by Sarah M. Awa
“Not really,” she said through clenched teeth. She closed her eyes and slumped further into the soft leather armchair.
Footsteps came into the room. “Hi, Melanie,” said a woman’s voice Mel vaguely recognized. Opening her eyes, she saw Vanessa and Brad, backpacks slung over their shoulders. “You all right?”
“She’s a bit under the weather,” Dave answered, “but the doc and I are keeping an eye on her. She’ll be fine.”
Vanessa patted Mel’s hand and smiled at her on her way upstairs with Brad. Mel mustered a weak smile in return.
Five minutes later, the pair was back downstairs and another member of the Organization had arrived—the man with dreadlocks, whose name turned out to be Lester (“Call me Les”). Melanie forced herself to get up and join the others around the dining table. The room was noisy, crowded, pungent, and hot. She wished she could open a window, but they were all boarded up. Stomach churning, she squeezed in a corner next to Vanessa. Never before had Mel felt this awkward and overwhelmed. So many names and faces to remember. And she hated small talk.
Sheila grumpily served the mac and cheese (“Thanks for the help, guys”) along with green beans as limp and stringy as their cook’s hair. Mel’s appetite had vanished, but she forced some food down. The beans were over-salted and the macaroni on the hard side.
When she was done, she helped Sheila load the dishwasher and then retreated to her room.
Earlier, 3:40 p.m., the rest station
Images flashed through Gavin’s brain:
A dilapidated farmhouse. A cluster of vehicles parked behind it, including a black SUV. The sun sinking below the canopy of the forest that bordered the property. Where is this place?
The scene shifted: He was driving down the highway, the sun behind him, almost completely below the horizon now. He watched the mile markers and made note of the exit where he turned off. The road narrowed and became rougher. It rounded a peninsula of forest, then bisected a strip of land delving deep into a vast, shadowy woodland.
Does this road lead to Melanie?
It led to the farmhouse. As he navigated its bumpy driveway through deep dusk, his headlights revealed a half-collapsed porch, flaking paint, and loose shutters. The windows were boarded up. All was quiet.
Was anyone really here? Why would any werewolf use a place like this as a hideout? Sure, the remote location was great, but this building couldn’t be safe.
Gavin jerked back to the present, where Jocelyn was staring at him from the front passenger seat. “Hey,” said Pam, “what’s wrong? Why’d you stop?”
He was still reeling, trying to make sense of the vision. “Um . . .”
“You saw something, didn’t you?” asked Jos, almost inaudibly.
“I thought—no, it’s nothing.” Nothing you guys need to know. Gavin took his foot off the brake and drove the girls back to their campus in record time, reaching Hartman at 4:00.
Pam lingered in the car.
“I need to go,” he told her urgently. “I’m sorry about not answering your questions, but there’s no time for that anymore. I have to be somewhere, and I’m running out of time.”
“Come on, girl,” said Jocelyn, who’d rounded the car and opened Pam’s door. She tugged her friend out, thanked Gavin, and said goodbye.
This was the pivot point, the absolute last moment of decision. He could leave Wellsboro right now and reach his cabin with minutes to spare before the moon rose . . . or he could follow his vision to the dilapidated farmhouse.
It’s a huge risk. Don’t take it. What if he didn’t reach the farmhouse by moonrise?
The vision had shown him arriving human, though. He thought his dashboard clock had read 6:30—cutting it super close there, too.
The guard shack loomed ahead. Gavin passed through the gate and hesitated at the T-junction. Turning left would take him to the cabin, to safety—but he’d be abandoning Melanie. Turning right would take him to her (he was pretty sure) but was a terrifying gamble.
Images of Melanie’s smiling face arose in his mind. Then a shadow passed over her, erasing the mirth. Her eyes turned inward, filled with pain. She looked so lonely and vulnerable.
Gavin gritted his teeth, squeezed the steering wheel until he dented it. She’s in trouble. She needs me. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t try to rescue her.
He turned right.
