Nocturne

by Christine Johnson

  Claire lowered herself to the floor. Emily's room felt strange—Claire was so used to it being just the two of them. Amy's presence shifted something in the air, knocking things off balance. "Um, sure."

  "Oh, awesome!" Amy handed her a bowl of orange sparkles. "This is going to go so much faster with three people. Just scoop the glitter over them until they're totally covered." She looked down at her glue-and-glitter-smeared fingers and sighed. "We're going to be walking disco balls by the end of this."

  "Can you believe Amy got roped into doing this?" Emily asked, handing Claire a glue-drenched acorn. "They're totally taking advantage of the fact that the word 'no' apparently doesn't exist in her native language—you know, Philadelphian." Emily shot Amy a meaningful look.

  Amy laughed, an inside-joke sort of laugh that squirmed unpleasantly over Claire's skin. She and Emily were getting so close. Claire wanted that back. It would be too hard to keep her true identity a secret from Amy and Emily both, but watching the two of them start the sort of boundaryless friendship that she'd had with Emily, before all the secrets, before all the hiding . . . it made her chest ache so badly that her ribs were nearly cracking with it.

  Claire dropped her Styrofoam into the bowl, turning her head as a puff of sparkles rose into the air and settled on her lap. "How many of these are you making, and why, exactly?"

  "Five hundred," Amy announced. "They're decorations for the Autumn Ball. I know it's ages away, but I figured I needed to get a jump on it since I have so many to make. It's so nice of you guys to help!" She smiled at Claire. "You and Matthew are already going—now Emily and I just need to find dates and we'll be all set!"

  The way she said it made it sound like they would all be going together. Claire looked up at Emily, trying to gauge her best friend's reaction. Emily was focused a little too intently on the half-coated leaf in front of her, and the tips of her ears were cotton-candy pink.

  Slowly, Claire reached into the bowl and sent a drift of glitter cascading over the acorn while she chose her next words.

  "Yeah. I'm excited about the dance." She tried to sound casual.

  "You should totally join the dance committee," Amy said. "I mean, we need more people, and you're obviously good with glitter." Emily laughed, and Claire did too, surprised at the wit peeking through Amy's perky veneer. An unexpected warmth flared in Claire, catching her off-guard. For a moment she saw how it could have been—the three of them—if Claire hadn't had so much to hold back.

  "I—that sounds fun, but I don't think that Kate-Marie Brown would approve of me having a hand in major school social events," Claire said.

  Amy rolled her eyes. "Kate-Marie doesn't rule the world."

  "She sure thinks she does," Emily groused, putting glue on another leaf. "God, Claire, remember when Yolanda wanted her to come to your birthday party last summer?" She looked over at Amy. "Kate-Marie blew her off just because she didn't want to deal with the pool thing."

  Amy shuddered. "Well, that I can actually relate to. You really have a pool?"

  Claire nodded, uncomfortable.

  "Ugh. They terrify me. I can't swim at all. I'm a total solidground sort of girl. So, I guess Kate-Marie and I agree on one thing, at least."

  "We'll try not to hold it against you," Emily joked.

  From the kitchen came the sound of a griddle being thumped into the sink. "Girls?" Emily's mom called up the stairs. "The pancakes are ready! Come and eat them while they're still hot."

  "Oh, yum!" Emily reached for a damp wad of paper towels and pulled off a handful, wiping her glue-coated fingers on them and handing the rest to Amy.

  Amy wiped the glitter off the perfect ovals of her little fingernails.

  "I'm starving," she announced. "And I totally want to hear about the after party and stuff last night. God, you must have been up all night—I can't believe you're not an exhausted mess today! What's your secret? Seriously. I have a billion quizzes next week. If you have a secret energy drink or something, I want in."

  The questions sent an angry jolt through Claire. She worked so hard to keep her secrets hidden, and Amy, with all her cheerful and well-intentioned bonding crap, was on the verge of ruining everything. Claire had a sudden urge to snarl at Amy—to startle her into silent submission.

  But this wasn't the woods, and Amy wasn't a wolf.

  "Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I'm pretty much all about caffeine."

  Claire's lupine side lunged inside her, pushing at the cover of her human skin. She was right at the edge of transforming, balanced on a thread-thin line between human and wolf. She stayed motionless as marble, tracking Amy's movements with her eyes, until she was a hundred percent sure she could control herself. Until she knew she could stay human.

  With shaking hands she set the bowl of glitter on Emily's bed, her gaze sliding over the bedside lamp. The memory of the epic fight Emily and her mother had when Emily broke it last year swam into Claire's mind. How Emily had come storming over to Claire's house. How, later, they had tried to glue it back together, adding shells and buttons and bits of yarn to hide the places where the ceramic was missing. She could still hear the echo of the two of them laughing so hard over the derangedlooking results that even Emily's mom couldn't stay mad.

  Last year. When Claire still thought she was human.

  With her wolf self roiling and snapping underneath the tender barrier of her smooth, pink skin, last year seemed untouchably far away.

