Moonglow

by Michael Griffo

  “Wait a second,” I say. “The last time I transformed, the first time I guess, I distinctly remember hearing Jess’s voice, hearing her screams. I don’t remember anything else, nothing specific, and I definitely don’t remember . . . killing her, but I know that I heard her voice. I was moving toward her to help her. But this time I don’t remember anything.”

  “You were probably fighting it the first time,” my father offers.

  “You probably had no idea what was happening to you,” Archie adds.

  “And this time?” I ask.

  “Maybe your body has given in to what you truly are,” Nadine says.

  I know she didn’t mean for her comment to sound so harsh and blunt and irreversible, but it does.

  “So you think the true me is a werewolf?!”

  “I’m sorry, Dom,” Nadine starts. “I could sugarcoat it, but what’s the sense? This woman put a curse on you before you were born, before you were even conceived.”

  “So from the day I was born I was cursed,” I say, finishing Nadine’s theory.

  “No,” my father barks. “Don’t think that way, and, Nadine, please don’t fill Dominy’s head with such garbage.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Robineau, it’s just how I see it,” she says in her defense.

  “Well, I don’t see it that way, and neither should any of you!” he yells. “This curse is because of me, no one else, and Dominy’s an innocent victim.”

  Am I? Could it be that my destiny is drenched in evil? Isn’t it true that some people are born that way? They don’t learn how to be evil. It isn’t a response to their environment, or a sick upbringing; it’s merely part of their DNA. Maybe that’s me. Maybe I’m living proof that pure evil exists.

  “I might be a victim, Dad,” I say. “But I’m far from innocent.”

  When my father shouts, it’s with a new voice. Harsher and angrier than I’ve ever heard him sound before.

  “Enough! What we need to do is find a way to reverse this curse,” my father declares. “Before anyone else gets hurt . . . or killed. So Dominy and all of us can put this behind us.”

  Suddenly I want to feel like an animal, trapped and caged.

  “The only way we can put this behind us is to lock me up somewhere!” I shout. “Put me in basement of The Retreat—what’s the name of it again? The Dungeon! Yes! Put me there, away from everyone, so I can never hurt anyone again!”

  And Nadine is just as quick to lend a helping hand and some rational logic.

  “That won’t solve the problem at all; it’ll only contain it,” Nadine says. “Your father’s right. We have to get to the root of this spell. And you can count on me to help do just that.”

  “Me too, Dom,” Archie adds. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, and then we’ll break it. Break it so it can’t ever harm another person.”

  I can’t look at Archie any longer. His unrelenting friendship is too much to bear considering that I almost killed him.

  “And I don’t care what anyone says,” Archie adds, as if he can read my mind. “I know you wouldn’t have hurt me.”

  Unrelenting and undeserved.

  “How could you know that?!” I scream. “After what I did to Jess!”

  Archie doesn’t back down from my attack. If anything, it makes him even more certain.

  “Because you might have turned into a wolf, transformed into an animal, but your eyes were yours!”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Your eyes, Dom,” Archie says more quietly, but with the same conviction. “They were yours. They were still connected to you as a person.”

  Half girl, half beast. Isn’t that delightful? After a moment I realize it is; I wasn’t lost; I didn’t completely give in. I am like my mother, always fighting to survive against whomever or whatever is invading my body.

  “You weren’t going to hurt me,” Archie adds. “Right, Nadine?”

  Startled, Nadine doesn’t answer immediately. But when she does, she agrees with Archie.

  “No, I don’t think you were,” she says. “I think the only reason you attacked is because you got spooked when your father barged in.”

  My father looks at Nadine like she just stuck a knife in his back.

  “I’m not accusing you, Mr. Robineau,” Nadine quickly adds. “I’m not. It’s just that, well, what other explanation could there be?”

  Well, if part of the human me is connected to the wolf me, which one has more power over the other?

  “If that’s true, then why did I kill Jess?” I ask. “If I could have seen her, I would have never . . .”

  “Dominy, you were confused; you had no idea what was happening to you,” my father assures me. “I should’ve told you everything. You could’ve been prepared, and nothing bad would have happened.”

  “Don’t worry, Dom. From now on we got your back,” Archie says. “So nothing bad is ever going to happen again.”

  If I didn’t believe his words, his hug convinces me that I’ll never have to question his loyalty or wonder if I’ll receive his forgiveness. But I’m not sure about everyone in the room.

  “What about you, Caleb?” I ask. “You’ve been awfully quiet this whole time.”

  This time when Caleb looks at me, it’s without hesitation, and the rest of the people in the room vanish. His eyes are incredibly soft, while the rest of his body is solid and strong and ready for battle. I just have no idea if he’s going to fight with me or against me.

  “I’ve been quiet because I want to remember this moment,” he says.

  “Because it’s the moment when everything changed?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he agrees. “It’s the moment when I realized I’m in love with you.” He’s speaking right to me and ignoring the others in the room. “I thought I was before; I thought that I loved you, but I was wrong. This is love, what I’m feeling right now.”

  I move closer to the couch and hold on to an arm because I feel my knees buckle. I want his love; I want to feel it drape itself over me, but how can this be true? How can he possibly love me now that he knows what I really am?

