by Sarah M. Awa
As Gavin fretted over how to track down Melanie, Jocelyn paced the length of her bed. “Too bad Pam’s not here,” she muttered. “Then we could get into Mel’s room and do some digging.”
Gavin raised an eyebrow. “You’d go through Mel’s stuff?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“True.” If it would help rescue Melanie from those monsters, he’d violate her privacy. He could deal with that added guilt after all this was over.
Jos checked her watch. “In fifteen minutes, Pam will be between classes. I’ll get her to let us in.”
“But she doesn’t know Mel’s secret. What are you going to tell her?”
“That I’m worried because Mel has disappeared again. Pam and I have, um, already done a bit of snooping,” Jos admitted.
This girl was full of surprises.
Taking a seat, Gavin braced himself for a long, awkward wait. The room was warm, bordering on stuffy, and the patchouli made his nose itch. To his relief, Jocelyn stopped pacing. She sank onto her bed, then asked, “Are you sure looking into someone’s eyes is the only way you get visions? Have you ever tried other senses, like smell or touch? Maybe when we get into Mel’s room, you can sniff some of her clothes or something.”
Gavin chuckled, almost offended but understanding her good intentions. “I’m not a were-bloodhound.”
Jos blushed. “Sorry. I know. Just hoping . . .”
“Yeah, ’s okay.”
Jocelyn rubbed her sore arm but stopped abruptly, her eyes taking on an inquisitive gleam. “Do you guys have, um, special connections to the wolf that bit you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess, like, a psychic link? If you’re a werewolf, that means you were bitten, right? Not born one?”
“Yeah.”
“So, the wolf that bit you. Do you ever know things about them when they’re not around? Can you feel them, sense where they are?”
“No—I don’t even know who they are.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. Rolling up her sleeve, she said, “Can you try anyway?” She stuck out her arm. “Maybe you can connect with Melanie through these.”
Gavin felt pretty silly, but he put his hand on the four hot, puffy scratch marks. Jocelyn winced, then relaxed after a few moments. “Hey,” she said, “how are you doing that? You took away some of the pain.”
“Really?” He lifted surprised eyes to hers. She nodded, and he saw that some of the tension had indeed gone from her shoulders. Gavin kept his hand on her arm and thought healing thoughts: aloe, ice packs, his mother’s tender hugs.
“That is amazing!” said Jos, closing her eyes and grinning like a cat that’s just been rubbed in exactly the right spot. “I need to keep you around. . . . Are you getting anything on Mel?”
Oops—focus. “Nope.” He shifted his attention back to Melanie, conjuring up images of her lovely smile, shiny hair, the light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
But he couldn’t make any kind of connection, couldn’t sense her feelings or thoughts or whereabouts.
“It’s not working,” he told Jos, releasing her arm. They both sighed, disappointed, and went back to waiting.
When the hour struck, Jocelyn dialed Pam, but the phone rang and rang unanswered. “That’s weird. She always checks her phone between classes.”
“What class did she just have?”
“Choir, I think.”
“Let’s go to the music building and look for her,” Gavin said, standing and striding to the door. He couldn’t sit around here any longer; he needed action.
Jocelyn grabbed her coat and followed him. “All right, I’ll take you there. You drive.”
3:25 p.m., the rest station
Finally, finally the Miata’s engine gave a beautiful, throaty purr. Timmy pumped a fist. “Yess!”
The goddess’s face lit up with the most breathtaking smile he’d ever seen. She cut the engine, climbed out of her car, and approached him. “Thank you so much, and I am incredibly sorry, again, for almost hitting you.”
“Ah, forget about it,” Timmy said magnanimously, puffing out his chest. He felt a foot taller (although he had to look slightly up to make eye contact).
“I feel like I should do something to repay you.” Her dark eyes sparkled.
Knees going weak, Timmy found himself struggling with the English language once more. “Uh, you don’t—not necess—unless you—”
“It’s early for dinner,” she said, “but I skipped lunch and I’m starved. How about I treat you? There’s a steakhouse down the road. Unless you’re in a hurry and need to get going. I’m sorry, I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”
“N-no, not important.”
