Silver Kiss

by Naomi Clark

  “I think she did mean it though.” I stared past him, into the kitchen. Mum was loading the dishwasher and singing along to the radio. I ached suddenly, wanting to be at home with my partner, not here dissecting our relationship with my Dad. “I should probably go home and sort things out with her.” Just the thought brought tears to my eyes, a swell of anxiety to my chest. What if she didn’t want to sort things out? A strange sort of panic filled me, as if I’d already lost her.

  Dad slung his arm round my shoulders and pulled me into a bear hug. “Not tonight, pet. You stay here tonight, alright? A hot bath and a good night’s sleep and everything will seem better.”

  I nodded against his chest, exhaling and trying to release the panic. Everything would be fine in the morning. Shannon and I would make up and I’d tell Eddie about the feral. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

  ***

  I didn’t feel much better in the morning. But since I had to be at work, I forced myself up anyway. All I had to wear was Glory’s hideous Juicy Couture outfit, which would make me a laughing stock at Inked, so I raided Mum’s wardrobe. Not that I expected to find anything much better in there, but at the very least I could find something that didn’t make me want to vomit every time I looked at it.

  I managed to pull together a respectable outfit of faded blue jeans—when had Mum ever bought jeans?—and a blue and white checked shirt. It wasn’t really me, but it wasn’t lime green either. Mum forced a heaped plate of bacon, egg and sausage on me and waved me off to work with a worried smile.

  I glanced up at the pale sun as I left. Inked didn’t open until eleven on Sundays and it was just after nine. If I was fast, I could go home and see Shannon before work. I’d probably be a little late, but I was sure Calvin wouldn’t mind once I explained everything to him. And if he did, well…I was going home first anyway. I took off towards Foxglove, settling into a steady jog. It felt good to move. It gave me a fake sense that I was taking action.

  My heart twisted in my chest as I approached our house, apprehension at seeing Shannon again, apprehension at seeing that horrible graffiti again. I almost choked on my nerves when I saw Shannon outside, scrubbing the front door with hard, vicious movements. A bucket of water sat at her feet. She was in her pajamas and smelled of sweat and misery, a bitter musk that pricked at me as I walked down the path towards her.

  She stiffened, hearing my footsteps on the stones. I stopped, playing with my shirt cuffs and mentally running through everything I’d planned to say. They all vanished when Shannon turned round, cheeks red with exertion.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come home,” she said softly.

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me.” As jokes go, it fell pretty flat. Shannon’s lips quivered and her eyes gleamed. I plucked the sponge from her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Shannon—”

  “Don’t, Ayla,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’m still tired.”

  “But I just—”

  She held up a hand, silencing me again. “You’re going to be late for work. And I’ve got a job of my own to take care of.”

  My temper snapped. “Fuck work! This is more important!”

  “It can wait,” she said, snatching the sponge back and scrubbing at the paint again. “It waited all yesterday, didn’t it?”

  And as quickly as that, my anger vanished, replaced by a heavy lethargy. “If you say so.”

  “I spoke to Eddie last night,” she continued, business-voice on. “We’re meeting him and Moira tonight at Eddie’s place.”

  “What for?” I asked dumbly.

  “To talk about the feral. And I’m going to see Molly this morning, as soon as I’ve cleaned this mess up. She’s back home again.”

  “Okay.” A numb resignation settled over me. Shannon had decided we weren’t talking about the fight, so we weren’t. That was that. Nothing I said was going to move her so there didn’t seem much point in hanging around. “Okay,” I said again. “I’m going to work.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t even look at me.

  “Shannon?” I touched her arm, desperate for some contact, and she glanced at me, blue eyes still moist. “We’re okay, aren’t we?”

  She dredged up a tight smile. “Yeah, we’re okay. I’m just…tired, Ayla. I’m just tired.”

  So was I. I returned her smile and went to work, aching all over.

  ***

  “You look like shit,” Lawrence told me when I walked into Inked.

