by Sarah M. Awa
Like what? Gavin had cut Mel with a knife. Yeah, that’d go over really well. . . . Or I could make her angry and see if her eyes turn yellow. But Mel didn’t want to do that either, if there was another option. She was so sick of all the tension around here. She’d been certain she’d made Jos boiling mad on Friday, but when she’d returned that night, Jos had been calm and cool and had accepted her apology.
“How’s your arm?” Mel asked.
Jos shrugged. “Fine.” But her stiff posture suggested otherwise.
Still in pain after three days? Mel’s gut twisted. “Can I see it?”
“Um, sure.” Reluctantly, Jos unwound the ACE bandage.
Mel sucked in a sharp breath. The four scratch lines were puffy and red. They didn’t look like they’d had a weekend to heal. They looked fresh. Infected.
A fist squeezed Melanie’s heart, and sweat broke out on her forehead. As Jocelyn wrapped her arm back up, she thought, I have to tell her. If I don’t, and she was turned—
The dorm’s front door swung open, dousing them in a cold breeze. Brianna, one of the girls who lived on the first floor, sauntered in, boyfriend in tow. Giggling together, the pair skirted Mel and Jos and headed to the back of the house. A pungent blend of perfume, cologne, and pheromones trailed after them.
Wait—scent! Why didn’t I think of it before? If Jos were a werewolf, she’d smell like one. Especially right before the full moon. Melanie didn’t think her friend’s scent had changed, but she had to be sure before she left. She tried to wave away the hormonal fog, but it persisted. Geez. “Can we step outside for a second, please, Jos?”
“Oookay.” Jos raised an eyebrow but followed.
The crisp air brushed refreshingly against Mel’s feverish skin. She drew in a deep, invigorating breath. Beneath the odor of moldering autumn leaves, she detected lemons and honey, minty shampoo. No trace of wolf—same old eau de Jos. Mel released the breath in a sigh of relief.
Shivering without a jacket on, Jos wrapped her arms around her svelte frame. “Why exactly are we out here?” she asked.
She’s not burning up like I am, either. A huge grin spread across Mel’s face. “Oh, uh, I just thought the fresh air would make both of us feel better.”
“Well, it’s making me uncomfortably cold. You do look like you feel better, though. ’Course, you’ve got the advantage of a coat.”
“Yeah. Sorry, you can go back inside. I gotta leave. I’ll see you in a few days. No worries. Oh, and please get that wound checked out.”
Jos watched Mel stride to her car, overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She shook her head and rubbed her arm before going back inside Hartman.
“You were right,” Mel told Gavin as he drove them to the cabin. “Jos wasn’t turned. She smells human. Her arm looks awful, though.”
The familiar sights of the highway streamed past: patches of deep-green pine trees, the occasional silo, Holstein cows dotting whitening fields. The asphalt hummed quietly beneath the Ford’s tires. There wasn’t enough snow to warrant using the squeaky wipers, and Gavin hadn’t turned the radio on, so relative silence reigned . . . a thick, warm, and pungent silence, the balsam-and-fir air freshener on the dashboard failing to disguise the scent of wolf.
“Maybe we can’t turn people when we’re human,” Gavin said slowly, “but maybe we can hurt them more than usual. Did you notice our super strength around full moons?”
Mel’s eyes widened. “No. Can we, like, lift cars or something?”
He chuckled. “That’d be cool, but no. We can punch through walls or mattresses easily, splinter doors—stuff like that.”
“More escapades from your violent past?”
“Ha, ha.”
Miles whizzed by. Snow speckled the windshield. Mel’s thoughts meandered to another concern: “Do you think the Organization will show up and bother us?”
“That did cross my mind,” Gavin said darkly.
“What d’you think they’re doing with our blood?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Nothing good.”
She opened her mouth to joke about the clone army but changed her mind. He wouldn’t laugh—not with the mood he was in.
