by M. D. Archer
I take a breath, and in that second, I decide. Not only do I know exactly where he is, I know exactly how to take him down.
So I do.
In one movement, I reach forward, and grab his arm, yanking it toward me to pummel my fist into his nose. He crashes to the floor, landing heavily on his back. A gun clatters off to the left, and the shopkeeper dashes to pick it up. He grips it with one shaking hand, his phone already in the other.
“Thank you,” he says, dialing but keeping his eyes trained on the intruder.
“You’re welcome,” I say, dazed, my hand throbbing. Who knew punching someone hurt so much. The man on the floor is out for the count.
“Are you okay?” I ask the clerk, a man who looks to be in his late sixties.
“Yes, and thank you again.” He nods.
“No problem.” I take a couple of shaky steps toward the exit.
“Can you… can you wait until the police get here?” His worried eyes meet mine.
“Of course.”
I pace in front of the counter until I hear the wail of sirens. I go to the door, intending to greet them, but I’m suddenly gripped by the knowledge that I shouldn’t be here. I can’t give a statement. How do I explain this? That I knew something was wrong, or how I took out this hefty guy on my own? I can’t.
Halfway out the door, I turn back. “The cops are almost here.”
“But—”
“I have to go, sorry.”
A normal person wouldn’t have been able to do what I did, I’m sure of it. Leaving is the right thing to do.
It takes about fifteen minutes before the shock wears off and is replaced by a tingling, growing sense of euphoria. I helped that man. Me. I might have even saved his life. And I can’t pretend that what happened back there was normal, human. I helped that man because I have extrasensory skills. Because I’m stronger than other people. Because I can hear and smell things normal humans can’t.
Because I am Lucan.
It’s time to talk to Dana.
Chapter 6
The next morning I stay in my room until Mom and Dad have left for work.
When I’d gotten home last night, Mom was ensconced in her office with the door closed and Dad was in the living room watching TV. I’d slopped some lasagna onto a plate and gone straight upstairs. No one followed me. I kept my injured hand tucked to my side, but by the time I checked it in the bathroom, it had already healed.
This morning, Dad had paused outside my room before he left for work, probably wondering if he should come in and make the peace, but then his footsteps retreated down the hall. Mom probably told him not to coddle me. I’d seethed at her from where I lay, still cocooned in bed, but then, as the house quietened down, I drifted off to sleep again.
A few hours later, I feel better. And it’s more than just the extra sleep. Something changed last night. Things are starting to get clearer.
With a breakfast tray loaded up with a cheese omelet, a side of bacon, and a large mug of coffee—all waiting for me downstairs, thank you, Dad—I grab my laptop and return to bed. Am I brave enough to see what’s happening on Facebook? To see what Piper’s page says? I take a breath.
The first thing I see is a link to a local news story
GIRL MISSING – ABDUCTED FROM CITY CAMPUS?
A couple of nights ago, a student named Carly King had left some friends at a bar downtown and never made it home. Her ripped coat was found on Eden Place, a few blocks away from the bar. She had left with a handful of girls who said they would walk across campus together, but no one seemed to be sure who was in this group.
The police are asking for anyone who was there that night, who walked with her, to come forward. I take another bite of toast, keeping my eyes on the photo of Carly, smiling an innocent, genuine smile. Her face seems familiar, but that’s probably just because I’ve seen her around at school. My feet move restlessly under the covers as something niggles at me deep inside. I push the tray away and launch myself out of bed. My running gear from last night is in a heap on top of the hamper, but it passes the sniff test, so I put it on. I tuck my needs-a-wash hair under a baseball cap, wash my face, brush my teeth, and throw my phone and keys into a backpack. I need to talk to Dana, but first I need to run.
It feels just as good today as it did last night. I follow the same route, up the Hills to the first plateau, then down and around Lakeshore Drive. Over an hour later, flushed and sweating, I walk through campus toward Dana’s office. Just as I’m about to descend the stairs, I feel something pull at my attention. I turn.
He’s standing across the road staring at me. Tall and powerful, strong jaw, dark messy hair, intense expression. Charisma radiates from him like visible energy. He’s really hot. He frowns and smiles at the same time, like he’s surprised, amused, and pleased to see me all at once. I smile back. We stare at each other, wearing the intensity of each other’s scrutiny with ease, until a petite blonde bounds up to him and wraps her arms around him, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.
We both flinch.
He holds my gaze for another moment before leaning down and kissing her softly. She turns, picking up on the direction of his attention, and sees me. Her eyes narrow and so do mine. Kirsten, from anatomy class, who sits at the front with a little clique of girls who project this annoying “you can be smart but still look hot” mantra. They might as well have T-shirts saying Babes with Brains. I didn’t like her when I first met her in lab group, and I like her even less now. As she stares bitchily at me, I know the feeling is mutual. We glare at each other until he scoops his arm around her waist and steers her toward the university bookstore.
I just stand there.