  “I feel like shit.” I slumped down on my seat behind the counter and ran my hands through my greasy hair. “I’ve had a couple of shit days.”

  “Trouble in paradise?” Kaye leaned out of the piercing booth to regard me with malevolently gleaming eyes. “Dish the dirt, Ayla.”

  “Fuck off, Kaye,” I growled, letting an edge of my frustration into my voice. I don’t know what my face was like, but it must have been scary because she blanched and ducked back inside the booth.

  Calvin appeared from downstairs and frowned at me. “You’re late and you’re swearing,” he said shortly. “I’ve got a customer down here, Ayla.”

  I mumbled an apology and he went back down. Lawrence leaned against the counter and stroked his beard, dark eyes lit with sympathy. “Smile, cherub. It can’t be that bad.”

  “I had a massive row with Shannon yesterday,” I said. “I’m not sure… She said we were okay, but…”

  “Oh well,” he said. “Everybody argues. You should have heard some of the rows me and my ex had. Still got the scars from some of them. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t row every now and then. Well, you’re not human, I suppose, but you know what I mean. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He leapt up and stretched. “I’m going for a cigarette break.”

  “Silver Kiss?” I asked, idle curiosity stirring in me.

  “What else?” He produced the packet from his shirt pocket with a flourish and I snatched it off him.

  Eddie’s words came back to me as I studied the ingredients. No sign of aconite in Lawrence’s fags. “Where do you get them?” I asked.

  “Newsagents,” he said, sounding faintly mystified. “You thinking of taking up the habit?”

  I wrinkled my nose. Even wrapped in plastic, the cigarettes had that nasty metallic tang that offended my senses. “No thanks. Just curious. Loads of young wolves are smoking this stuff, but they’re getting it cut with this monkshood stuff and it gets them addicted.”

  Kaye emerged from her booth again. “Junkie werewolves sound like a public threat to me,” she said. “Gareth told me that some kid in Spain got mauled by a werewolf on crack last month.”

  “Oh, are you still with Gareth?” I asked innocently. “That must be, what, a whole week now?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me but didn’t rise to the bait. “Can I bum a fag, Lawrence?” she asked. “I suddenly feel the need for fresh air. It smells sort of like wet dog in here.” She smiled sweetly at me. “I’m really not a dog person.”

  “That’s funny because I always had you down as a dog…person.” I drew out the pause. Kaye scowled and swept past me. Lawrence rolled his eyes at me and followed her outside. I sank down into my seat with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

  By mid-afternoon I’d been reprimanded by Calvin twice more for swearing in front of customers and Kaye and I had come close to blows. We were never exactly chummy, but she seemed to be on a personal mission to aggravate me today. Constant slurs that were just the right side of open insults, frequent factoids that her lovely boyfriend Gareth had fed her about the dangers of werewolves and enough attitude that even Lawrence lost patience with her.

  “What is your problem today?” he demanded, rounding on her after we’d nearly come to blows for about the fifth time in as many minutes. “You’re being a real bitch, Kaye, even by your standards.”

  She tossed her hair and treated him to an icy glare. “I don’t see what the problem is with pointing out the true fact that a werewolf was arrested for rape in America last mo
nth. There’s no law against telling the truth.” She gestured to me. “I just wondered what Ayla thought about it, that’s all.”

  I stared at the tray of earrings in front of me and wondered if I could claim temporary insanity in the event of me killing her. “I don’t think anything about it,” I said. “Anymore than you think anything about humans being arrested for rape, alright?”

  “Gareth told me—”

  “Fucking hell!” I spat. “Does Gareth ever fucking shut up? What is he, an Alpha Human?” The amount of anti-werewolf propaganda Kaye had been spewing today, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. She’d never liked me, but today she was simply poisonous.

  Kaye straightened up as if stung. “Absolutely not,” she said indignantly. “Gareth wouldn’t be seen dead with those thugs. He’s a member of People Matter.”

  The name meant nothing to me, but it sounded like pure semantics anyway. All these idiot anti-werewolf groups were called things like Humanity First and Earth’s Children or some hippy shit and they all had the same basic principles.

