A faint howl reaches my ears. I pull the cell phone away to muffle the sounds of Hawk’s passage to listen. The howling is distant but steady. Soon the sound of Hawk moving stops. He must be listening too.
“One of the teenagers, maybe?” I say. “Calling together a party with his friends?”
Hawk doesn’t make any indication that he’s heard me or is paying attention anymore. His red dot holds steady but then abruptly takes a turn and moves fast.
“Hawk? What’s going on?”
More howling starts close by. I get partway out of my seat and grab the door handle so hard the edge cracks. Movement up at the farmhouse catches my eye. Something big is crawling along the roof and jumps down to sprint away into the woods.
“Hawk, I just saw Ben go out his window,” I say urgently into the phone. “If Ben’s here, who are you tracking?” No response. “Ah, crap.”
Just my luck. I track his dot and run my finger in a hurry down the marked map. There’s a road close to his location. I throw the truck into gear and lurch out of the driveway. The road rolls away under the truck’s tires and I keep an eye on my cell phone, watching the red dot continue to sprint away. I can almost hear Jefferson’s voice in my head telling me how stupid I am for not following orders. Would he have those tranquilizer darts in this truck? I dig in the glove compartment, my eyes flicking between it and the road, but there’s nothing in it except maps, mace, and an old bag of beef jerky.
When a dark shape darts across the road, my heart jumps into my throat and I slam on the brakes. I jerk forward hard against the seatbelt and a horrible squealing sound fills my ears. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, making me sharp, and I catch enough of the shape to realize it’s a reddish timber wolf.
“Hawk!” I shout. I scramble out of my seatbelt and throw myself out the door, leaving the truck running in the middle of a deserted road in the woods. Then I’m flying after my brother. I can hardly see with only the little flashlight for guidance and more than one branch snaps me in the face. Hawk has all but disappeared and I can’t hear anything over my pounding feet and thumping heart. Whenever I try to glance at my cell phone and track his dot, I stumble and run into brush. Twigs and tall grass wrap around my arms and legs and after a bad misstep I fall on my face.
Spitting out dirt and groaning, I crawl up out of the brush on all fours, my hands sweeping the ground for my cell phone and flashlight that tumbled away from me. I grasp the flashlight and as I get to my feet, its beam illuminates a face in the darkness. I clamp a hand over my mouth to cover my scream, but my shock quickly subsides into surprise.
“Jefferson?” I gasp. “What the flaming hydra dung are you doing out here?”
“Watch your language, kid,” he grumbles and hoists the end of the shotgun he’s carrying so it’s not pointed at me anymore. “And I could ask you the same thing. What on earth do you think you’re doing running around in the middle of the night?” He holds the shotgun in one hand so he can grab my arm with his free hand and shake me. “You just learned there are werewolves the serum isn’t working on so you decide to chase them?”
“We can handle ourselves,” I grumble and wrench myself out of his grip. Ignoring the look of death he’s giving me, I stoop to find my cell phone under a bush. The red dot isn’t too far away and it looks like it’s stopped. “Hawk’s this way. Come on.”
Jefferson follows in my wake. I move more slowly this time now that Hawk’s indicator isn’t speeding away from me anymore. Branches appear out of the dark under the glare of my flashlight and soon I can hear the panting and rustling of something big. Pushing out from the trees, we reach a small clearing. Hawk circles round and round, clearly agitated, in the center. As soon as he sees me, he rushes forward, pushes his head into my gut, and whines. I sink down to wrap my arms around his furry neck.
“What the heck were you doing?” I say and lean back to grab either side of his muzzle and shake him a little. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing hard. Burs, leaves, and twigs stick out all over him and his legs are quivering. More howling starts in the distance and he tenses.
“Don’t you dare run off again,” I growl. “You deranged maniac.”
Jefferson stands over my shoulder. “Get him to the truck and go back to the cabin. And don’t take any detours. You’re in enough hot water as it is. Now, git.”
I rise and Hawk limps beside me. Before we get far more howling begins and a chill runs down my spine. I think of Ben running out of his house because of the howling earlier. Werewolves are attracted to wild instincts but Hawk has never run off before like he did just now, never before has he been so compelled by what other werewolves succumb to.
“Who’s out there?” I ask aloud, almost to myself.
“Not who,” Jefferson says and pulls the butt of the shotgun stock tight into his shoulder, securing one hand on the pump and one on the trigger. “But what.”
Chapter 8
Hawk is still whining when he climbs into the bed of the truck. I’m tired and angry and pretty sure my face is bleeding. So, I slam the gate of the truck and almost catch the end of his tail. He’s still whining.
