I fought the wind all the way home, and then helped Jacob out of his windbreaker and grabbed a thick worn blanket from the pile by the couch. The smell of the old cloth was familiar and roused bittersweet memories from younger days; when a single mother comforted her outcast son.
I walked into John’s office and closed the door behind me. I looked at one of the sketches sprawled across his drafting table; a church taking shape, while I roused the computer from standby and minimized his CAD program. I draped the blanket over my arms so I could work the mouse and keyboard.
I fired up the web browser and went to the local newspaper’s archive search, and then typed in the exact name I wanted to find. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at the results. The first article was from this year and had absolutely no relevance, but the second was three years old and had me almost out of the chair with my face inches from the screen.
Missing Teen found Dead in School
“This morning, the search for missing teen Corwin Corbeaux (15) was called off. High school drama teacher Dana Cartwright opened the auditorium to prepare for class and discovered the boy’s body. The school was closed for the day, as the investigative team processed the scene and questioned possible witnesses. Corbeaux was found dead of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The gun found at the scene belonged to his recently divorced father, and a suicide note was recovered from the body. The victim’s mother informed police that he had been suffering from severe depression stemming from his stressful home life, and disintegrating social life at school. Counselors will be available for grieving students, and seminars will be held regarding stress management and depression. School is scheduled to reopen tomorrow morning. Funeral services for Corbeaux have yet to be announced.”
My heart pounded as my mind whirled and I fell back into the chair; half remembered images bubbling to the surface.
Shadows and fog…
That dream…
A deep russet curtain, a cluttered menagerie of things lying about in dusty piles…
When the veil thinned…
A figure curled up in the shadows, weeping…
Wasn’t a dream at all…
It’s too hard… too damn hard for me… So much easier…
It was his memory…
No one will miss me…
It was his death…
A blinding crack of light and pain…
Chapter 10 – Hope
My tears soaked into the blanket as I buried my face in it and rocked back and forth in the chair. Once the whirl of memories settled and I was able to compose myself, I closed the browser and left the computer to the way I found it.
I fought to keep from freaking out, but the thought that I’d stood in the auditorium talking to a dead boy last month was disturbing to say the least. A dead boy who was somehow connected to my Pack… Fen looked so eroded whenever someone even neared the subject; and I couldn’t forget that tang of guilt that I’d picked up from him. The nagging fly in the back of my mind buzzed a little louder, and I felt a churn in the pit of my stomach. The suspicions I’d tried to ignore crawled out again, the doubts; and that huge skeleton in his closet.
I just couldn’t see how Fen could be responsible for Corwin’s suicide. Maybe it was regret more than guilt; a loss like that leaves a pretty deep wound. I tried to imagine how it would feel if Loki or Geri committed suicide; someone I’d just talked to earlier that day, had pizza with, laughed with; gone forever.
Yeah, it’d take way more than three years to recover from that…
I wiped my face and sniffed, and then felt my expression harden. No matter what else had happened, these people were good for me and I was happy with them.
The tide of emotions left me drained and weary, so I crept downstairs and crawled into bed. It was about damn time for the day to be over.
I woke up Thanksgiving morning with a horrible knot in my neck. I shuffled upstairs to the commotion in the kitchen, and blearily considered diving into the ruckus to retrieve a much needed cup of coffee, but the chaotic flurry proved too daunting for my sleep-soft brain to process. I settled for sneaking a slice of pumpkin pie for breakfast, and then retreated to the living room.
I slid onto the couch and as soon as the first bite hit my tongue, my senses came online. The house was full-to-bursting with aroma; the sweet smoky tang of circle-cured ham, baking sweet potatoes and steamed green beans.
Mental note: holidays would be way more intense with the senses of a wolf…
“Jimmy, can you set the table?” Mom called from the kitchen, I didn’t think she’d even seen me. I grumbled and rolled off the couch while my back groaned and
popped audibly.
I wrestled the extension into the table and set out plates and silverware. When everything was ready, we passed the plates and dished up.
“So,” John started as he handed me a platter, “some envelopes came in the mail this week from a few of the colleges around the state.” My throat tightened and I thought I would choke. “I was thinking maybe we could go over them this weekend while you’re home from school.”