27
Change of Face
February 9, continued, Full Moon (first night)
3:40 p.m., somewhere off Route 6
The goddess led Timmy two exits down the highway to an unfamiliar town. They drove past several vacant or rundown buildings, and he wrinkled his nose. The place we’re going had better be a lot nicer than this.
At last, they arrived at Sal’s Steakhouse. It stood alone on the town’s outskirts, a quarter mile from any other building. Its paint was fresh, landscaping well maintained, pavement free of potholes—but there were no other cars there, and the windows were dark. The front door sign read “Closed.”
As they walked together to the employee door, Timmy asked, “Why are we going in this way?”
“My cousin owns this place,” she said with a smile. “It doesn’t open till five, but I know he’ll make an exception for us—I’m his favorite.”
I can understand why.
The goddess knocked. Moments later, a stocky man with a receding hairline opened the door. “Cousin!” he greeted her, and they embraced warmly. “Another special guest?” He eyed Timmy, who glanced back and forth between the pair.
They look absolutely nothing alike. The man had light olive skin and Italian features, while the goddess was much darker and probably Indian.
“Yes, this is . . . oh, silly me, I didn’t get your name. I’m Sandra. This is Sal.”
“Timmy,” he said, and shook Sal’s hot, sweaty hand. Ugh.
“My car battery died,” Sandra explained, “and he helped me jumpstart it. I thought this would be a nice way to thank him. You don’t mind, right?” She batted her long eyelashes.
“Anything for you, my dear.” Sal swiped an arm across his substantial forehead, which was perspiring despite the frigid air. “Mario should be here any minute; I’ll have him fire up the grill. I recommend today’s special—”
Engines roared and tires squealed, drowning out his voice. Two cars careened around the corner of the building and stopped mere feet away. Five men wearing black clothes and ski masks jumped out. Two brandished guns; the other three hefted baseball bats.
“Nobody move! Hands where I can see ’em!” one gunman commanded.
Sandra screamed. The leader snapped his fingers, and another thug approached her, leering, his eyes roving her body. She tried to back away, but he grabbed her and twisted her arms behind her back. When she cried out in pain, he clamped a hand over her mouth.
“L-leave her alone!” Timmy squeaked. His knees trembled violently, and blood rushed in his ears.
A third man restrained him, yanking his arms so sharply that pain seared his left shoulder. Timmy whimpered. “Shut up!” the man barked.
“That’s better,” the leader said, pointing his gun between Sal’s eyes. “Now let us in.”
Shaking and sweating more than ever, Sal complied. The criminals frog-marched Timmy and Sandra in after him. One gunman kept watch at the door while the rest of the group passed through a service hallway and stainless-steel kitchen into a dark dining room.
“Sit them over there,” the leader commanded. Timmy found himself shoved into a chair in the corner, Sandra next to him. A man loomed over him, guarding; another kept hold of the cringing Sal.
“Where’s your safe?” the leader demanded, practically shoving his gun up Sal’s bulbous nose.
“I-in the back office. Please, d-don’t hurt my cousin and her friend. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Shut up and get moving!”
Sal flinched hard, but he hurried to lead the two robbers back through the kitchen’s swinging do
ors.
Timmy watched them go, then returned his attention to the remaining thugs. They glowered back at him. One snarled, “Don’t get any ideas, shrimp.” Tremors coursed through Timmy. A tear streaked down his cheek. It was a good thing he was sitting; otherwise, he might have fainted. He wanted to comfort Sandra, whose doe eyes were wider than ever, but he couldn’t spare the attention. He was too afraid to notice anything more than his own fear.
An eternity seemed to pass. Timmy heard a few thumps, a clang, and the leader barking orders. Then footsteps. The swinging doors parted. The leader shoved Sal into a chair at the table next to Sandra. “Got all the cash,” he told his thugs. “Now we just gotta tie up loose ends.”
Sandra gasped, and Sal went bone-white. “What does that mean?” Timmy whimpered.
“It means eliminate the witnesses.” The leader gave a shark-like grin.
“P-p-please, no!” Sal sputtered. “We didn’t see anything! We have no idea who you are!”