“Come on then,” she said, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm.
Even through his heavy winter jacket, Timmy felt a tingle of electricity. He imagined how soft her skin was, how it would feel on his skin. More tingles, lower. He had to be careful not to get too excited.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing and trying desperately to rein in his thoughts. He wanted to pinch himself. This can’t be real. This has to be a dream.
If it was, he wanted to never wake up.
Earlier, 2:10 p.m., Wellsboro
There was no sign of Pam anywhere in the music building. Gavin and Jos found the choir director unlocking the door to his office. “Pam missed class,” he told them.
They looked at each other in chagrin. “Now what?” said Gavin, his wolf clawing at the cage of his patience. Tick-tock. The moon rises in four-and-a-half hours. You can’t stay here past four o’clock.
Jos tried Pam’s phone again, with no luck. “Of all the times for her to disappear too!”
Clenching his teeth, Gavin marched out of the building and back to his car. Jos trailed behind, face downcast but pensive. As they drove back to Hartman, she said, “Pam might be with Aaron, her boyfriend. I don’t have his number, though.”
“Any chance we could still get into Mel’s room somehow?”
“No spare keys. I don’t know how to pick a lock. The RD wouldn’t let me in no matter what story I came up with—she’s super strict.”
Hmm, picking the lock.
Not a bad idea.
4:45 p.m., dilapidated farmhouse
The black SUV crunched up the long gravel driveway and parked behind the ramshackle former farmhouse. A car and a truck were there too, and Mel wondered who else was here. Be nice if it was Janae. Some other friendly company would be heartening, since this place didn’t look like it’d offer much comfort.
“Aren’t you coming?” asked Dave. He’d climbed out of the SUV first, opened the back driver-side door, and grabbed his overnight bag as well as hers.
Melanie undid her seatbelt and exited the vehicle. She stood staring up at the building through gathering dusk. The rear wasn’t quite as rundown as the front. The paint was flaking about as badly, but the back steps weren’t broken like the ones leading up to the front porch. Light shone through cracks in the boarded-up windows. “What’s with this place?” said Mel, trying not to sound like she was complaining. Could its flimsy-looking walls withstand the onslaught of a pack of werewolves?
And what other creatures might be living here? Rats? Snakes? Brown recluse spiders? She shuddered. It looks like the kind of place where a serial killer would stash the bodies.
Before Dave could answer Mel’s spoken question, the back door opened and Sheila stepped out. “Hey, it’s Melanie. Are you a guinea pig now, too?”
“No, she’s just here to hang out and keep you in line,” Dave teased.
Sheila made a rude gesture but smirked. “Quit rustlin’ my jimmies, Gingersnap. Both of ya, get on in here. I’m about to start cookin’, and the others can’t be bothered to help.” She beckoned impatiently and vanished back inside.
Trudging behind Dave to the house, Melanie felt some of the tension melt from her muscles. Dave and Sheila’s banter had bro
ught back memories of the meeting at McCullough’s. These people are allies.
Absolute shock rushed over her as she entered the house. She’d stepped into a large kitchen—modern, renovated, outfitted with newer appliances. Almost as nice as the Doyles’. Completely un-dilapidated.
Sheila, who stood by the sink, chuckled. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, girl.”
Mel couldn’t help staring around at the stainless steel, granite countertops, and sizeable island. “It’s so—different from—”
Dave joined in the laughter. “Yeah, sorry about not telling you before we got here. It’s always fun to see people’s reactions.”
You jerk—scaring the crap out of me for no good reason! Mel wanted to slap him, but relief and exhaustion doused the fire of her anger. Forcing a smile, she said, “Great joke. But why’d you guys fix up the inside and not the outside?”
“It keeps away curious parties. Even though we’re out here in the middle of nowhere, can’t be too safe.”
Oh. That made sense. “Are the rest of the rooms this nice?”
“Basically—though I wouldn’t call the safe rooms ‘nice’ exactly. Come on, I’ll give you the official tour.”