  “Well fuck People Matter,” I muttered.

  “All I can hear up here is screaming and swearing.” Calvin emerged from downstairs once more. He’d been down there all afternoon working on a cover-up, appearing every now and then to yell at us. It was like being told off at school. The three of us fell into guilty silence, avoiding eye contact and flushing red. Calvin pointed his finger at me and Kaye. “If you two can’t get along, you can both start looking for new jobs. It’s disruptive, it’s unprofessional and I’m sick of it.”

  We both shot each other dark looks and mumbled insincere apologies. Lawrence cleared his throat and produced another cigarette from inside his velvet jacket. “Cigarette break,” he said.

  I leapt up. “Me too.” I darted outside before Kaye could object, leaving her to whine at Calvin.

  Outside, Lawrence and I slipped down the alley running between Inked and the next shop—a vintage record store—and I kicked the wall in frustration, wishing I could let loose with a full-on howl. I could feel one bubbling away in my lungs, waiting to erupt.

  “She’s been completely out of order today,” I fumed. “I can’t deal with her on top of everything else.”

  Lawrence lit up, the smell of Silver Kiss drifting down the alley. “She’s all talk, Ayla. It’s this new bloke. She was dating a goth last year and all we got was self-harm and absinthe. As soon as she meets someone new, she’ll stop.”

  I wet my lips, tasting the cigarette smoke. It was thick, cloying and made me want to spit to clear my mouth. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like with aconite in. Surely it would just clog up your senses, slow everything down? Why would a wolf enjoy that feeling? I thought of Oscar’s wild mood swings and couldn’t imagine enjoying that either. Being a teenager was difficult enough without adding drugs to the mix.

  While Lawrence finished his cigarette, I checked my phone, hoping for something from Shannon.

  There was nothing, of course. No personal calls during work hours for Shannon, even on a Sunday. I shouldn’t have been disappointed, but I was anyway. I considered texting her but lost my nerve halfway through the message and cancelled it. I didn’t want to seem clingy and neurotic, even if I was. It was only a couple of hours until we closed; then I could head home and try to get her to talk to me properly.

  I tapped my foot nervously. What if she said she was truly miserable here? The thought made me sick.

  Lawrence nudged me. “Penny for ‘em.”

  “Thinking about Shannon.”

  “You’ve got to chill out, you know. One little fight isn’t the end of the world.”

  “I know!” Of course I knew. But this wasn’t just one little fight. This was me nearly drowning, this was feral wolves and drugs and missing kids, Alpha Humans and then one little fight. All of which made for one big mess and I wasn’t sure how we were going to clean it up.

  ***

  Shannon was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by paperwork when I got home. I loitered in the doorway, waiting for her to notice me and studying the papers. All stuff from Molly Brady’s case: photos, notes, newspaper cuttings. Shannon was absorbed—or ignoring me—so I cleared my throat. She looked up and smiled. My heart caught as her smile faltered.

  “Hey,” she said. “You alright?”

  “Not really.” I sat down opposite her, staring at the carpet. “I’ve had a shit day. What time are we supposed to be at Eddie’s?”

  “Sevenish he said.” She shuffled the papers together, clearly just for something to do than because she needed to.

  “So are we going to talk?” I asked. “We’ve got a couple of hours.”

  She set the papers down and looked at me squarely. “I was terrified last night,” she said. “That graffiti, you being missing, it scared the hell out of me, Ayla, after what happened with Adam and…everything.”

  Everything meant Hesketh, the police officer who’d skinned Adam and used the wolf strap he made to transform himself into a freakish wolf-monster. Shannon hadn’t seen it—she’d been nursing broken ribs from our run-in with Alpha Humans, but she’d heard, of course. Glory had delighted in telling the gory details to anyone who would listen.