Mel and Gavin had talked about transforming in his parents’ basement this time around; Jeff and Cara had one safe room down there and could set up another. But two wolves would make a lot of noise, which the Doyles’ neighbors might hear despite the soundproofing measures. Gavin’s dad had said he’d further insulate the basement walls, but Gavin had stubbornly refused. “I don’t want to tempt the Organization to skulk around the neighborhood,” he’d explained. “And I don’t want attention drawn to the house—especially not with innocents around.”
Exasperated, Jeff had installed an alarm system on the cabin. He’d also booked a room at a nearby inn. “Call me if anything odd happens,” he’d said.
Snow swirled around them, gloomy gray clouds hovering low. The large, fluffy flakes began to stick. The grass alongside the freeway resembled a green tablecloth with a white lace overlay, but its beauty was little comfort.
Halfway to the cabin, Gavin took an unfamiliar exit. “Checking for tails,” he explained. “I know they don’t have to follow us anymore, but . . .”
No headlights pursued them this time, and they arrived with nearly an hour to spare. They stashed their bags and then wandered into the living room, Gavin taking his usual chair, Mel across from him. She smelled cedar, pine, and ashes from the cold hearth, although it was clean. The empty fireplace made the room bleak and lonely.
“I think we’re going to get a few inches of snow tonight,” Gavin remarked.
“Mmm.”
“I’m always a bit worried that someone will spot our tire tracks and follow them here. Even if it’s only curious kids.”
Mel’s eyes widened. “No one’s ever come poking around before, have they?”
“No.”
“There’s a security system now, so they’d probably hesitate to try and break in.”
“I doubt kids would try too hard.”
“Yeah,” said Melanie. She felt somewhat safe, but not completely. Never completely—not anymore.
Ten minutes to moonrise, the two young werewolves locked themselves in their rooms and hunkered down to wait. Mel hugged her legs to her chest, naked, pale, and shivering. She rested her forehead on her knees to avoid the ugly sight of mangled walls.
5:00 p.m.
Normally, Jocelyn Beaumont found it easy to concentrate on homework, chores, and other projects. This afternoon, she settled down at her desk to cram for her remaining finals, but her thoughts raced and her arm throbbed. The words in her philosophy book spun and swayed like drunken ballerinas. Spikes of pain stabbed her under the ACE bandage, which felt strangely warm. What the heck?
Each tick of the wall clock cracked like a whip. Hurry up! Read this page! Move on to the next!
Fed up with the distractions, Jos stood and paced. She rubbed her arm and gritted her teeth. Time for more aspirin.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Jos heard Pam humming an aria while she unlocked her door. Jos had just swallowed the aspirin when the humming trailed off, and Pam wailed, “Not again!”
Must’ve found the note.
Jos gulped her water, then stuck her head in her suitemates’ room. “What again?”
Pam scowled and thrust a small piece of paper at her. “This.”
“Ah,” said Jos, scanning it although she didn’t need to. “Your elusive roommate, the Vanishing Woman.”
“Did you know she was about to leave again?” Pam demanded, eyes narrowing.
Reflexively, Jos rubbed her injured arm. She kept her face impassive. Should I tell her everything? So far, Pam hadn’t noticed the bandage under Jos’s sweater sleeves, or at least hadn’t commented on it. But the girls had been busy studying. Aw, why not? She’s the one who’s closest to Mel; I guess she has the right to know.
Pulling up her sleeve, Jos displayed her b
andaged forearm. Pam gasped. “What happened?”
“Your roommate.”
“What?! Melanie hurt you?”
“Not on purpose.” Jos recounted Friday’s incident, not mentioning what Mel had been trying to grab out of Jos’s hand or why. “Her nails were . . . different. Longer and sharper, like talons.” When Pam gave a dubious frown, she insisted, “I saw them—I’m not making it up! It was super weird.”
She unwound the bandage, wincing at another stab of pain. The scratch marks glared up at her: angry, red, and inflamed. “Holy cow!” said Pam. “That looks awful! Have you gone to the nurse?”
