Before he can respond, I put my hand on his chest and push him back into his room, closing the door with my foot so we’re alone. He slaps my hand away and looks like he’s about to start shouting at me so I clamp my hand on his mouth and press a finger to my lips.
“There’s another agent talking to your mother right now,” I say quietly. “They don’t know I’m up here. It’s just you and me. I want to ask you a few questions, that’s all. What you say doesn’t have to go outside this room. Is that okay?”
His eyebrows draw together but he nods. Once I pull my hand away from his mouth he takes quick steps back to put distance between us. He even glances at the open window like he might make a dash for it. I plant my hands on my waist and stare him down.
“It won’t do to run,” I warn him. “You won’t get far. I promise.”
He smirks and shakes his head. “You couldn’t catch me.”
“Maybe not, but my brother waiting downstairs could. If you transform for speed, he’ll just do the same. And he’s fast.”
That wipes the smirk off his face. “Your brother’s a werewolf?” I nod. “Prove it.”
“He’s got a silver bite mark just under his ribs on his left side.” I pat the area on me for emphasis. “A werewolf bit down and tried to throw him across a room. I stopped it.”
His expression is incredulous. “Yeah, right. How?”
“I punched it in the nose.” I shrug. “And I’m guessing you have the same kind of mark on your wrist. That’s why you wear that wristband, yeah?” I point to it and he clutches it to his chest like he might still be able to hide it. “It looks handmade. Odd thing to wear nowadays unless you’re trying to hide something.”
At last I can see he’s starting to believe me. “What do you want?”
I gesture to his bed covered in a patchwork quilt. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
Sunshine reflects in his eyes as he glances outside, at me, then slowly sits down on the edge of the bed. I move around him slowly to lean against the frame of the open window to make sure he doesn’t bolt that way. Plus, the breeze is a nice relief. With the door shut the smell of wet dog is nearly overwhelming. You’d think I’d be used to it by now having a brother as a werewolf but it still makes me want to wrinkle my nose.
“It’s Ben, right?” I ask. He nods. “Okay, Ben. Have you been taking your serum doses lately?”
His eyes dart to the side. “Yeah. Of course.”
“I know you’re lying, Ben.”
“I’m not lying!” he says sharply and a bit too loudly. I worry Jefferson might hear and will quickly realize I’m not actually in the bathroom.
I make a circle motion around my own eyes. “Then why the coloration? That yellow in your eyes? That tells me your werewolf instincts are trumping your human ones. That doesn’t happen when you take the serum.”
“I am taking it,” he argues and starts to rise from the bed. I tense again but try not to show it. Like my instructors always told me, let your opponent think they have the upper hand but never let your guard down.
“Sit down, Ben,” I say evenly and keep my eyes trained on him.
He doesn’t listen and stands, running his hands through his damp hair. “It hasn’t been working lately, I swear. I’ve even been taking extra doses but I’ve been losing track. I’ve had these . . . urges I can’t control anymore.” As he talks he takes one step forward, then another, and another until he’s a lot closer than I want him to be. He stops there, takes a deep whiff, and closes his eyes. My hands curl into fists.
“Why do you . . .” He sniffs again and opens his eyes. The yellow rim around his irises is prominent. “Why do you smell so different than everyone else?”
I angle my feet into a better stance in case I need to defend myself. “It’s probably the jacket.”
That brings him up short. “What?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone died in this jacket. It smells a bit like dead person.” I take a sense of satisfaction in his confused expression before I say, “It’s from a thrift store.”
“Oh,” he breathes but the furrow between his eyebrows remains.
Before this conversation takes another turn in a direction I don’t want it to go, I press on and ask, “Where did you just come from, Ben?”
His blank expression certainly seems genuine. I release a small breath as he steps backwards, running his hands through his hair again and slumping back onto his bed. “I don’t remember.”
“There’s blood in your mouth.”
As if in a trance, he reaches up, swabs his finger inside his cheek and pulls it out. The tip is slathered in pink saliva. He stares at it.