“Hurry up so you can come back and help me,” Sheila called after them.
“What do you need help with?” said Dave. “Just keep an eye on the Spaghetti-Os and make sure to stir them every once in a while.”
“It’s mac and cheese tonight, Fangface!”
“Well, make sure that doesn’t stick to the pan then!”
Earlier, 2:55 p.m., Hartman Cottage
Gavin was on the verge of giving up. He’d failed to pick the lock, Jocelyn couldn’t get ahold of Pam, and time was slipping through their fingers. They left Hartman briefly to track down Aaron and found him returning to his dorm.
“I haven’t seen or talked to Pam since breakfast. This isn’t like her,” Aaron said with a worried frown. “If you hear from her, please tell her to call me too.”
Back in Hartman, Gavin paced Jocelyn’s room while Jos sat at her desk, chewing her lip and twirling a long, curly lock of hair around her finger. “Come on, come on, think,” she muttered.
It was all Gavin could do not to claw at the walls in frustration. Careful not to let your claws out—poor Jos doesn’t need any more of that. He was sure his eyes were glowing bright yellow under his contacts. His hands shook slightly. He clenched and unclenched them, trying to relax the rigid muscles.
The clock struck the hour, and Jos’s phone rang—startling both her and Gavin.
“Ohmigod, it’s Pam!” Jos quickly answered: “Where the heck are you, girl?”
Gavin leaned in to hear, and Jos put Pam on speakerphone. “. . . Melanie’s car.”
What?!
“Come again?” said Jocelyn. “It sounded like you said you were in Mel’s car.”
“I am. I could tell she was about to leave, so I sneaked along. I was able to get into her trunk because it doesn’t always latch all the way.” They heard a groan and some shuffling. “Man, I am really stiff and sore. Just climbed into the back seat.”
Gavin and Jos met each other’s eyes; both sets were wide open in shock. “Okay . . .” said Jos after a moment, gathering her composure. “Where is Mel’s car? Is she there? Did she find you?”
“No, she’s gone. She parked at a rest stop somewhere and just waited around for forever. Then, a minute ago, she got into someone else’s car and left. I heard a male voice. No one I recognized.”
Heart skipping a beat, Gavin thought, She’s off with some guy? Who? The doctor? The man in dark sunglasses? “Did this guy have an accent?” he asked.
“Who’s that?” said Pam.
“Gavin Doyle. Melanie’s friend.”
“Oh. What are you doing with Jocelyn?” She didn’t sound accusatory, just curious.
“Long story—I’ll tell you later. What did the voice sound like?” he pressed.
“Um, I don’t know. He didn’t have an accent, sounded pretty young.”
Not the doctor, then.
“So Mel’s off with Mr. Mysterioso,” said Jos, “and you’re stuck at a rest stop in her car without the keys.”
“That’s the long and short of it.” Pam sighed. “I’m gonna go inside and look at a map. Can you come get me?”
“Of course.”
Over the line, Gavin and Jos heard a car door open and shut, then wind howling and Pam’s footsteps echoing on cement. The sound of wind cut off, and Pam said, “Let me see . . . ‘You are here.’ . . . Okay, I’m just past Mainesburg. Route six eastbound.”
“We’re on our way,” said Jos. Throwing on their coats, she and Gavin headed down to his car.
3:30 p.m., the rest station
The drive took only half an hour. The rest stop was a simple, round brick building—no frills like a restaurant or gift shop. Gavin spotted Mel’s Honda and parked next to it. Pam hopped out of the driver’s seat, relief evident on her face, and locked up behind herself. Climbing into the Ford, she immediately asked, “Do you guys know something about Melanie that I don’t?”
Gavin and Jocelyn glanced at each other. Jos raised a questioning eyebrow, and he took the initiative. “Melanie is dealing with some pretty serious issues,” he began slowly.
“No duh! Is she okay? Why does she keep disappearing, where does she go, and why won’t anyone tell me anything?” Pam’s voice rose in pitch, bordering on a whine.