“Um, sure…” I felt the blood drain from my face, my stomach churned as Mrs. Ashcroft’s advice spun in my head.
You want change? Take control of your life for once.
“Actually, I wanted to talk with you guys about the college thing.” Mom looked at me with expectant eyes, but John looked wary. “I’ve been wondering, why do you want me to go to college so badly?”
I could tell it wasn’t what they’d expected to hear, and they glanced at each other as they tried to come up with a response.
“Well,” John said and cleared his throat, “the key to a good career is an education, and we want to set you up for a good life.”
“Even though I haven’t even chosen a career?” John was about to say something, but that brought him short. I seized the opening. “I don’t want to waste your money, and I don’t want to ruin anything, so… Would it be so bad if I didn’t go to college right away?”
“What would you do instead?” Mom asked.
“Work?” I volunteered. I’d worked over the summer, but I knew that wasn’t anything like a real job.
“But Jimmy… We’re prepared to help you through school, why would you want to give that up?”
“Why do I have to give it up? Can’t I just take a rain check? All I’m asking for is a year or two to get some experience and decide what I want to study. Guys I—” I struggled for a second, but finally found words for what was bothering me, “I don’t even feel like I know who I am yet. Too much has changed, too fast, and I don’t even know what my identity is anymore.”
“Jimmy, you may never figure that out. People change over time, in drastic ways, what if you keep delaying until it’s too late? I paid for my certification with blood and tears and far too many years of your life. I missed so much of you growing up because I was trying to provide for our future, and I’ll never get that back.”
All this time I’d thought it was John who was pushing me, but no. John was just the financer; it was Mom’s agenda.
“Mom, do you want me to go to school for me, or for you?” I stared at her, and felt my wolf stir.
“For you, of course, I—” I fought to keep him from my eyes, but I wasn’t completely successful. Her words caught in her throat, and then she shook her head like she was breaking out of a trance. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“I’m turning eighteen in a few months Mom.” She blinked, “I’ll be an adult, and I’ll be responsible for my own choices. Let me choose my life.” Mom looked like I’d slapped her across the face. “I promise, I will go to school. But not until I’m ready.”
I felt some invisible dynamic shift. The way John looked at me, I thought I imagined a glint of respect in his eye, but Mom fell silent. She stared into space, and then stood and took some of the dishes to the sink, and then took Jake into the living room without another word to me.
John and I cleaned up the table and washed dishes. He was quiet, but I could tell he was thinking about what I said. I scrubbed the dishes and handed them to him to dry and put away.
“Are you sure about this?” he muttered at last.
“More than I am about going to college.” I said, my voice firm.
“Then we’ll have your back when you’re ready.” He pulled a hand out from under the towel and squeezed my shoulder, then went back to work. I froze; my wolf’s hackles rose as forbidden emotions stirred. I quickly shoved them down and finished my job, and then I cut one of the pumpkin pies and added a flourish of whipped cream and cinnamon to each slice.
Jake squealed with delight when I came around the corner with the pie. He was propped up under Mom’s arm, and she accepted a slice of pie without looking at me. I kept my thoughts to myself. John lit the kindling in the fireplace and we sat together watching the warm flicker of the flames.
I had no idea I’d nodded off until John shook me awake, and told me to wake up so I could go to bed.
We tried to sleep in the next morning; but once Jacob came online, there was no stopping him. He’d long ago figured out that Thanksgiving made way for Christmas, which was when he got presents… amazing deductive reasoning skills were at work in that boy’s head… Still, at least he wasn’t as bad as the retail monstrosities that started setting up Christmas before Halloween was even out of the way. Well, he wasn’t that bad yet…
We had leftover ham and scrambled eggs for breakfast, and I took a chunk of ham with me into the living room and gnawed on it while we put up the tree near the big porch window. Over the years, the tree had taken on a life of its own and even the smell—dust and warm lights with just a hint of cinnamon—brought back good memories. Mom put on some of our favorite Christmas music, and I closed my eyes to drink in the sounds.
We’d adopted the habit of setting up our decorations on Black Friday as an excuse not to get dragged into retail hell for the day. We would eventually, oh yes… we would… but not today.