“What did you do?” I continue. “I need you to remember. You could have bitten someone. If you did, we need to help that person as soon as possible or they’ll have to deal with these urges the same as you. Do you want that?”
He shakes his head and wipes his finger on his white shirt, leaving a faint pink stain on the hem. He bends over and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think I bit anyone. I think—maybe I . . .”
I lean forward eager for an answer when the door is thrown wide. We both jump and find Mrs. Ferguson standing in the frame, Jefferson and Hawk hovering over her shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” she shrieks. “You are not allowed to question my son without my permission! Get out! Get out NOW!”
Ben holds a hand out towards his mother. “Mom, she just—”
“NO! I SAID GET OUT!”
She stands aside so I can shuffle out. Before I vanish entirely I look back and lock eyes with Ben. He looks terrified. Mrs. Ferguson hustles us out of her house and slams the door, hitting my heel on the way out. I’m scowling and limping and if that weren’t enough, as soon as we get back in the truck Jefferson starts yelling at me too.
“What did I say?” he thunders. “Don’t speak, don’t touch, don’t do. And what do you do? You do all three! You need to obey orders, not let them slip in one ear and out the other—”
“The serum isn’t working,” I say and he silences. “The extra doses were for Ben. He’s been having urges and blackouts despite the serum.”
“That’s not possible,” Jefferson says almost to himself.
I don’t say anything. Arguing with Jefferson won’t change his mind. Maybe he hasn’t read my whole file, or maybe it wasn’t even in my file, but I know about the shapeshifters. I know they were trying to control a pharmaceutical company, and that company just happens to be one of the biggest werewolf serum suppliers on the planet. Now Ben’s serum isn’t working? I’m not buying that as a coincidence. Not for one second.
We return to the cabin and Jefferson herds us inside. I’m sat down at the table and yelled at some more.
“But we need to do something about this!” I eventually counter. “We need to track the werewolves or something.”
Jefferson lets out a hard laugh. “You are going to stay here. Both of you. I am going to try to make amends with Mrs. Ferguson before she sets fire to my house and then I am going to figure out the werewolf problem.”
He shakes his head and goes back outside with a cell phone glued to his ear—I can hear him trying to apologize to Mrs. Ferguson. It doesn’t sound like it’s going too well and I watch Jefferson disappear into the barn.
“Keep an eye on him?” I ask Hawk and dig into the files.
He leans against the kitchen counter and stares out the window. “Looking to see if the Fergusons’ meds are from Werevine?”
“You read my mind.”
The family’s file is right where I left it. I page through the medical records, find the exact type of werewolf serum, and look up its manufacturer on a separate page. Just as I suspected, the Fergusons get their medication from Werevine Pharmaceutical. I whip out my phone, nod to Hawk, and dial headquarters. I wait on hold for Witty for nearly ten minutes before he comes on the line.
“Phoenix . . .” He sounds nervous.
&n
bsp; “Is something wrong?”
There’s a rush of wind and I picture him wheeling fast down a dark hallway. “I had to sneak away from Director Knox.”
I bite my lip. “You’re not in trouble are you?”
“No. Not yet anyways,” he says. “He just wanted an update on you two.” I can hear the clicking of a keyboard.
“Okay . . . well, we may have bigger problems than worrying about us getting into trouble. Have they interrogated the shapeshifters yet? Have they learned anything?”
“Uh . . .”
“Come on, Witty. I think we may be on to something. Were they manipulating the serum?”
“What?” The genuine surprise in his voice makes it clear they have no idea about the shapeshifters messing with the serum. “No, they were accessing patient files. They were cataloging and . . . well, I think they might have been looking for someone in particular.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
I start gesturing with my free hand even though he can’t see me. “Witty, you have to convince Director Knox to take a closer look at the serum. It isn’t working. I don’t know what the shapeshifters want but they must have changed the werewolf serum. Even extra doses aren’t helping now.”