“Okay, either transform and tell me what’s wrong like a normal human being or shut up!” I yell and jump into the driver’s seat, throwing the door shut so hard it shakes the entire truck.
Once inside I grip the wheel, take several deep breaths, and close my eyes. The truth is I’m not angry. Well, of course I’m angry, but I’m angry because I’m scared. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. Anger is a regular companion, but this? My arms are shaking, my heart is racing, and I feel like something is crawling down my spine. The night doesn’t bother me, that thing out in the woods I can deal with, but Hawk actually acting like some kind of animal? That frightens me.
After another deep breath, I open my eyes to find I’ve made handholds on the old wheel. It groans when I release my fingers so I hastily try to smooth out the ridges. It’s not like clay, unfortunately for me, and my ten digits remain permanently a part of the wheel. Just one more thing Jefferson is going to kill me for. I glance in the rearview mirror to make sure Hawk hasn’t taken off again. His dark eyes catch what little light there is and his ears flatten against his head. I quickly look away. I can tell he’s embarrassed, but I’m also still angry.
I crank the old rust bucket into gear and the engine roars. I take my time driving to the cabin. I’m not eager to face Jefferson’s wrath. The headlights pave the way and my anger starts to seep out of me, leaving coherent thought in its place. It finally registers in my head that Hawk had been limping. I should have cared more. I glance back again to the bed of the truck but I can only see the top of Hawk’s furry head as he watches the road behind us. A pang of guilt goes through my chest. Some sister I am.
I blow out a puff of air, pushing the stray hairs out of my face. I can only remember one other time Hawk ran off and truly acted like the werewolf he is. It hadn’t been long after he was bitten and our parents had . . . well, after we were taken to Underground. We had both been terrified and Hawk started to change. They had the werewolf serum at the time and gave it to him but he hated needles and freaked out. We were shepherded by adults because we were little children. They took us where we needed to go, got us clothes, gave us food, setup a place for us to stay with other children our age of which there weren’t many—just kids of agents left behind while the adults went to work.
Hawk never whined despite the frequent injections but I could always see the hurt of betrayal on his face. When he got a year or two older, they entrusted him to start giving himself his own injections. All werewolves have to account for everything they do themselves—keep logs, make notes if anything goes wrong, and always, always go to the clinic if you miss an injection. Hawk took his for a short while under my tenacious supervision but then he started saying he had already taken one before I had woken up or while I was in the bathroom or otherwise when I hadn’t been watching. He’d show me an empty syringe, but I knew. H
awk became more aggressive. He had outbursts. And one time—I shudder to think about it even now—he changed and didn’t keep his mind. He became a wolf—was a wolf—and he attacked me.
I roll my hands over the steering wheel a few times before I slow down coming up to Jefferson’s driveway. I had vowed to keep my brother safe from others and from himself. I just hope I’m not losing that battle now after everything. But maybe this is only a one-time accident, a fluke. Hawk isn’t stupid or weak enough to let his instincts get the better of him. I have faith in my brother, and if I don’t have that, and we don’t have each other’s back, then what do we have?
The truck’s brakes let out a long squeal as I come to a stop inside the ring of rust flakes that marks the truck’s usual parking space. I hop out and find Hawk sitting like a normal human being in the back, his legs pulled up and arms crossed over them. He looks pale and almost ghostly in the darkness. I don’t say a word but wrench open the tailgate and make a sweeping gesture to indicate he’s free to leave. He sits for a moment longer before grabbing the side of the truck and rising unsteadily to his feet. His limp is much more pronounced than I thought before. He grimaces and makes it to the tailgate by himself as I look on anxiously and settles down on his butt, swinging his legs over the edge. The second before he touches the ground I’m at his side and grab one of his arms to wrap it around my neck to take his weight.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles.
“Just shut up and walk.” I mean to say it as playful banter to lighten his spirits but the words are a little too bitter on my tongue. “Come on, you gimp.”
Halfway to the door of the cabin there’s a loud slam and I jerk to a halt. Jefferson stalks across the open space from the barn, somehow able to reach the cabin before us. His face is purple, his beady eyes livid, and every muscle in his jaw is tense. He gets to the door before us and yanks it open to allow us through. I keep my head down and guide Hawk to the chair inside.
Hawk lets out a huff when he sits and bends down to peel up the hem of his jeans that are ripped and bloody. I bite back my sudden surge of panic and kneel to take his foot in my hands. There’s a gash bleeding freely above his ankle and the skin is warm to the touch.
