by Sarah M. Awa
“I believe you,” said Jos, quietly. “Caleb Connor’s video was pretty darn convincing. I did my own research on it.”
Mel gave a low growl. “I hate that kid.”
“I bet. And I can’t believe you had to write that article.”
“It was the worst.” Mel rubbed her forehead. Another headache was building between her eyes.
She became aware of her watch ticking; one o’clock was fast approaching. “Crap! I really gotta go, Jos.” Carefully, Mel stood up and pulled her coat and gloves back on.
Jocelyn watched sadly as she hurried from the room.
Exiting Hartman Cottage, Mel threw furtive glances all around. No Timmy. No white Buick. Just snow and trees and empty cars in the parking lot. No one came out of the nearby dorms. She darted to her Honda and climbed in, wanting to gun it and peel off campus—but of course that would attract attention. Not to mention she’d probably slide on ice. She thought of her accident and shuddered.
Mel drove at a leisurely pace around the edge of campus, avoiding Timmy’s dorm and the student center. Every time she spotted a white car, she flinched. A white Buick was parked outside the library. Was it Timmy’s? She couldn’t remember his license plate number. That patch of rust in the wheel well—his car has that, doesn’t it? Her pulse quickened.
She sped up, checking her rearview mirror every few seconds. No sign of Timmy emerging from the library. Mel passed half a dozen more buildings before the final stretch to the guard shack. Please don’t let Luis be on duty. A random guy was, and he didn’t even look up from his book.
As she drove into town (still no white Buick following), relief crept up like heat from her vent. Maybe Timmy had no intention of taking things this far. He might only be messing with her via email. He was probably too scared to try following her. Ha—chicken. All talk and no action.
Wellsboro dwindled behind her, and she broke out into open, snow-dusted fields. The highway was clear, well salted, and traffic was light. Her tires hummed on the pavement, the ease of the car’s movement bringing a sense of freedom. She’d escaped!
She reached the rest stop at half past one. An hour and a half remained until Dave showed up. Hope he’s early. Mel parked behind the brick building that held restrooms and vending machines. She ate her lunch, half-listening to the radio and reflecting on her confrontation with Jos.
She doesn’t seem to be treating me any differently. In fact, she was nicer than usual. I’ve never seen her give anyone a backrub before—that’s a Pam thing.
A tiny spark of hope. Maybe she could tell her friends . . . maybe Pam . . .
. . . would try to come along and end up getting hurt.
Or blurt out her secret in the library someday.
It’s one thing to be caught. It’s another to give yourself up. Her lips twisted wryly. What am I, a criminal?
At least criminals got trials. That was more than the hunters would give her.
Two o’clock rolled around, and she ventured inside the rest station to take advantage of both its commodities. She studied the items in the vending machines, then bought a couple of energy drinks.
In the car again, Melanie leaned her seat back and closed her eyes. She didn’t know if she could or should sleep here, but she might as well get a modicum of rest. It would be an incredibly restless night—the next three of them.
At 2:55, a knock on her window startled her awake. Dave grinned down at her, his red hair bright against the gray sky. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”
Blushing, Mel raised her seat and stepped out of the car. “Hi.”
“Can I help you with your stuff?”
“Thanks.” She opened the rear door and he transferred her bags to the back seat of his shiny black SUV.
“Nice ride,” she said, smiling as he opened the front passenger door for her.
“Just got the transmission replaced,” Dave said ruefully. “Cost a pretty penny.”
Mel gave a sympathy groan. “Car repairs suck.”
They buckled up, and Dave pulled the SUV out. Though they didn’t hit any potholes, Mel’s stomach did flips when she thought about what she was getting herself into.
Two hours earlier, 1:00 p.m.
Gavin punched his steering wheel. “Come on, you stupid train!” Could the damn thing possibly move any more slowly? He had to get to Wellsboro before Melanie left. He had one last shot at convincing her. Maybe in person, he’d be more persuasive.