“No,” Jos said, shocked at how much worse the wound had gotten. “I didn’t think I needed to. It wasn’t this bad before.”
“Come on, I’ll take you.”
The two girls bundled up and trudged to the campus health center through lightly falling snow. Jos turned her face up toward the black sky. Patches of stars twinkled icily. The cloud cover shifted, and an edge of the moon appeared. More and more of the moon revealed itself; it was a day away from full, bright and ringed by a halo against the clouds.
Pain sawed through Jos’s arm. She clutched at it and stumbled along, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
Pam murmured, “Could be infected. What kind of infection, though? Mel’s not sick.”
“Mel doesn’t appear sick,” said Jos. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t.”
A cold breeze whistled along the ground, carrying the scents of pine and soil. The girls rounded the corner of the science building, and their destination came into view: a squat brick structure with narrow windows, most of which were lit.
They reached the health center and signed Jos in. No one else was in the waiting room. After a minute, the nurse called the girls back to the exam room. One look at Jos’s scratches, and the woman’s cornflower-blue eyes darkened with concern. “You should go to the ER. You may need a rabies shot. Have you had any fever, headaches, nausea, or vomiting?”
“No.”
“What kind of animal did this?”
“Um, a dog. A big one.”
“I see,” said the nurse, frown lines creasing her broad forehead. “Well, let me clean that before you go.”
She swabbed the wound gently, but Jos sucked air through her teeth as searing pain shot up her arm. When the nurse smeared on antibiotic cream, Jos half expected it to sizzle like grease on a hot skillet, but it was like ice.
“Get to the ER,” the nurse advised when she’d finished. “Do you have a ride?”
“I’ll call my boyfriend,” Pam offered, and did just that.
While they waited for Aaron to show up, the girls stepped outside. Jos stared up at the sky, her thoughts hazy. Where’s Melanie right now, and what’s she doing?
If Mel had some weird infection, did that have anything to do with her disappearances?
“This is like déjà vu,” said Pam.
“Huh?”
“Taking a friend to the nurse’s office and then to get a rabies shot. It was Mel the first time.”
“Really? When?”
“Right after the Pine Groves trip. I brought her to the health center because I thought she was coming down with pneumonia. She had a nick on her hand. It was tiny, but the nurse said it looked infected.”
“But if Mel got the shot, she can’t have rabies. That means I can’t either.”
“We should still have a doctor look at your arm. What if it’s, like, staph or meningitis?”
“We had to get vaccinated for meningitis when we started here.”
Pam shrugged. “That’s good.”
Both girls fell into silence. Jos replayed Pam’s words. Could the nick on Mel’s hand have any significance? “Tell me about the incident in the cave again,” she said. “I want to know every detail.”
December 13, Full Moon (second night)
The next afternoon, Melanie woke from her post-transformation nap and headed for the kitchen. She noticed Gavin in the living room, perched backward on the couch, staring out the front window. “Hungry?” she called.
He failed to answer or even turn toward her. Rigid and immobile, he looked as if he’d frozen in place. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Wordlessly, Gavin pointed out the window. Mel followed the trajectory of his finger, her eyes sweeping over the snow-covered ground. There wasn’t much to see: a smooth white expanse, black trees frosted white below gray sky . . .
. . . and, scattered across a patch of yard below their window, tracks.
Paw prints.
Large paw prints.
Mel gasped. “Those look like—”
“They’re spelling out a message,” Gavin said grimly.
She picked it out, assembling meaning from the chaos:
JOIN US
BE FREE
There were no human footprints to be seen.
“How in the world . . . ? That’s not possible.” Heart pounding and breath quickening, Mel met Gavin’s gaze. They stared at each other, hazel irises into brown, brimming with burgeoning questions.
A tiny seed of—what? Warmth? Excitement? Hope?—released its first green tendrils within Melanie. The implications of a sentient animal with paws that size, so near to the size and shape of her own . . .
