Nocturne

by Christine Johnson

  Claire made a face. "Ew. Ouch."

  "Just wait," Emily sniffled. "It gets worse."

  Claire looked at the clock. She was dying to get into the forest, but Emily's voice had that just-getting-warmed-up sound to it. Claire stared at the shower, wondering if she could put Emily on speaker while she cleaned herself up.

  The choked sob that came from the other end of the phone answered her question. Emily needed her. And not on speakerphone.

  "Worse how?" she asked.

  "I ran into Yolanda—like, literally ran into her because I was watching the PDA horrorfest, and she said that Ryan asked Lindsay to the ball today." The last word was more of a wail.

  Claire took a deep breath. "Oh. Wow. That sucks."

  "I know! I mean, I really, really thought he was going to ask me out, but apparently he's just an outrageous flirt." Emily bawled.

  "Well, then, aren't you better off with someone else?" Claire offered.

  "Not necessarily. I mean, as a long-term boyfriend, obviously he's not a good choice. But I need someone to take me to the dance, and it would have been nice to have a couple of warm-up dates first. I could have dumped him afterward if he was still playing Prince Charming to half the school. Now what am I going to do?"

  "You have time to find another guy to go with." Claire bit one of her cuticles, trying to think through some possible dates for Emily.

  "Not really. People are mostly paired up. The posters Amy plastered all over school kicked everybody into date-finding high gear. I so don't want to go stag, Claire, not when this is the first-ever dance that you're actually going to. Stupid Ryan with his stupid flirting. Hang on." There was a muffled sound as Emily dropped the phone and blew her nose. "Sorry. Anyway, I'm going to end up being that lame-o dateless chick who's hovering by the DJ during all the slow dances. I just freaking know it."

  A mix of sympathy and frustration rolled through Claire, sweet-sour as a lemon drop. She wondered if this was how Emily felt all those times she'd gone to a dance while Claire stayed home.

  They spent awhile batting around possible date ideas, none of which went very far.

  Claire sat up suddenly. "Hey! What about one of Matthew's friends? The whole soccer team can't possibly have dates. I could ask him—see if he could put out some feelers."

  "Okay, first of all, don't say 'put out some feelers,' because it sounds squicky. Secondly, I do not want to be that überdesperate loser friend who needs a mercy date. I have some dignity left, you know."

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut. "I didn't mean it that way. Really. I was just thinking it might be an easy solution is all."

  Emily's exhale hissed and rattled in Claire's ear. "I know. I didn't mean to be so edgy. I'm just not used to being in this situation. I swear to you, this is the last time I ever put all my eggs into one potential-date basket."

  They talked awhile longer, until finally, Emily quit crying and started to pull herself together.

  "Okay," she said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not the end of the world."

  "Not even close," Claire assured her. "We'll fix it, I promise. Tomorrow is another day and all that, right?"

  "Right," Emily said. "Actually, shit. Today is another day. Oh my God, it's already after midnight. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to keep you up so late."

  "It's okay, I didn't have anything else to do," Claire lied. "But you'd better go to bed or you'll be all puffy in the morning."

  "You're right. You, too. I mean, not the puffy bit, but the rest of it."

  They hung up, and Claire stared through the open bathroom door at the clock on her nightstand.

  Damn.

  She hopped off the counter. She'd shower later. If she hurried, really hurried, she'd still have a little time to practice. Claire knelt on the damp ground, focusing on the tiny pile of sticks that lay in front of her. She'd searched the thickest parts of the forest to find branches that weren't completely sodden. She'd made a little circle out of stones and everything. There were dead leaves underneath, for tinder. But the sticks were in exactly the same state they had been an hour ago.

  Not burning.

  Frustrated, she tossed her head, attempting to get her bangs out of her eyes. She was going to have to get home, and soon.

  Claire stared at the little pyre she'd made. One of the leaves fluttered in the breeze, and a shower of leftover raindrops pattered down onto her.

  Why couldn't she do this?

  She could hear her mother's voice in the back of her head admonishing her to move inside the wood and leaves with her mind. To bring in a hot little spark, the same way she could hold a feeling of heat in her wolf form when it was cold. Claire groaned in frustration. She'd tried imagining a spark. She'd tried picturing big flames and little flames and freaking house fires' worth of flames. Nothing ever happened. No matter how hard she tried to visualize the branches getting hot enough to light, they never so much as twitched.

  She wanted to just reach in there and start rubbing two of the sticks together until they caught. At least she'd be able to say she started a fire without a match. That would almost count, right? Of course, she didn't really know how to start a fire that way, either. She was pretty sure it was something about friction, about the way the edges of the wood rubbed up against each other until they made so much heat, a little spark just sort of appeared between them.

  Just then, a sensation she couldn't quite place slipped through her muted human senses, bringing her sharply to attention. It was like she was standing on a boat that had suddenly listed just a bit—a shifting.

  Something had changed.