Or maybe he could kidnap her again.
The train’s low, drawn-out whistle sounded as languid as its pace. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” Why did this have to happen, today of all days?! His hands trembled, itching to grab something and beat the crap out of it. Slam doors, throw fine china at walls . . . wrap iron fingers around that mad doctor’s throat and squeeze.
Get back. It’s not your time yet, he warned the wolf, slowing his breathing and regaining control.
What felt like an hour later, but was only two minutes by his dashboard clock, the train’s final car chugged past, and the safety gate lifted. Gavin leaned on his horn to spur the car in front of him to action.
At ten after one, he arrived at the parking lot outside Hartman Cottage . . . only to find Mel’s car already gone.
“Shit.” Gavin slammed his foot on the brake. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
He should have left earlier. Called her again. Begged her to listen to reason.
“Shi—” he began, his voice snapping off midway with something like a sob. He tried to lift his phone, to call her, but it dropped from his fingers. She wouldn’t listen to him anyway.
He pressed his forehead to the wheel.
What do those people want with her? What are they doing to her? What about the sickness? What about—
Does she really hate me?
Will I ever see her again?
Knuckles tapped his window, and he straightened abruptly. A girl with curly black hair and Goth-style makeup was staring at him. Isn’t that . . . Jocelyn?
Cranking down his window, he said, “You’re Melanie’s friend, right?”
“Yeah, Jocelyn Beaumont. You’re Gavin.”
He nodded. “Did you see her leave? How long ago? Do you know which way she went?”
“You just missed her. I thought she was with you.” Jocelyn’s green eyes were alight with concern.
Wait a minute. How does she know . . . ? What does she know?
Jocelyn put her hands on her hips, and her forehead creased into a deep frown. “Was she lying to me?” she murmured. The wind howled, and the girl shivered. “You’d better come inside,” she told Gavin. “I think we both have a lot of questions for each other.”
3:05 p.m.
Mel enjoyed the feel and smell of her heated leather seat. The SUV’s interior was clean and carried another aroma—cool and spicy—that she guessed was Dave’s aftershave. It failed to disguise the scent of burgeoning wolf, but at least it mingled well with that and the new-leather smell.
“So, where’s the safe house?” she couldn’t help but ask after a mile of silence.
“It’s in the middle of some state game lands,” Dave replied.
Mel blinked. “Is that legal?”
“It’s legally owned by one of our members.”
“Oh.” She propped herself sideways, the better to talk with him. “I didn’t realize you could live in a place like that.”
“It’s not actually on the game lands themselves; it’s surrounded by them, though, on three sides.”
“So it’s pretty isolated?”
“Yes. Perfect for us.” He grinned briefly at her before returning his attention to the road. “I think you’ll like it. It’s a big old farmhouse, inherited from this guy’s uncle or something, which we fixed up and expanded. It has eight safe rooms.”
“Wow.” Mel pictured a two-story structure with an expansive front porch, rocking chairs, rooster-shaped weather vane, and maybe a barn or silo behind the house. “Are there any anim
als left?”
“No, sorry—no pretty horses running in the fields.” Dave grinned again.
“Aww.” Mel’s disappointment wasn’t feigned; she would have loved the comfort of the gentle creatures. But she realized it was silly to think the Organization kept animals. Chandra had said the place had been empty yesterday—no one must live there permanently. It was only a monthly hideout.
Fields and forest flew by. The light snowfall had stopped, strong winds taking its place. “Mind if I turn on the radio?” asked Dave.
“Go ahead.”
Dave flipped through stations until he found a country one. Mel didn’t recognize the song—not her genre of choice. But she soon found her head bobbing to the music.
4:40 p.m.
An hour and a half later, Dave turned them off the freeway and onto smaller side roads. They rounded a peninsula of forest that Mel figured was state game land. Unforested land made its own peninsula jutting into the wooded area, which stretched as far as Mel could see.