“They’ve done it,” she whispered, awe filling her voice. “They found a way to keep their minds.”
Gavin gave a stiff nod, his mouth a thin line, features pinched and cold. “So it would appear.”
Here we go again with the skepticism and mistrust. Frowning, Mel racked her brain for how to help him see things her way. Her whole worldview was changing, expanding. A slow smile blossomed on her face, pushing the frown upward like soil; the hopeful tendrils grew and sprouted leaf buds. Think of the possibilities. . . .
The Organization’s private letter to her had mentioned reaching out in good faith and trying to help. This must be the help they could offer. Although it wasn’t a total cure, it would benefit her and Gavin immensely. Mel wondered if the old doctor was conducting research that had led to their ability to keep their minds. That could be why he’d drawn their blood. Maybe one day he’ll find a way to stop the transformations! Or at least the pain. Was that too much to hope for?
Perhaps it was time to tell Gavin about the letter.
Collecting courage and careful words, she seated herself next to him. “I know you had a vision that made the Organization seem untrustworthy,” she began, “but I have some evidence that suggests the opposite.”
“Like what?” he asked, skeptical.
“Well, um, I got a private letter from them.”
“What?” His eyebrows shot up, and Mel caught the scent of anger. “When?”
“Thanksgiving night. I know, I know; I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry.” She highlighted the letter’s main points, emphasizing the tone of comradeship and helpfulness, then relating her theory about the doctor’s research. “If that isn’t the help they meant . . . well, come on, it has to be.”
Gavin crossed his arms and shook his head. “That doesn’t convince me to trust them.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? They spied on us, Mel. They kidnapped my dad!”
With a sigh, Mel glanced out the window again. A doe peered back at her from the edge of the woods. “I know. But they kept their word and returned him unharmed.”
“Only after threats and coercion.”
“But if drawing our blood was for our benefit—”
“The ends don’t justify the means,” he said flatly, arms tightening.
“Okay, so they don’t have a squeaky-clean record, and they made us do something scary. But I honestly think they’re trying to help us the only way they know how. Would you have given your blood if you didn’t feel you had to?”
“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ and shake hands and make up after the kind of stuff they did!”
Don’t forget what you did—blabbing to your parents when they asked you
not to, Melanie wanted to say. Instead, she asked: “Don’t you want to keep your mind when you transform? Not to have to worry about hurting anyone?”
“I don’t worry,” Gavin said. “Not anymore. I have this place.”
“Yeah, but what if . . . you might not always.” I might not always.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She changed her tack. “Wouldn’t it be fun not to have to coop ourselves up at full moons? To run through the woods, explore? Be free?” She gestured toward the words printed outside in the snow.
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that propaganda.”
“But there’s proof! The paw prints are proof. The Organization has figured out how to stay sane, and they can teach us or give us their medicine, or whatever.”
“One of them knows how to stay sane. That doesn’t mean anything for us.”
“Ugh!” Mel threw up her hands and sprang from the sofa. I can’t talk to him right now. Striding to the kitchen, she opened the fridge. “I’m starving.”
Gavin joined her as she spread mayonnaise on slices of bread. “Melanie, I’m trying to protect you. They could be trying to trick us.”
“How? There’s no way a regular animal—or human—spelled out those words.”
“Even if they have a way to keep their minds, it doesn’t mean they’ll share it with us for free.” He emphasized the last word, his eyes piercing hers.
Her hand stilled. He had a point.
“Please don’t do anything rash like contacting them. We need more time, more evidence. We can’t trust them this quickly.”
Mel slapped lettuce and turkey onto the bread, then silently handed Gavin a sandwich.
“This is good,” Gavin said between bites, giving her a small smile.
She returned it reluctantly. “So, are we going to stay here or go to your parents’ house?”
“I was thinking of leaving. But the Organization’s holding back, and I don’t want to risk my parents’ neighbors hearing us. I wish my mom and dad lived out in the country.”