Mom distributed our most precious ornaments them one by one. Each had a story, a history, and a memory all its own. I could still remember when I was little, Mom handed them to me, just like she did now, to hang on our little desktop tree. We couldn’t afford a real tree yet, but she’d found that little one at a thrift store, and I thought it looked so nice holding our ornaments on the little table in the living room.
John stood on the chair beside the tree and placed the star—which looked like a golden firecracker in mid-detonation—and a large gold bow on top. This final piece of the ceremony, and the tree seemed to wake to a life all its own as colors splashed across the room. A living, breathing symbol of our Christmas…
Jacob and I put up the remainder of the inside decorations; while John put up the lights outside and Mom very carefully set up her music boxes on the fireplace mantle. Most were almost as old as she was; her first given to her by her father when she was two; and another had followed every Christmas until I was born and she was kicked out. Because of me, she hadn’t talked to her parents since then, but she still dusted them and wound them up to play as she hummed along and prepared the next. My brother and I wrapped a garland around the rail on the stairs that led up to their bedrooms, then I helped him hang up everyone’s stockings at the fireplace.
When I realized I couldn’t procrastinate any longer, I picked up the phone and dialed the number Bo gave me. He arrived after dinner with his backpack over his shoulder, an older grey Toyota truck parked at the curb in front of the house. I invited him inside and then led him down to the Dungeon.
I kicked my clothes from the middle of the floor to make a workspace and we spread our books out. Nothing better than doing homework over Thanksgiving Break… oh boy…
Seconds after sitting down, Bo pointed at my guitar in the corner. “Are you in a band?”
His question took me off guard. “Um, no, not really,” I said. I didn’t think Loki’s lessons counted, but the idea had kind of wallowed in the back of my head. “Why, are you?”
“Kinda, but not really, I used to play drums for my church, but I got burnt out with that after a while. What kind of music do you play?”
“Hard rock and heavy metal, that kind of stuff. I’m not very good though.” I said, embarrassed.
Bo laughed as he snagged the werewolf book out of my pile. “I doubt I am anymore either, but I’d be down to jam sometime.”
“Um, sure.” Weird. Did that really just happen?
I busied myself looking through the text for more sources to cite, while Bo seemed more interested in the book than our project, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he pored over it w
ord by word.
“So, why are you so curious about werewolves?” I tried to seem nonchalant as I jotted down some notes.
“Why do you ask?” he glanced up at me, his eyes defensive.
“Why do you answer questions with a question?” I snapped as my temper flared. I gestured at him with eraser of my pencil, “You know all about this obscure werewolf myth, and now you’re fixated on that book. What’s the deal?”
I looked him directly in the eyes. If he were like us, he would have recognized the challenge. Instead he looked at the book in his hands and sighed. Well, he wasn’t a shifter, so, what then?
“If I told you, you’d think I’m crazy…”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you are; but crazy isn’t one of the immediate options.” He didn’t seem inclined to continue, so I prompted him. “How about you tell me, and let me decided how I’m going to react?”
“You promise you won’t tell anyone?” he glared at me.
“Bo, you wouldn’t believe the secrets I already keep.” I rolled my eyes and sat back.
He sighed and seemed to brace himself. “I… sorta… think-that-werewolves-might-be-real…” He rushed the last part, like ripping off a Band-Aid. He winced and blurted on in a nervous rush. “I know, I know, it’s stupid, and totally weird, but—“
“Whoa, Bo! Of course they’re real.” Whoa, Jimmy whoa!
“What do you mean?” Shit, think fast…
“Lycanthropy’s a form of schizophrenia. They’ve been diagnosing and treating it for years.”
“I know that, but that wasn’t what I was talking about…” he sounded frustrated, more with himself than me though.
“Then tell me what you believe; explain it so I can understand.” And determine if you’re a threat or not…
He launched into a passionate explanation, as though it was a debate and he was trying to convince me of his point of view. I’m sure, to him, it was. He didn’t know that I was just nodding along politely and feigning ignorance as he told me things I already knew. Inside, I felt a little worm of worry squirm in my gut. He actually knew a lot about us, at least our history, but that could be gathered from any number of books and websites out there, including the old paperback in his hand. What really concerned me though, wasn’t the past, but the now.
Walking Wolf Road (Wolf Road Chronicles Book 1) Page 15