The road narrowed and turned to dirt. They bumped along, passing no other vehicles. A farmhouse appeared, but they sped on by. Half a mile later, another house and barn. They didn’t stop. “We do have a few neighbors,” Dave said. “Not too close, and half of these houses are empty.”
“The economy,” Mel guessed.
“You are correct!” said Dave in his best game-show-host voice. “Tell her what she’s won, Johnny!”
Mel giggled.
At last, a large gray structure came into view. As they drew closer and slowed, Melanie’s expression clouded: The building was dilapidated. This can’t be—
“Home sweet monthly hideout,” said Dave. He gave her a cheerful wink. “Ain’t she a beauty?”
Mel didn’t grin or laugh this time; her thoughts and heart raced. Is this some kind of a joke? It looks like a strong wind would blow it right over. Most of the house’s paint had flaked off, its rusty shutters hung askew, and half of its wraparound porch had rotted and collapsed. All of its windows were boarded up. A great many shingles were missing from the roof, making it look gap-toothed.
Grimacing, she thought, It looks awful and creepy.
Was this really the place they used every month?
Earlier, 3:05 p.m.
As the shiny black SUV exited the rest station’s parking lot, a white Buick started its engine. It was tucked out of sight between a Ford F650 and a full-sized Transit van. It pulled out of its spot to follow a good two hundred yards behind the SUV, but had to slam on the brakes halfway down the aisle. A cobalt-blue Mazda Miata had jerked out of its space, and the two vehicles had nearly t-boned.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going, prick!” yelled Timmy. He raised a middle finger and leaned on his horn. The Miata stayed put, blocking him while Melanie and her red-haired companion sped away. “No!” Timmy growled. “Come on! Move it, asshole!” Beeeeeeep!
The Mazda’s windows were tinted, but the door opened, and out stepped . . .
A goddess in a white parka. Lustrous jet-black hair, smooth tan skin, large dark eyes, long shapely legs. Timmy’s anger melted, and his jaw hung slack as she approached. In a trance, he rolled down his window.
“I’m so sorry!” said the woman through full, pouty lips. “I didn’t see you, and my battery just died. Do you think you could give me a jumpstart?”
Earlier, 1:15 p.m.
Gavin stepped into Jocelyn’s bedroom feeling incredibly awkward. He’d never even been in Melanie’s room, and here he was right next-door to it but with an unfamiliar girl who seemed to know more about him than he wanted her to. “So, why did you think Melanie would be with me?” he hedged, taking in the half-Gothic, half-girly room. It reeked of patchouli and a light, floral fragrance.
Jocelyn shut the door and then fixed him with a piercing gaze. “I know her secret—your secret. You’re werewolves.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. How’d she find out? The Caleb Connor video? Is she going to tell anyone? Has she already? A million other questions churned beneath the surface, stirring up deep fears. But his voice was surprisingly steady when he finally said, “Did you figure out her disappearances were always at full moons?”
“Yeah, among other evidence.”
“How long ago . . . ?”
“Pretty recently,” she admitted. “I confronted Mel today, before she left, and she told me about your family’s cabin—only because I was worried about whether she had a safe place to go. I wasn’t fishing for all the juicy details.”
“I see.” He frowned, crossed his arms, and looked away.
“You don’t seem too happy that I know,” said Jos. “Don’t worry—I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t. I swear. I’m not one of those crazy bigots who’ve cropped up everywhere since the Caleb Connor video.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“It must be hard for you to trust people. You can trust me. I’d never betray Mel or anyone she cared about.”
Gavin nodded reluctantly, but he did feel reassured. Jocelyn’s expression was open and sincere. He smelled confidence coming from her, not the fear or adrenaline that would indicate she was lying.
“So if Mel’s supposed to be with you, but she’s not, then where did she go? Why would she ditch you and that lovely cabin of yours? I don’t mean to pry, but did you guys have a fight?”