“Please don’t!” Timmy blubbered, sliding off the chair to grovel on his knees.
“I got a wife and kids!” said Sal.
Sandra simply sobbed quietly.
“Shut up! On your feet! All of you—move!”
The thugs herded them the way they’d come, out to the rear parking lot, then lined them up against the building, execution style. Timmy was openly weeping now, dignity long forgotten. This can’t be real. No, please. This has to be a nightmare. Wake up! Come on, wake up!
6:00 p.m., the farmhouse
Melanie curled in a corner of her safe room, using her backpack as a pillow and fighting to fall asleep. A pounding headache battled back tenaciously.
Her phone buzzed, and she groaned. Not Gavin again. Nope—Chandra. “Hello?” she said hoarsely.
“Melanie! Oh God, I can’t believe what just happened!” Chandra sounded panicked, shaky, completely unlike her usual, poised self.
Alarmed, Mel sat up. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yes, but . . . my plan went all wrong.” Chandra’s voice broke. “I was just trying to scare him, I swear. I never meant for it to go that far, for anyone to get hurt. I’m so sorry!” She burst into sobs.
Fear pierced Melanie like a javelin through the chest. “What are you talking about? Timmy wasn’t following me.” She’d called Chandra and told her that while waiting for Dave at the rest station.
“He was. You must not have seen him. He’s cleverer than you think. I mean, he was.”
“Was”?! Mel’s throat tightened, and her head swam. “Is he . . . ?”
“He’s dead,” Chandra confirmed.
Time seemed to congeal. The air felt thick, like Mel was trying to breathe in soup. Leaning against the wall, she struggled to wrap her mind around the reality—the finality—of what had happened.
Someone she knew, someone her age, someone she attended classes with (as obnoxious and hated as he might be) was gone. Cold. Lifeless. She’d never see him again, never edit his writing again, never hear his smug voice again.
Never have to worry about him blabbing my secret again!
Guilt instantly followed the flash of relief. It’s my fault he’s dead. If we hadn’t gone camping, if I hadn’t been bitten, if I’d left yesterday or this morning . . . How could I not notice him following me? Mel’s heart pounded, and blackness edged her vision. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
When she was able to speak again, she asked, “How did it happen?”
Chandra sniffled, then sighed. “I drove to the rest station to keep an eye out for Timmy, just in case. I spotted him but waited till you and Dave left. He tried to follow you guys, but I blocked him and pretended my car’s battery was dead. He gave it a jump, and to thank him, I invited him to an early dinner. We went to my friend Sal’s restaurant—which wasn’t open, but I knew he’d let us in. He’s sweet on me. I wanted to get alone with Timmy in a comfortable setting where we could talk, where I could explain to him all the pain and trouble he’d face if he became one of us. If that didn’t convince him, then I was going to try threats, pretend I had a pack that would come after him. But before we could even get inside the restaurant . . .” Another choked sob.
Mel waited a few moments, then prompted, “What happened?”
“The place got robbed. Five guys in ski masks showed up—I think they’re a local gang. I’ve heard of them. They’re very dangerous, known for leaving no witnesses. They forced Sal to open his safe, and they kept me and Timmy in the dining room while they did the job. Then they . . . they took us outside and . . .”
Clenching her fists, holding her breath, Mel waited once more as Chandra fought to steady her voice.
“They were going to shoot us. We begged them, please, please, but they put a gun to Timmy’s head and . . . pulled the trigger.”
“Oh my gosh.” Mel closed her eyes, still reeling with shock and horror. “How did you manage to survive?”
“Sal was freaking out, telling them he had a wife and kids—not true. They said that killing Timmy was a warning, and if Sal ever talked to the cops, they’d come back and kill him.” Mel could feel Chandra shudder. “But they didn’t let me go that easily.”
Mel’s skin crawled—she sensed where this was going.
“While they were still taking the money, I heard them talking about the things they wanted to do to me. After they let Sal go, they tried to force me into their car. I’d never have escaped if it hadn’t been so close to the full moon. I fought them, knocked out two of them, but of course they threatened me with their guns. Then I gave them the scare of their life—I showed them my golden eyes. And my claws.”