Who is he and why can’t I move?
Just as I get my legs to start working again, they stop.
“Let’s talk later. See you in about an hour?”
It’s his voice in my head. Even though he’s walking away, I know without a doubt that it’s him. And then it all makes sense.
He is Lucan too.
Chapter 7
I can’t stop thinking about him.
He is Lucan. There are other Lucans out there. Of course there are! Is he related to me, are we Lucan cousins or something? Or are we just connected by having the same random gene? I check the time again. It’s been well over an hour since I saw him, but he is nowhere to be seen. He seemed so sure that he would see me later—did that mean he would find me? I’m waiting in a little nook that’s near where we saw each other but away from the main thoroughfare. Even though my senses have calmed down, the number of people swarming about campus is exhausting.
I scan every face that passes by, gathering funny looks from everyone who notices, until finally, I feel that pull again. I stand, following my instincts across the road, until I’m outside the large lecture hall where I should be attending an anatomy lecture right now. Of course. I slip inside and see him straight away sitting at the front next to Kirsten. Breathless with excitement, I take a seat in a relatively empty row at the back near the side door where I can keep him within eyesight.
“Hey.”
I sit up. He isn’t looking at me, but he has angled his head and body in such a way that I can tell he knows exactly where I am.
“You can hear me, right?”
God, how do I do this?
“Can you hear me?” he repeats, seeming less certain.
I try to relax and just let the response come naturally.
“Yes.”
I look at him, checking whether my message got through.
“Good. Are you new to the city?”
I can sense his confusion even though I don’t have any of the normal visual cues.
“No.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I lean forward, trying to think. He’s asking me if I’m new because he hasn’t been aware of me before. He doesn’t know that I’ve just Become. I concentrate hard to communicate the message properly.
“I have just Become.”
“But how...?”
He doesn’t finish the sentence but swivels around to look at me. He’s frowning. He tilts his head thoughtfully.
“Are you Cursus?”
Huh? Am I what?
“Are you Cursus?” he repeats.
What the hell is a Cursus?
“I don’t think so,” I answer as best I can.
After a beat, he leans over to Kirsten, whispers something in her ear, then leaves. I stand too, exiting through the door at the back.
Moments later, we’re standing on the street facing each other. He’s half a foot taller than me. His eyes are greeny-hazel and burn with the same intensity as they did earlier. I can now properly see the power in his shoulders. I let my gaze wander to where his collarbones peek above the top of his T-shirt. His musky scent, mingled with some sort of lynx type deodorant, is like a magnetic charge pulling me toward him. I plant my feet into the ground, just in case.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk now.”
My smile fades as a wave of disappointment rushes through me. I don’t need to ask why not because Kirsten appears and stands directly in front of him. She couldn’t be more obvious if she peed in a circle around him.
“What are you looking at, Tamzin?” She says my name like she has a bad taste in her mouth. The waves of hostility radiating off her are so palpable I almost take a step backward. “Why are you hanging around my boyfriend like some sort of stalker?”
My head spins as a reactionary surge of emotion barrels through me. I’ve heard people talk about blood boiling before, but I never understood that expression.
Until now, that is.
I start to shake with anger. Who does she think she is? With a red haze settling in my forebrain, the background scenery fades away and my eyes zero in on her stupid smirking mouth. My heart is beating double time. I can feel something rising up inside of me, something I don’t think I can control.
Oh God, is this what Dana needed to tell me?
She should have made me listen.
“Relax… just relax.”
I look at him, feeling desperate. I don’t know if I can.
“Oh my God! Stop perving at my boyfriend! What’s wrong with you?”
My hands clench into fists.
“I mean, as if he would be into you.” She looks me up and down, wrinkling her nose with distaste as if the very sight of me makes her want to vomit.
The rage.
Oh my God, the rage.
I take a step toward her.
“Ugh,” she cries. “Your eyes look even freakier than normal!”
Before I can say or do anything, he steps in front of her, blocking her from me and taking her hand.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“No,” she retorts. “I want to make sure she understands that—”
Without another word, he picks her up, throws her over his shoulder, and strides away. She starts to protest but then giggles, clearly thrilled. She pushes herself up so she can see me, gives me a little wave, and then her middle finger.
My heart is pounding in my chest and every instinct I have is telling me to go after them, rip her off his shoulder, and shut her up. And that is how I know I have to get out of here. I have to put as much space between me and her as I can before these murderous thoughts turn to actions.
I’m about to lose control.
Chapter 8
Dana appears out of nowhere and grabs my arm. Her eyes search mine as she places both hands on my shoulders. “Tamzin?”
I shake my head.
“Just breathe. In and out, through your nose. Think calm, happy thoughts.”
I swallow.
“Come on.” She takes my elbow in a vice-like grip and marches us, in long fast strides, down the stairs toward her office. She pushes me in first, throwing my bag in after me, then shuts the door.
“Tam, you’ve got to slow your breathing. Are you listening? Lean forward and breathe through your nose, slowly, in and out… like this.”