Toe scuffing the carpet, Gavin said, “Yeah.” Jos waited calmly while he decided how much to share. “We met some people—some other werewolves—and they’re trying to get us to join up with them. We both didn’t want to at first, but now Mel does. I never will. They’ve done some . . . untrustworthy things.”
Jocelyn paled. “She must have gone to them, then.”
“Looks like it.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“No. Well, I do know of one place, but it’s not a safe house. They wouldn’t be there now.”
Running a hand through her curls, Jos groaned. “Oh, Mel. What have you gotten yourself into?”
Nothing good! Gavin scowled, clenched his fists, and fought the urge to pace. The wolf prowled at the back of his mind, telling him to lash out at the wall, kick the bed. I can’t believe I just missed her! If I hadn’t hit those red lights—if I hadn’t had to wait for that stupid train—
Guilt surged through him. I should never have ripped up that note.
“Hey,” Jocelyn interrupted, “Mel told me you’re, like, a psychic or something.”
He gave her a sharp look. “More juicy details?”
She blushed. “It came up because she explained how you knew she was a werewolf. At the volleyball game.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, how does that work? Can you see anything in the future, whenever you want to?”
“I wish. No, it happens randomly—I have no control. It almost always involves eye contact. I see what’s going to happen to a person in their eyes.”
Stepping close, Jocelyn put her green eyes, heavily outlined in black, inches away from his. “How about in mine?”
Gavin flinched, and not only at the intimacy—she’d eaten garlic with lunch. He held his breath and forced himself to meet her earnest gaze. Long, uncomfortable seconds passed. “Sorry, nothing.”
She sighed and retreated from his personal space. “Worth a try.” Absently, she rubbed her arm, and a flash of pain crossed her face.
Melanie scratched her, Gavin remembered. “How’s that wound? Can I see it?”
Jos rolled up her sleeve, and his eyes widened. The scratch marks were red and inflamed, as if they were only hours old. “That’s the kind of damage our claws can inflict?” He gave a low whistle. “I’m so sorry. I hope that will go away with time.”
Shrugging, Jocelyn pulled her sleeve back down. “It only lasts for a few days. Aspirin takes the edge off.”
She’s putting on a brave face. Gavin bit his lip.
Still almost five hours till the moon would rise. He only needed two and a half to get to the cabin. There was time to search f
or Melanie . . .
If only he knew where.
26
Pivot Point
February 9, continued, Full Moon (first night)
3:10 p.m., the rest station
Timmy’s mouth moved, and strange sounds came out. The goddess waited patiently, lips gently upturned, slightly parted. Damn, that was distracting. “Oh, uh, yeah, I, sure. . . .” What was he supposed to be doing?
Right—helping her jumpstart her car.
Timmy rolled his window up, and she stepped back to let him exit his car. Peeved though he was that Melanie had gotten away, Timmy couldn’t resent his circumstances too much. There’s always next month.
The two cars’ hoods were close enough to each other that his jumper cables reached. As he connected them and instructed the goddess, he thought of the mysterious note that had led him to this place.
It was typed, anonymous, and succinct: “Rest station Rte 6 eastbound just past Mainesburg. 3 p.m. Melanie will be there.” He’d found it in his mailbox this morning.
Who had sent it? Why? How did they know he knew about her, and that he’d been planning to follow her?
The red-haired guy who’d come to pick up Melanie was a possibility. But he must be an ally of hers; she obviously trusted him. Was he a werewolf too?
Jumper cables in place, Timmy started his engine back up and let the Buick idle, pumping power into the goddess’s Miata. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. While waiting, he sneaked glances at the goddess, who sat behind her own wheel. His thoughts wandered to all kinds of lustful places.
Ten minutes later, he turned his car off and unplugged the cables. “Try starting it,” he told the goddess.
Nothing. Still dead.
Patiently, he reconnected the cables. More time spent in the company of this real-life Aphrodite was nothing to complain about.
Earlier, 1:45 p.m., Hartman Cottage