Witty’s breath almost comes through the phone as he says, “Do you have any idea what Director Knox would do to you if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not. We’ve got a solid lead.”
“You’re not on a mission! You’re supposed to be training!”
The phone clicks and for a second I think he’s hung up on me. I’m ready to start dialing his number over and over again if I have to when I hear him sigh again.
“I’ll see what I can do but no promises,” he says and then the phone clicks into a dial tone.
I wriggle the phone at my brother. “You get all that?”
He nods. “Well, we can’t just sit by. If the serum isn’t working and headquarters isn’t going to do anything about it, and Jefferson won’t let us help, then we have to take matters into our own hands.”
Being twins has its advantages—I can already tell what he’s thinking. I sit on top of the table and roll my phone around in my hands. “Track the werewolves ourselves?”
“I can sniff them out and follow in wolf form. They’ll just think I’m another kid in town that’s been infected recently. You can keep an eye on them from a distance and we can see what they’re doing while not under the serum’s influence, see if we can figure out what Ben was doing and if anyone else needs help.”
It could work, but it’s not much of a plan. “Well, I’m not going to walk around all night,” I say. “I’ll need a car.”
“I’m sure we can borrow Jefferson’s truck.” Hawk winks at me and smiles. He must already know how to get the keys.
“Okay. One problem solved, but we need more information.”
We look to the boxes of files at the same time. What am I thinking? We have all the information we need right here. I dig out a map of Moose Lake and tack it up on the wall. File by file, we scan each known werewolf’s location and mark the map where each lives and put a red dot on those taking serum from Werevine Pharmaceutical. If Ben is feeling a little too in touch with his wild side, then maybe the others are as well. We spend most of the day marking up the map, reexamining what we know, and going over our plan.
A part of me is wondering what on earth we’re even doing. I reason that we’re making sure Ben and his friends don’t bite anyone else but there’s no telling if they’ll even change tonight. New werewolves tend to change spontaneously or sporadically depending on what calls of the wild they encounter. Ben could sleep through the night in his bed, normal and non-dangerous. Yet right now I feel like I have a purpose, a reason for being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. That, and it’s something to do. It even sounds fun.
Jefferson comes in late that evening. We hardly talk over our dinner of eggs and reheated venison. I swear it’s the only thing Jefferson knows how to cook. Hawk and I sit around the table pretending to read files and eventually Jefferson moves back out to the barn and the lights flick off.
“Is he sleeping out there?” I ask, staring at the dark outline of the barn.
Hawk shrugs. “Who cares? Come on. Now’s our chance.”
I throw on my agent getup—black is best for night work—and make sure I have my cell phone in my pocket. Hawk finds the truck keys tucked under Jefferson’s pillow—I don’t ask how he knows where they are—and then we creep out to the truck. It’s quiet tonight except for the distant hoot of an owl. I hop into the truck, put the key in the ignition and turn one click to release the column lock, then put the shifter into neutral and hop back out. There’s no sound from the barn but we wait a good five minutes before we grab onto opposite sides of the truck and push it down the driveway, our feet pressing hard against the cold ground.
Once we’re past the wall of pines and out of sight of the cabin, Hawk passes me his cell and slips around the back of the truck. Using a roll of duct-tape I stole from the kitchen, I fashion a gray rope and tape each end to the sides of Hawk’s phone to create a makeshift collar.
From behind the bed of the truck I can hear Hawk groaning and there’s a shuffling sound. A few bits of gravel roll towards me. An ache goes through my chest. No matter how many times I’ve heard it before, it hurts me to hear Hawk in pain when he transforms. We’re not meant to bend from one shape to another. We’re supposed to be human our entire lives. Changing into something other than what we’re meant to be is agonizing. I know there are a few werewolves that actually enjoy the pain of the transformation. I can’t see how.