We breathe in unison for nearly a minute until my pulse approaches normal and the cloudiness in my vision clears. I sit back in the chair and cast my eyes around Dana’s office, trying to avoid her gaze. It’s a pretty basic office with dated furniture, but Dana has made it nice with plants and some cool artwork. It’s one floor beneath street level, and normally I find it claustrophobic, but right now I’m glad for the subterranean isolation.
Dana waits until I’m completely calm before pasting an “I told you so” expression on her face.
“So I’m Lucan, huh?” I say.
“Now she gets it.”
“I didn’t know it was possible to feel that angry.” I glare at Dana. “You should have told me. You didn’t tell me being Lucan meant that.”
“Are you kidding?”
“You should have tried harder.”
Dana shakes her head. “You are so stubborn. You know, you think you’re totally different to your mom, but neither of you can be told anything.”
“How did you know that I was… uh… losing it?”
“I felt you… and heard you.”
Abruptly, Dana’s door swings open. A guy, about my age, peers inside, looking from me to Dana, then back to me again. I eye him, irritated at the interruption.
“Sorry, I thought we said…” He checks his watch.
“We did, Andrew, but can you come back in fifteen minutes?”
Fifteen minutes? I mouth to Dana. Is that all? She gives me an exasperated look and shakes her head. Her hair is in a braid that hangs down her back, she’s wearing jeans with too-high-to-be-sensible heels, and a plain black blazer over a white tank. Casual professor chic. I wonder how many of her students are in love with her.
“This is why I needed to talk to you,” she continues once Andrew has shut the door. “The full moon can play havoc with your emotions, especially your first one.”
“For not werewolves, the full moon seems to be a big deal.”
Dana flicks an irritated glance at me.
“Sorry. Okay, what happens?”
“It’s like—” She flicks her eyes upward like she has cue cards on the ceiling. “—everything is kind of cemented, I guess, like it becomes permanent… sort of.”
“Thanks, professor,” I say.
“Hey, I’d love to get all sciencey on you, but there aren’t any textbooks on this, you know? All I can do is try to explain it from my own experience.”
“Okay, sorry,” I say. Pissing off the only person who can tell me what’s going on is a dumb move.
“Getting through your first full moon is all about learning to control your emotions and impulses. And trust me, this will be a challenge. Whatever happened to you just before, it will be like that, but worse. Everything will be heightened. Almost uncontrollable.”
Gulp.
“During the full moon, you are more connected to everything, and it can be very overwhelming. Particularly on the first full moon, you’ll need help keeping grounded otherwise…”
“Otherwise what? I go all psycho on someone?”
“Yeah, or… some don’t make it. They just can’t handle it.”
Dana doesn’t explain what not making it means exactly, and I don’t ask.
“You’ll help me?”
“Of course.”
“But it’s not the full moon now, and I felt pretty out of control before.”
“That’s all part of Becoming. It will calm down, I promise.”
“But then during the full moon I might get insanely angry at any moment?” I get a sudden mental image of me turning into the incredible hulk and a laugh-hiccup escapes.
“That isn’t that far from reality. You won’t turn green and triple in size, but you will experience a rage that feels out of control.”
“Wait. You just read my mind, didn’t you?”
“Uh… yeah,” Dana admits. “Sorry. It’s kind of hard not to. You’re sort of projecting your thoughts at the moment. That is also part of Becomin
g. You’re sort of a beacon, and you’re sending out a particularly strong signal.”
“A beacon? Awesome.”
Wait. A beacon?
“So other Lucans might be able to hear what I’m thinking?”
Dana nods.
Oh God, that guy probably heard me thinking how hot he was. That would explain the smile.
“Dana… what is a Cursus?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I met this guy, who turned out to be Lucan. I guess I was projecting out to him. Anyway, he seemed kinda confused by me, and then he asked me if I was Cursus. And by the way, a warning about other Lucans and this projecting thing would have been good. I think I got caught mind-perving at this guy.”
Dana tsks. “Tamzin, you were avoiding me, remember? I couldn’t even get you to have a five-second conversation with me, let alone tell you all this stuff. Anyway, to answer his question, yes, you are Cursus. That is the name of our bloodline.”
“Yours and mine?”
“And Grandma Tessa, and Clarice, and those before her. You can trace our bloodline way back, but our gene is only expressed in women. Most Lucans can be identified by their surname, the normal kind of patriarchal lineage, but since our Lucan gene is only expressed in woman, that doesn’t work. So back in the day, ages ago, the original Cursus woman, I guess, established our bloodline name.”
“And so Grandma Tessa was Lucan too, but I’m guessing not Mom?”
“No, and I don’t know why not. Grandma Tessa thought the gene was linked to our eye color. Grandma Tessa looks just like us.”
“Huh.” This is an interesting new nugget of information. Mom doesn’t exactly keep framed photos of Grandma Tessa around.