Jocelyn swiveled to better face her friend over the back of her seat. “Pam, I only just learned what’s going on with Mel, and I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. I urged her to tell you, though. She knows it’s hurting you, but she’s afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Jos bit her lip and didn’t answer.
Frustrated tears sprang into Pam’s eyes. She glared at Gavin. “All this started after she met you—what do you have to do with it?”
Frowning, he said, “It’s not because of me . . . but you’re right: I am involved.”
“Can you please stop being so cryptic?!”
Gavin let out a long sigh. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Time was running out—he needed to get these girls back to Wellsboro and high-tail it to the cabin. In his desperation to find Melanie, he’d put himself in a potentially dangerous situation—dangerous for Mel’s friends and anyone else who might be around him when the moon rose. Dammit! He didn’t want to give up and leave Mel, but what choice did he have?
“Buckle up,” he told Pam. “I’m taking you guys back. There’s nothing else we can do.”
She grumbled but obeyed.
As Gavin backed out of his parking spot, his eyes met Pam’s in the rearview mirror. His body went rigid, and his foot instinctively jammed on the brake as he was sucked into a vision.
4:55 p.m., the farmhouse
Melanie followed Dave through a dining room with a long table and eight chairs, then into a spacious but cozy living room. Forest colors dominated: tan, green, and gray. The room featured a pair of brown leather couches, several matching armchairs, and an electric fireplace. Of course, Mel thought. No smoke coming out of the chimney.
“Three of the safe rooms and a bathroom are down here, at the back of the house,” said Dave, pointing down a short hallway. He led her to a staircase, which they ascended—Mel slowly, cursing gravity. Her exhausted body protested every step.
Voices and footsteps echoed above them. One was Sokoloff’s: “There you are. In the morning, I will draw more blood.”
Reaching the top of the stairs behind Dave, Mel found herself in a hallway with half a dozen doors, three on each side. “Five more safe rooms up here,” said Dave, “and another bathroom.”
Dr. Sokoloff emerged from one of the rooms, followed by a middle-aged man with graying light-brown hair. The stranger’s sleeve was rolled up, a Band-Aid stuck on the inside of his elbow.
Mel’s eyes riveted on the man. Something deep inside her squirmed, and she had no idea why. He didn’t look thre
atening. His face was lined and careworn . . . and somehow familiar.
“Ah, Melanie,” said Sokoloff. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugged grudgingly. “Like crap.”
“Worse than usual for just before the full moon?”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “I am sorry I have not been able to make a diagnosis yet. Rest assured, I am working hard on that.”
She nodded glumly.
Dave stepped toward the stranger and shook his hand. “Good to see you again, Nick.” He turned to Mel. “You two haven’t met yet, have you? Melanie Caldwell, this is Nicholas Erickson, another new member.”
Erickson inclined his head, and Mel said a polite “hello,” offering her hand. He hesitated before shaking it. As they touched, a jolt ran up her arm. Mel tried not to let her surprise show on her face. What the heck was that? Erickson let go with a confused, wary look. Did he feel it too?
Dave didn’t seem to notice. He took Melanie to the room she’d be using. It was windowless and bare except for the typical gouges in the floor and walls. There was also a high cupboard, which she could reach on tiptoe, for her bags. Mel was glad she didn’t have to leave her belongings in the hall. On the way out, she checked the locks on the door. Four deadbolts. The place appeared able to contain a vicious werewolf.
“It’s soundproof,” Dave told her, to her further reassurance.
From the hallway, they heard a door opening and closing downstairs. A pair of new voices, one male and one female, greeted Sheila. The savory aroma of macaroni and cheese drifted upstairs, mingling with the reek of the almost-a-dozen different wolves who’d been using the place.
It was 5:15.
As they descended to the first floor, a wave of nausea sloshed over Mel. She gripped the railing and paused, letting the queasiness recede. It returned when she got down to the living room, though. She staggered to a chair, dizziness adding to her discomfort.
“Are you okay?” Dave knelt beside her, looking concerned.