  A tendril of smoke drifted up from her pile of kindling, and Claire froze, watching it. The misty gray curl rose into the air like a hot breath, then broke apart and disappeared. Nothing caught fire, but there had been smoke. And that meant something had happened. A wild little giggle rose in her throat, and she had an insane urge to dance around the clearing.

  Because even though something had been holding her back from starting the fires, the smoke scribbled across the sky told her that she might not be an incomplete wolf.

  She wished she knew exactly what she'd done differently, so that she could push it further, into actual flames.

  She straightened up and cracked her back. The moon had moved farther than she'd expected across the sky. It was so late that it was practically early. She'd come back and try again, but right then, she had to get home. Claire crept up the stairs toward her bedroom. She could hear Lisbeth snoring—all she had to do was slip into her room and pretend that she'd been there all along. She tiptoed over the creaky board in the eighth step and steadied herself against the wall with her fingertips.

  She took a deep breath and nearly choked. She reeked of smoke—the smell of success. Her throat was raw with it, and her eyes stung every time she blinked. Miles away, deep in the forest, the stack of dead twigs lay, rigid, like victims of some bizarre crime.

  Suddenly, Claire heard the nearly inaudible swish of a door opening, its bottom edge brushing over the thick carpet. She froze. Over the last few months, she had gotten too used to being the hunter. She had forgotten the immobilizing terror of being the prey.

  "Claire?" Her mother's voice whispered from down the hall. Claire could barely hear her over Lisbeth's snoring. "Come in here. Now."

  What the hell was her mother doing here? She wasn't due home from New York until tomorrow. The tone in Marie's voice was unmistakably punishing.

  Damn, am I actually going to be in trouble for this?

  She blew out the breath she'd been holding, crept past Lisbeth's door, and headed for her mother's room.

  Marie sat on the edge of her bed, looking displeased. Her slender arms crossed over her chest. Even though it was the middle of the night, she looked impeccable, her crow-black hair wound into its usual sleek bun, her clothes smooth, and her makeup unsmudged.

  "You're home," Claire said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. It just made her sound g
uilty.

  "As are you. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Her mother's foot jiggled impatiently.

  "Um, sort of late?" Claire answered.

  "It is very late." Her mother's voice was clipped.

  Claire hung her head, trying to look as submissive as possible. "I was out practicing. It's been raining since you left, and I had to wait until Lisbeth went to bed—"

  Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Practicing what?"

  Claire bit her lip. She didn't want to lie to her mother, but she really didn't want to admit that she hadn't quite managed to light the fire.

  Even if it is only a matter of time. The next time I get to try, it'll be right there.

  "All the stuff for the ceremony. I just want everything to go okay at the new moon."

  Her mother's posture relaxed a fraction. "I suppose I can understand that. And I appreciate your commitment to your role. But I still don't like you being in the forest alone so late without anyone knowing where you are. Werewolves are not invincible. You know that as well as anyone."

  Her mother's reference to last summer hit home. It all came rushing back—the horrible, panicked anxiety Claire had felt when her mother had been captured—the suddenness of the memory half-drowning her.

  "I know we're not invincible. Matthew knew I was going to be in the forest tonight. And I had no idea you were coming home from New York, or I would have told you where I was going too." Her voice had started to rise, and she caught herself—the last thing she needed was to wake Lisbeth.

  Marie's expression softened. "Well, it's good to know that you took some precautions. I—I suppose I might have overreacted a bit. I was not expecting to find your room empty, and I—" She hesitated, spots of color appearing high up on her cheekbones. "I suppose I'm not used to worrying about you this way."

  Claire scrubbed her sleeve across her tired eyes. It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get. "Okay. Well, I'm glad you're home. I'm going to take a shower."

  "Yes. Of course. Good night, then."

  Alone in her room, Claire tossed her forest-dirty clothes into the hamper. She was exhausted, which meant that tomorrow was going to suck, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't embarrass herself at the new moon gathering next week, and right then, that was more important than being tired during chem.

  Way, way more important. The slam of locker doors and the jostle of a thousand students trying to get to class echoed around Claire. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the metal shelf at the top of her own locker, breathing in the musty smell of textbooks and ancient gym socks. Her head throbbed, and she promised herself that no matter what, tonight she'd go to bed early. She was used to getting by on much less sleep than a normal human needed, but she'd had too many late, frustrating nights in the forest.

  "You okay?" The warm, low voice spread through her, speeding up her heartbeat and easing the pounding behind her eyes. She peeked over at Matthew, who was leaning against the locker next to hers. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and his hair was still wet. He looked amazing. As usual. Claire smiled, tilting her face up for a quick good-morning kiss. "I'm fine," she said, "but I'm kind of tired."

  Matthew's forehead wrinkled the tiniest bit. "Okay. Why?"

  "So, I was, um . . . practicing?" Claire gave the word some weight, letting it hang there, so that Matthew would know what she meant.