Picturing the scene, Melanie couldn’t help but grin.
“I had a feeling they were superstitious,” said Chandra, a smile in her voice. “They panicked—screamed like little girls. One of them said something with ‘lobo’ in it. They got outta there fast.”
“Ha!” Mel pumped a fist in victory, then sobered. “I can’t believe . . . I’m so glad you’re okay. But Timmy . . . What did you do with—with his . . .”
Chandra sighed. “Melanie, I’m not proud of this. But what could I do? I left it there. I told Sal to call the cops and report that he’d found the body when he’d arrived. He hadn’t seen a thing, had no idea who’d done it. I’m pretty sure that gang has someone on the police force, because they get away with everything. I sure as hell don’t want to mess with them. They might get over their fear of the wolf woman.”
“I guess . . . I understand.” Mel chewed her lip, unwillingly picturing Timmy’s corpse lying in a parking lot, getting covered in snow. Mouth and eyes wide, frozen in terror. Blood pouring from a gaping wound in his head, dyeing the snow crimson. He was a total jerk, but he didn’t deserve that.
“It’s almost moonrise, so I’d better go,” said Chandra. “Just wanted to tell you what happened before you heard on the news. I’m so sorry.” The sob was back in her voice, but she managed to say, urgently, “Promise me you’ll keep this conversation completely confidential. Please. I don’t want them after me. Promise?”
“Yes. Of course I promise.” How could she do otherwise?
Chandra let out a relieved breath, sounding a little more like her normal self. “All right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Doc likes to draw my blood during the days of the full moon and compare it to the other test subjects’.”
Mel said goodbye and let the phone fall to her lap.
She felt cold inside and shocked, waiting to cry but not crying.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Moments passed before Melanie remembered the rooms were soundproofed. Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet, then leaned against the wall as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. It subsided, and she staggered to the door.
Dave stood there, barefoot and shirtless. Mel blushed. The bite scar she’d seen before, but not the eagle tattoo covering his right shoulder. “I just came to check on you,” he said, “and make sure you were all right. Moon
rises in ten minutes.” His eyes narrowed. “You okay? You look rather gloomy.”
“I’m fine,” Mel mumbled. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“Sure,” Dave said in a kind voice.
He turned to go but then froze. They both heard it—an insistent pounding, coming from downstairs. Someone was banging on the back door.
“What the hell?” Dave growled. “Who—?”
Mel’s racing heart stopped when she heard a voice—faint yet familiar—yelling her name.
Anger surged. How’d he find me? Why can’t he leave me alone and stop trying to control my life?
Had he hacked her phone or something? But Mel didn’t have the address to this place.
Then she realized: A vision . . .
Is he insane? The moon’s about to rise!
“Do you know who that is?” asked Dave.
Instead of answering, Mel pushed past him and sprinted down the hall. She took the stairs two at a time, Dave on her heels. She raced through the living room and dining room to the kitchen and unlatched the deadbolt. Flinging open the door, she came face to face with Gavin Doyle.
His eyes were glowing, which accentuated the dark circles beneath them. He leaned against the doorframe, face ashen but jaw set in a firm, determined line. She yanked him inside and slammed the door. “What are you doing here?!” she demanded, staring daggers at him.
Gavin looked pointedly over her shoulder. Mel turned to see a curious crowd gathering behind Dave: everyone but Sokoloff and Erickson. Arms were crossed; faces wore frowns. The other wolves were clearly not pleased about the intrusion.
Swallowing nervously, Gavin said, “I had to come. I couldn’t let you stay here with these—these people.”
Sheila growled, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes ignited.
“Hey, easy, easy,” said Dave, putting a hand on her arm.
“Please, Mel, listen to me,” Gavin said, gripping Mel’s shoulders. “I’m here to protect you.”
She shrugged out of his grasp and took a step backward. “I can protect myself, thank you. I didn’t say you could come here. I thought I made it perfectly clear on the phone that I make my own decisions—you don’t choose for me!”