  It tore at her to do it, but Claire knew she had to leave. The stress of being around Amy—with her intense scrutiny and the way she made Claire so achingly jealous of her relationship with Emily—it was too much. Claire could feel her control slipping. She couldn't afford that. The risk to Emily was far too great. After all, if she ever found out what Claire was . . . It was against the laws of the pack to kill humans, except in cases of selfdefense. Killing someone who knew a pack member's identity definitely counted as self-defense, since it was only by keeping themselves hidden that the werewolves stayed alive at all.

  The thought of Emily—happy, bouncing, warm-skinned, very alive Emily—being hunted by the pack made Claire's insides tremble. She would do anything to keep that from happening. Including telling a skyscraper-high stack of lies.

  Emily stood in the doorway, looking back at her with a confused expression on her face.

  "You coming?" she asked. "You're about a zillion miles away." She doesn't even know how true that is.

  "C'mon." Emily jerked her head toward the kitchen. "It's pancakes."

  Claire wanted those pancakes more than anything. Wanted a normal Sunday morning with Emily—just Emily—when she wasn't endangering her best friend's life. She stood up, wiping her hands on her pants. "I think I'm going to head out, actually. I'm not all that hungry. Lisbeth cooked this morning—you know how that goes."

  Emily's mouth opened and then shut again. "But—but how will you get home?"

  "I'll run. It's just a couple of miles." Claire shrugged. She tried to keep her face calm, but she was dying to leave before her mask slipped—before Emily guessed just how upset she really was.

  "You'll run? God, Claire, you really have changed, haven't you?"

  Hearing the question was like touching a live wire—painful and shocking and way too close to the truth.

  "Hey, I'm still the same old Claire. I'm just in better shape." Claire fake-smiled, shifting from foot to foot, trying to get her wolf self to shut the hell up for a minute.

  "Oh, sure. You had to go and get into something athletic." Something wistful drifted across Emily's expression as she fiddled with the door's hinge. "We didn't even talk about KateMarie, though." "Yeah, I know." From the kitchen, the sound of Amy and Mrs. Lucero chatting pricked at Claire's ears. Made her feet itch to get moving. She edged toward the door. Emily noticed and stepped back to let her through. "Soon, okay?"

  Emily caught up to Claire as she padded down the stairs. "We should go to The Cloister. We haven't been there since school started, even.
The espresso machine is probably twitching from withdrawal."

  The mention of the coffee shop on Fourth Street where Claire and Emily had been more regular than the regulars brought a smile to Claire's face. A sad, genuine smile full of years of history and meaningless secrets that she and Emily shared. All those things that had come before. She threw her arms around her oldest friend and squeezed hard enough to make Emily squeak.

  "That's a perfect idea. Next weekend, okay? You and me and our old table by the window," Claire whispered.

  "Emily? Claire?" Amy's voice called. "Are you guys eating or what? 'Cause I'm starving here."

  Emily turned to answer her, and without waiting, Claire slipped out the front door like a shadow and ran off down the street, relishing the stinging chill of the rain on her face. She willed herself not to turn around and check whether Emily was watching. Forced herself to move forward, step after step, until she was too far away to look back.

  Chapter Four

  TUESDAY MORNING, CLAIRE woke from an uneasy sleep and lay in her bed, trying to put her finger on what had woken her. Something was different.

  Quieter.

  It had stopped raining.

  Claire's breath came rushing out in one long whoosh. Tonight, finally, she'd be able to practice. And with her mom extending her stay in New York, it would even be easy to sneak out to do it while Lisbeth slept.

  The day dragged, but the afternoon finally faded into evening, and Claire sat in her room, half-doing her homework, rereading the same page in her history book three times without absorbing a word of it. She was itching to get into the forest.

  Cracking her back, she stood up and headed to her closet. She had to move—going for a run was the only way she'd be able to stay sane until Lisbeth went to bed. Claire slipped on her shoes and bounced down the stairs.

  Lisbeth was curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.

  "I'm going for a run," Claire announced. "I'll be back in a little while."

  "Are you finished with your homework?" Lisbeth asked.

  Claire shifted from foot to foot, aching to feel the rhythm of her feet against the asphalt—four feet against the forest floor would be better, but running in her human form was still better than nothing.

  "Not exactly," she said, "but almost. I'll be back in plenty of time."

  Lisbeth glanced out the window. "You'd better—it's dark out there.Wear something reflective, okay?"

  "I'll put on my white jacket," Claire promised, backing out of the room.

  She grabbed the jacket off the hook, and then she was outside, in the chilly, still-damp air. She took a deep breath and started to run.

  Five miles out, she finally felt herself start to relax. Her thighs hurt from the pace she'd been keeping, but it was a good hurt. A distracting hurt. From the trees along the side of the road came the quiet sounds of things settling down for the night. It was better than listening to music.