  “No, Caleb, you don’t have to say that.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth,” he replies.

  “How can you . . . love me?” I ask.

  “Because I’ve seen you at your worst, Domgirl,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I didn’t run away. For a bit there, yeah, I wanted to. My body started to go; I was almost out the door.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Guess it was our invisible string,” he replies.

  My tears no longer want to purge my body of shame and guilt and ugliness. This time they want to celebrate and praise and share the joy that I’m feeling. It’s disconcerting to feel so wonderful, so complete at a time like this, but that’s how I feel. And fighting against joy, like fighting against a curse, is a losing battle. So I surrender.

  “I assume invisible strings are part of a private joke or something,” my father says.

  Before I can explain, Nadine fills him in.

  “From Jane Eyre,” she correctly surmises. “Jane and Mr. Rochester are connected by a piece of invisible string that is tied from one rib to the other.”

  “I must’ve missed that one,” my father replies, smiling.

  “No matter what happens, Dominy, no matter where this curse leads you, I’ll be right by your side,” Caleb continues. “Never doubt my words. And never doubt my love.”

  I can hardly speak, but I have to.

  “Thank you, Caleb,” I whisper. “I never will.”

  He kisses me softly on my lips, still not caring that there are others nearby. It’s a chaste kiss, a simple gesture to show that we are connected, now and for always. When he wraps his arms around me, I allow their strength to take over, so I can let go of mine. I may be the only one who’s cursed, but I know that I can’t survive on my own.

  Unable to resist, unable to contain their own willingness to help and offer their support, more arms wrap themselves around me
. I feel Archie rest his chin on my shoulder, and I feel my father’s immensely strong arms embrace all three of us. When he rests his forehead against my temple I feel his tears drop onto my cheek. Our fear, our pain, our joy is all interwoven, one unable to exist without the others, and I’m truly overwhelmed by the feeling of love and friendship and commitment.

  It’s only when I look up and across the room that I see Nadine staring at me. Understandably, she’s keeping her distance. I’ve known Archie and Caleb for years; my relationship with Nadine is still quite new, and just the fact that she hasn’t gone running out of here screaming for her mother or the police is testament that she’s an ally. So is the fact that her lips are moving softly, I assume in silent prayer.

  I’m about to smile at her when it feels like someone drops a veil over my eyes, obstructing my vision. I blink, and things become clear once again, but far from normal. I see a silver-colored mist ooze out from her body and outline her entire frame. Slowly the mist begins to sparkle and shine and grow until it looks like Nadine is floating within a silver cloud that isolates her and separates her from the rest of us.

  I hold Caleb, Archie, and my father tighter around me, not for protection, but as a reminder that unlike Nadine I’m not alone. This time when I smile at her, she doesn’t see me, because the silver mist has grown and is covering her face and almost her entire body, trapping her so she can’t escape. And I know without a doubt that I’m not the only one in the room who’s been cursed.

  Chapter 19

  A New Day

  The honey jar has been refilled.

  Everything makes sense. I know it sounds crazy, but there’s a part of me that’s relieved to find out I’m cursed. I understand my aggression, my physical changes, my anger, even my fascination with the moon—it all fits. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror—which I’ve been doing obsessively since the last full moon—doesn’t reveal any differences from who I was last week, but I’m not at all the same; I’ll never be the same again. And in a completely warped way that makes me feel better, because at least now I know.

  I keep examining myself looking for signs that the curse is taking over completely instead of for just one night a month, but I can’t find any. Except for that initial hair growth above my lips and on my arms, my skin has been smooth. In fact, my hair is more luxurious than ever before, and the blue-gray of my eyes almost sparkles, so if anything I look better now than I ever did.

  There have been other physical changes that I barely noticed at first, but since the last transformation have become more evident. I’m faster and stronger than I used to be, and my senses are sharpened. My vision is improved; I can see farther than ever before. And sometimes I can hear snippets of conversations from a block away. The most dramatic increase of all is my sense of smell. Foods, perfumes, The Dandruff King’s body odor, all seem to envelop me. It’s like my whole body is doing the smelling and not just my nose.

  Emotionally, things haven’t really improved. I continue to wake up in the middle of the night, my mind still clutching onto Jess, trying to get closer to her final moments. And then it hits me: I don’t want to remember her final moments, because I honestly don’t think I could go on living if I did. The will to survive is only so strong. Intellectually I get it; I killed her while possessed by this curse. If there were any way that I could have fought against it, fought against the primitive nature of this wolf spirit that’s invaded my body, I would have; I would have killed myself first. In my heart and soul I know that’s the truth, so my mind has been able to process the facts. But if the blanks were filled in and I could suddenly see and hear and feel what happened, that would be too much. The curse would win, and I would no longer want to be alive. It really is that simple.

  Until then, however, I’m going to have to learn how to live with this thing.

  My father is already in stealth mode and has plotted out a calendar for the moon cycle for the next year. He is also trying to figure out the most harmless way to contain me when those full moons come around. Archie and Caleb, true to their word, have immersed themselves in Native American Indian folklore and mythology to see if they can find instructions on how to break a werewolf curse. Good luck on that one. And then there’s Nadine.