  I hadn’t thought of that last night. I didn’t really think I’d come close to dying with Hesketh, not the way I had when I’d plunged into that frigid water and felt it rush into my lungs. I swallowed and traced abstract patterns in the worn carpet. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “So am I. I said some horrible things, I know. I didn’t really mean them, but you scared me. I never worried about you before we moved here, not like that.” She reached across the small space between us and touched my hand. The contact was like a bolt of lightning to my starved senses and I shuffled closer to her. “I worried about human things before,” she said. “Like, what if you got bored of me? What if we couldn’t pay our rent? Stuff like that. Now I worry about werewolf stuff, like what if some stupid Pack problem drags you away from me? What if you get killed? I don’t know how to cope with that.”

  “Shannon.” My throat closed up and tears stung at my eyes. I wiped them away hurriedly. “Pack is…” I stopped myself, trying to find the right words and realizing I didn’t have them. I hadn’t moved back here for the Pack. I’d moved back for Vince and my parents, for the chance to mend my relationship with my family. I shook my head. “It’s not even about Pack.”

  “But all this has happened because of the Pack,” she insisted.

  I rubbed my throbbing temples. “I know.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I buried my face in her hair, nuzzling her neck. “Maybe we’re being silly,” she said.

  “Maybe.”

  She released me and kissed my nose. “Hungry? We should eat before we go.”

  Food was the last thing I wanted, but I nodded anyway. It was a bit of domestic normality, Shannon cooking up spaghetti Bolognese while I fussed over the mess she was making. For an hour or so, it was like nothing had happened and I think we both began to relax again. We lingered over the food, putting off the inevitable as long as we could. But towards seven, the meal was gone and the washing up was done and we had to go and meet the alphas.

  TWELVE

  Eddie’s place was a cozy little cottage at the edge of the city, full of family photos and boasting the one luxury I truly envied him—an open fire place. The crackle and spit of flames and the woodsy smell of smoke filled the small living room, creating a palpable atmosphere of warmth and welcome. Eddie sat in an ancient rocking chair by the fire, cradling a glass of Scotch, a cat on his lap. I gave the cat a double take—as a rule cats and dogs don’t like werewolves. This scraggy black mog purred away contentedly though, tail swishing against Eddie’s thigh.

  His wife was out for the evening, he told us. “Giving us some privacy. Moira should be along soon.”

  Shannon took
the other fireside chair while I prowled the low-ceilinged room, studying the photos with unabashed interest. Eddie and his wife, Angie, had two kids and several grandchildren, making them an unusually fertile couple. Their offspring’s lives were charted in glorious color all around the room; every birthday, every school sports day and Christmas party. Other Pack alphas featured in several of the photos. Seeing them felt like a dig at me, stupid as that sounds. A reminder that whatever my reasons for coming home, ultimately it was all about the Pack and always would be.

  For a second I thought I understood why some wolves went feral. The absolute freedom they must have…

  The doorbell rang, breaking that chain of thought before I could take it any further. Eddie shooed his cat and went to answer the door, returning with Moira Clayton.

  I inhaled sharply as the older woman entered, catching the scent of peonies and tulips, reminding me of a holiday Shannon and I had taken in Amsterdam a few years ago. She was tall and slender, dressed immaculately. Her silvering hair was cropped short in what I thought of as a no-nonsense style. She looked like an ex-copper.

  Her amber eyes flicked over me and rested on Shannon. “Ms Ryan?” she asked.

  Shannon stood to shake her hand. “Ms Clayton. Nice to meet you.”

  “Moira, please.” Moira turned to me. “And you must be Ayla.” She offered me her hand and I shook it, wary without knowing why.

  “Well.” Eddie clapped. “Formalities done. Let’s get down to business. Shannon, you spoke to Molly Brady today, I gather?”

  She nodded and sat down again, opening her file and pulling out a sheet of paper covered with her illegible notes. “I spent most of the morning with her and Tina. Molly still claims to have no memory of what happened to her and she certainly didn’t say anything that we can tie to the feral Ayla met.”

  Met. Nice way of putting it. I stood behind Shannon to peer over her shoulder, years of practice enabling me to decipher her scrawl. “But she did give up the name of her dealer?”