  The sound of a car's tires thrumming over the road came up behind her. Claire moved to the side to let the car pass, but instead it slowed, crawling past her and then coming to a halt. The growing darkness and solitude that had seemed so calming a minute before suddenly seemed precarious. Her senses flared as the wolf inside her swam to the surface, her instincts grabbing hold of her. Shaking her. Taking over.

  Claire wasn't scared. Not exactly. She was mostly afraid of someone doing something to force her hand, putting her in a situation where she would have to defend herself. She widened her stance, ready to bolt into the woods.

  Dr. Engle stuck his head out the window. "Claire? What are you doing out here by yourself?"

  A rough-edged relief spread through her. Figuring that the danger she knew was better than the danger that she didn't— and also because it would look weird otherwise—she straightened up and walked a little shakily toward Matthew's dad.

  "Just out for a run, Dr. Engle. Is that a new car? It looks really nice," she said. Her voice was a shade too bright. But she was already out of breath from jogging, which would probably be enough to hide her discomfort.

  "A loaner," he said. "The brakes are out on the other one. Can I give you a ride home? This stretch of road is too deserted for a girl to be running alone on." As usual, his attempts to be concerned were too patronizing to ring true.

  "Don't worry, there are plenty of bushes to hide in if the bad guys come driving up," she joked.

  Dr. Engle leaned a fraction farther out the window, peering into the trees beyond Claire. "The woods aren't always safe, either. After last summer, you should know that."

  The words froze Claire's blood, and she stood gaping at Dr. Engle. His lips thinned into a satisfied-looking line. She knew that he didn't intend the double meaning she heard in his words. He wouldn't be offering her a ride if he had any suspicions about her being a werewolf, but it still made her shudder.

  "Thanks for the offer," she simpered, hoping a stickysweet act would get him off her back. "But I'm not that far from home." She'd been planning to run awhile longer, but she just wanted to get out from under Dr. Engle's probing gaze.

  "Well, be careful," he admonished, pulling his head back into the car like a turtle retreating into its shell. "I suppose I'll see you at the house sometime," he called through the window. Slowly, it slid shut, and he drove away.

  Claire could practically feel him watching her in the rearview mirror.

  She turned and ran back toward her house with the ice from Dr. Engle's comments still chilling her veins.

  There was no room for error with him around—he was too vigilant. Too committed.

  And much, much too scary. Claire sprinted up the drive with her sweat-dampened shirt slapping against her as she went. Lisbeth was going to freak out about how long she'd been gone, and Claire wanted to have time to shower and shake off her encounter with Dr. Engle before she headed back out into the woods to practice. The minute Lisbeth went to sleep, she promised herself, she'd be out the door.

  She opened the back door and stepped inside, wavering the tiniest bit from the weird sort of vertigo that came with stopping after a long run. Lisbeth was waiting for her.

  "Forget something?" she asked Claire in her best I'm-thegrownup-here voice.

  Claire blinked, looking down at the white jacket she'd put on before she'd left.

  "Like, your phone?" Lisbeth held it up and Claire reached for it, as if she could erase the mistake by getting the phone into her hand—as if her fingertips could apologize. She was supposed to take her phone with her when she went for a run.

  "Um, sorry?" she offered.

  Lisbeth shook her head. "I swear, keeping you safe is like trying to make the rain fall up." She held out the phone. "It's been ringing off the hook. Since I know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere, I'm going to bed."

  "Okay." Claire took the phone and checked the screen. Five missed calls. "Good night."

  "Come get me if you need anything," Lisbeth sighed, heading for the stairs.

  Claire nodded, only half-listening. Her voice mail icon was flashing frantically. All the missed calls were from Emily.

  She dialed the number.

  Emily answered on the first ring. "Finally! Where have you been?"

  "Sorry," Claire apologized. "I went for a run and forgot my phone."

  "Again? Seriously, Claire, the phone only works if the battery is charged and you have it with you."

  The memory of Dr. Engle's pale eyes peering into the woods shivered over Claire's skin. "Trust me, I know. Is this a bad time? Is it too late?"

  "Nah. I'm just trying to make a green glaze to put on this pot that Amy helped me throw yesterday."

  Amy's passion for pottery was right up Emily's alley. Nothing artsy held any appeal for Claire, but right then she wished it did. Maybe she should take another crack at sculpture.

  "So, what's up? Why all the calls?" She glanced out her bedroom window at the night-covered woods. Just a few minutes and she'd be out there.

  Emily took a little
, hitching sort of breath. "It's Ryan."

  The guy from art class. At least this time Claire remembered. "What about him?"

  "So, you know we've been flirting like crazy for days, and I really thought he was on the verge of asking me out. But after the last bell today, I saw him in the parking lot with Lindsay McCracken."

  Emily was crying. Claire could hear it. She went into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the counter, not wanting to lie on the bed in her sweaty clothes. "Okay," she said slowly. "Well, maybe he needed a homework assignment or something."

  Emily choked out a little laugh. "Unless she wrote the vocab words on her tonsils, I don't think so. They were steaming up the car windows, and they weren't even in the car."