  She’s complicated, confusing, and cursed in her own way. I don’t know what’s hidden in her background, just out of reach from everyone around her, maybe left behind in her old house in Connecticut, but she has her own mystery. Could be huge, could be boring, but she’s got something she doesn’t want anyone to know about. Whatever her personal damage is, she’s still a team player.

  Her job has been to pilfer syringes and sedatives from The Retreat, since my father was only able to get one initially and Nadine has much easier access to medical supplies. He thinks a sedative may slow down the change or with any luck prevent it from happening all together, but my dad’s decided we’re going to use that as a last resort, since there’s always the possibility it’ll do more harm than good.

  It’s whacked, but as Archie so eloquently put it in a text the other night, I’ve got my own Wolf Pack.

  My only fear is that one member of my eager band of sidekicks may slip, and then my secret will be out. It would be a hard secret for anyone to believe, but curiosity and suspicion will be rewarded if I’m caught off guard during a certain time of the month. From here on in, according to my father, it’s all about the three P’s: precaution, prevention, and protection.

  Back at school I find out that there’s another P to be concerned about: pissed off friends.

  “I’m not the one you should be avoiding!”

  The book slams onto the lunch table and lands a few inches from my tater tots, knocking over Archie’s iced tea.

  “Arla!” he shouts, sopping up his spilled beverage with a few napkins. “What the ef?”

  “I know that I can be full of myself sometimes and self-involved,” she admits. “But when I was nine my mother ran off with some biker chick who looks like Danny DeVito’s twin to live in an ashram in New Mexico, so excuse me if I’ve got issues.”

  “Your mom likes motorcycles?” Archie deadpans.

  Ignoring him and his joke, Arla continues. “I’m quasi-conceited, I know that, but that’s no reason to shut me out!”

  Plopping into the empty seat next to me, Arla smells like a fragrant garden. The combination of her perfume and her lip gloss is so floral and pungent, she’s like a moveable flower exhibit. There’s another scent in there too. She’s wearing a blond wig, shoulder-length and feathered, so either she gave it a good washing last night or I smell the shampoo from her real hair.

  “We’re not avoiding you, Arla,” I lie. “I can’t speak for Archie, but I’ve just been, you know, really busy since classes started up again.”

  Pursed lips and crossed arms don’t usually indicate a lie is being believed.

  “Busy with Miss Nadine?” Arla asks.

  I get so flustered by her comment that I actually toss my hair a little. Totally fake. Just like my response. “I don’t hang out with her.”

  “Me either,” Archie says.

  He doesn’t toss his hair back, but his tone is equally unconvincing.

  When my hair gets tossed for a second time, it’s only because my head jerks back when Arla points her finger in my face.

  “I’ve seen you with her!” she exclaims. “Huddled together, whispering, changing the subject whenever I walk in the room. I don’t know what’s going on with y’all, but I’ve got news for ya: Nadine ain’t what she seems.”

  Uh-oh. Whenever Arla starts dropping y’alls and using bad grammar, we have to brace ourselves, because those are the two major signs that she is channeling her Creole ancestry. And they weren’t a nonconfrontational brood.

  “I know she comes off a little weird,” I stammer. “But Nay’s really not that bad.”

  “Nay?!” Arla shouts. “Now you’re calling her Nay?”

  “You know, short for Nadine,” Archie explains.
/>
  “You gave her a nickname?!” Arla spits. “You never gave me a nickname!”

  “You didn’t like La-La!” Archie reminds her.

  “Seriously, Arla, it’s not like we’re choosing her over you or anything,” I say, even though that’s exactly what we’ve done. As Archie pointed out earlier, Arla might be super trustworthy, but she’s also the daughter of my father’s deputy, which means she’s also super risky. We made a pact to keep her in the dark, and now she’s starting to see the light.

  “Save it, Dom,” Arla retorts. “I’m not Caleb; you can’t sweet-talk me into believing whatever you want.”

  Smirking smugly, she gives the book a little push. “Just read this and tell me if you still want to say yea to the Nay.”

  Archie picks up the book, gasps when he reads the title, and drops it back on the table. The way he’s reacting it’s as if he accidentally held a slide from biology lab that’s smothered with contagious bacteria.

  “Where did you get this?!” Archie squeals.

  “From my dad,” Arla replies calmly.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Using only his index finger, Archie gingerly slides the book to my side of the table. When I read the embossed gold title of the book, I understand completely why he’s reacting so dramatically.

  “You stole police evidence!?!” I say, stunned by the realization that Arla is also super sneaky.

  Waving her hands in the air, the red fingernail polish making them look like sparks of flame, Arla shrugs her shoulders and fails to understand why we’re shocked. “I borrowed it,” she asserts.

  “You borrowed Jess’s diary?” I ask, as politely as possible.

  Arla rips the diary out of my hand and starts to wave it, instead of her finger, in my face. “The case is closed. This stuff should’ve already gone back to Jess’s family,” Arla says. “But newsflash, my daddy isn’t the best cop in the world. He’s not even the best cop in Weeping Water and there are what? Four of them on the squad.”