A minute passes before a great furry shape stalks around the edge of the truck. Real werewolves aren’t like a lot of the imaginings I’ve seen in the movies. They aren’t half man and half wolf, looking like neither and standing up on two legs. My brother looks like a regular timber wolf with a strong dash of red through his fur. I can faintly make out the lines of the shirt he had been wearing. Scientists and scholars have tried to explain why werewolves morph with their clothes but like my good friend Witty always says, the werewolf disease is a magical one and magic is weird.
The top of his head comes up to the bottom of my ribs. His ears perk forward and he stares up at me. The greatest tell of a werewolf is the eyes. If I focus just on his sharp green eyes, I can see my brother again.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
He flips his tail once. That’s a yes. After fourteen years of living with a werewolf, we’ve worked out our own system of nonverbal communication. I kneel down to his level and slip the duct tape collar around his neck. His hot, wolf breath blows in my face as I press a few buttons.
“Geez, Hawk. Brush your teeth sometime.”
He headbutts me and, unable to keep my balance, I fall back and land on my butt. For a second I’m stunned but then almost start laughing out loud. I clamp a hand over my mouth and swat him on the nose before trying to set his cell phone up again. After initiating a call and leaving the line open, I test to make sure he can hear me. Then I flip on a GPS app we installed earlier and see a red dot flash on my screen letting me know exactly where Hawk is.
“Okay, I think we’re good.” I toss my bag into the cab of the truck after making sure I still have the map we marked up. “Let’s go, wolf-man.”
I drop the tailgate for him and he clambers into the bed of the truck. Night is well and settled so no one should notice I’m carrying around a timber wolf in the back of the truck. I slide into the driver’s seat and quickly familiarize myself with the controls, thanking my lucky stars for all those hours learning how to drive every vehicle under the sun at an IMS training facility when I got my license. The truck lets out a loud whine—that hopefully Jefferson doesn’t hear—when I shift it into gear, and I ease it down the rest of the driveway. Guided by my memory, and a long study of the Moose Lake map, I take us on a back road skirting around the town itself to get to the Fergusons’ farmh
ouse. The half moon shines down on the trees, shrubs, and old wooden fences giving everything a little depth. The headlights of the beater truck blaze a path and the world becomes a ghostly field.
It’s quiet apart from the growl coming out of the truck’s engine. I glance in the rearview mirror now and then to spot Hawk’s ears sticking up, the only part of him that’s visible. We’re almost to the farmhouse when he scratches against the rear window. I bring the truck to a rumbling stop and slide open the window panel behind my head.
“Got a scent?”
One thump of his tail and he vaults out of the bed. He vanishes into a row of towering pines, leaving me alone in the darkness. I shut the panel against the cold outside and watch the little red dot on my phone slowly inch away from the road. He heads at an angle from the farm so I continue to pull ahead and park at the end of the Fergusons’ driveway. Through the cell phone I can hear his wolf pants and the rustle of foliage as he passes. While I wait for something to happen I pull out the marked map and spread it across the seat beside me. Using a flashlight I find in the glove compartment, I keep track of where Hawk is in comparison to the spots on our map.
“You’re heading towards the Moose Horn River,” I warn him. “If you have to cross, try not to soak your phone or I might lose you.”
A gruff grumble lets me know he heard. I listen carefully to the sound of leaves crunching and branches snapping until the sound of his running stops and the churning of a river fills up the speaker. The red flashing dot stops on my cell phone and I wait for him to make a move. His panting suddenly picks up followed by a loud splash and a soft whine.
“Hawk?”
He growls and there’s a snappish sound like he’s shaking his head so hard his ears are slapping his neck. Probably shaking out water but the connection is still good. He must have jumped and not quite made it.
“Careful there,” I say. “I don’t want to drag a wet dog out of the river tonight.” I hear his jaws snap and he growls some more. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak wolf.”
A steady growl comes through the phone for nearly a minute before he finally subsides and races on. His red dot slowly changes direction and heads for a big empty space of woods.
The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1) Page 9