  "Yeah?" He leaned in close, his eyes looking worried as he scanned the faces of the people walking past them.

  She glanced around, wondering what was making him act so weird. It wasn't like anyone could guess what they were talking about. She wouldn't take a risk like that. She couldn't. "I got it to smoke," she said. "On my own and everything." The words were sweet as frosting in her mouth.

  "Wow. See? Everything works out."

  "Well, I mean, it's not quite—"

  The edgy look disappeared from his face, and Matthew turned his full attention to her, interrupting her midthought. "So, please, please tell me that means you'll be free on Friday night?" His eyes glittered.

  Claire hesitated. She hated to turn him down when he was looking at her that way. By Friday she should have had plenty of time to do the fire thing again. To make sure that it would work at the gathering.

  "I guess so. Why?" Claire grabbed her history book and shoved it into her bag.

  "Yolanda's parents are out of town, and she's having a party." He hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder.

  Claire bit the inside of her cheek. If Yolanda Adams was having a party, it would be a madhouse. A huge, pulse-pounding, wall-shaking, keg-in-the-kitchen event. Yolanda never met anyone she didn't like, and everyone loved Yolanda. Especially when she was throwing one of her famous "my parents are on another weekend trip" parties.

  "Do we have to go? I just—there's a lot on my mind." The words slipped out before Claire could stop them. It wasn't that she didn't have time to go to Yollie's, but with the gathering so close it just felt so trivial, so . . . human. She couldn't really afford that much distraction when she needed to stay focused on the fire lighting that was looming ahead of her. "Maybe we could hang out a little bit, just the two of us? Then I'd still have time to do that, uh, thing I've been working on."

  Claire slammed her locker door and looked up at Matthew, waiting for him to say something.

  "You could still do . . . whatever, after the party," he said. "And I maybe sort of already promised Yollie we'd be there?" An apology lurked in his eyes, like a fish caught in a net.

  "So, I guess we're going to Yolanda's?" she asked.

  Matthew reached up and slid a hand through her hair. "C'mon. It'll be fun." He gave her the sort of smoldering look that made her forget her own phone number. "And I promise to completely distract you from everything else. But right now, we're going to be late for class."

  With her knees still less than solid, they turned and headed down the hall—Claire's history class was only two doors down from where Matthew had economics.

  "So, what time? On Friday, I mean?" she asked.

  "Eight-ish? Any later and there won't be any street parking left."

  Claire sighed. Everyone really was going to be there.

  "We'll have some time soon, just the two of us," Matthew said, stopping in front of his classroom door. "I swear. Triple swear. Take-me-out-in-a-field-and—"

  Claire rolled her eyes and smiled at him. "You don't have to take it quite that far. What about Saturday night? My mom has a work thing. You could come over, and we could watch a movie or something."

  "Deal." Matthew smiled back and disappeared into econ.

  Watching him walk away made Claire's mouth water. She was already looking forward to Saturday.

  Claire flopped down at her usual lunch table and waited for Emily. She yanked a soda and a sandwich out of the front pocket of her backpack and opened them, scanning the cafeteria. Matthew was in physics—he had the late lunch. But at least that gave her some time alone with Emily. It was sort of weird, how much less time they'd been spending together since school started. As long as they'd know each other, Emily had been the busy one. The one who constantly had a (constantly changing) boyfriend. The one who was always involved with some project in the art room or tied up with after-school activities. Claire wasn't used to being the one who had to schedule in her best friend.

  She craned her neck, checking the soda machines. Emily usually fed her Diet Coke habit before showing up at the lunch table, but she wasn't anywhere to be seen. Claire pulled off the bean sprouts that Lisbeth had tried to hide underneath the cheese, and watched the lunchtime buzz while she waited.

  Emily came racing in, winding her way through the tables. She came within millimeters of clipping one of the basketball players with her overloaded messenger bag, which she promptly tossed onto the floor next to Claire.

  "Sorry I'm late!" She was breathless and panting, eyeing the line in front of the soda machines. "English was horrible, and then I was talking to Amy about the disaster
in the parking lot yesterday. We were making plans for this weekend, and I just totally lost track of the time. Oh my God, I've got to go get a Diet Coke, or I will never evereverever survive Spanish this afternoon. Be right back!" Emily plunged her hand into her bag, pulled a handful of change out of the front pocket, and sprinted toward the soda machines, cutting in front of some poor freshman who was studying the drinks indecisively.

  Amy. So that's who had stalled Emily. Claire was a little surprised to hear that Emily had rehashed the Ryan incident with Amy. She thought the two of them had already sorted it out.

  Emily hustled back to the table clutching two Diet Cokes and slid into a chair across from Claire. "Okay. Sorry. God, what a week! I so cannot wait to go to Yolanda's on Friday. And no matter what, I will find a date for the dance there, so help me God. Even if I have to go with a monosyllabic football player or something. You and Matthew are coming, right?" She opened the first can of soda and drank about half of it in a single swallow.