“What did you do?” I ask.
He glowers. “I was running through freakin’ brush, what do you think happened?”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t taken off like a five-year-old chasing candy—”
“You were the one who said we should go out there!”
I can feel my face turning red. “It wasn’t just my idea! And I wasn’t expecting you to—”
“Enough!” Jefferson bellows behind us. Hawk jerks his foot out of my hands so suddenly he almost kicks me in the face. “Stop talking! Just sit there. Be silent. Not another word or I swear I’m going to bury both your bodies in the backyard.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from giving a snappy retort and settle on the floor to lean against a stack of file boxes crammed underneath the table. Jefferson continues to mumble under his breath as he fishes through a cabinet under the sink and digs out a first aid kit. When he pulls out a roll of gauze I hold out my hand. It’s automatic. I’ve been patching up Hawk since we were kids. I know what to do.
“Seriously?” Jefferson snaps. “You think I’ll give you any job right now so you can mess that up too? Get up.”
I’m fuming. I jump to my feet and shove at the table to let out my anger so I don’t shove Jefferson instead. The legs screech against the floor and the thing slams against the wall with a resounding crash. A few papers flutter and land on the floor. Before I can move out of the way, the old man gets right in my face and points a finger that almost touches my nose.
“That’s enough!” he shouts. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for one night?”
He looks pointedly at my brother then back at me. My face burns and I turn away to stand in the relative darkness of the entryway to face the wall. Jefferson cleans up Hawk’s leg and I try to ignore the sharp breath from my brother at the pain. I cross my arms and lean against the log wall, absently toeing a pair of boots in front of me. I feel like a five-year-old in trouble—then realize I look like a five-year-old in trouble pouting in the corner. I straighten, turn about to face them, and stand still, trying to resemble something of a proper adult. How I’ve made it this far through life, I’ll never know.
Jefferson closes the kit after Hawk’s lower leg has been wrapped in white and puts it away before leaning against the kitchen counter. He runs a hand down his face, tugging at his wrinkles and fuzzy beard before slapping his hand back to his side.
“I don’t know how things went for you two back in Underground,” he starts, voice low and strained. “I’m assuming there was a lot of mayhem, destruction of property, throwing elves out windows, that sort of thing—but out here, if you go off the rails you aren’t going to get spanked and sent home with a warning. Two things could happen—either the agency throws you out for good and you live the rest of your life cut off from the rest of the world, or you end up getting yourselves killed before your next birthday. You seem to think werewolves are just a game and you know what you’re doing, but you’re wrong. You have no idea what you’re facing out here.”
My impulse to spit out words and my desire to become an agent war inside my head. Hawk and I do know werewolves. Hawk is a werewolf, how could we not? We know the lore, we know the symptoms, we know how the infection spreads. I want to throw Jefferson’s words back in his face.
Hawk speaks before I can say anything. “We can handle werewolves.”
“Can you?” Jefferson leans in towards him. “Because from what I just saw you can’t even handle yourself.”
“That’s—” Hawk pushes his lips side to side. “That’s never happened before.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“It’s true,” I say. “Hawk’s different. I mean, he doesn’t even—” Hawk shoots me a sharp look and I catch myself before letting our little secret slip. “. . . take walks on the wild side,” I finish lamely.
I try to keep up my poker face but Jefferson’s beady little eyes lock on me like they have the ability to peel away my mask with some telepathic power. Lucky for me, Jefferson is a normal human being, not Blessed with such a power, and can’t see what I’m hiding.
Eventually his eyes draw back to Hawk. “Well, I don’t care if you’ve been Mr. Goody-two-shoes-werewolf up until this point. I don’t trust you—either of you. You’re only still here because the IMS can’t afford to lose kids like you. But if you push that button long enough, they will kick you out.”
I guess I can’t argue with that. I always knew Hawk and I were hanging on by a thread in the junior agent program. If the IMS could pull anyone off the street and train them like the FBI, we never would have gotten close to entering the program, but regular people tossed into our world don’t take to it very well. Going from thinking criminals are the most dangerous beings on the planet to coming up against a five-headed hydra can really shake a person up. Not that I’ve come up against a hydra myself but I’ve seen the footage. Hawk and I grew up amongst the legends and the monsters. When we see a giant or a three-headed dog, we don’t flinch and that’s what the IMS needs more than anything.
“So . . .” Jefferson combs a hand through his shaggy hair and takes his time exhaling. “From this moment on, there are no more screw ups, no more midnight jogs through the woods, and no running off after werewolves. You do what I tell you. You toe the line, and maybe, maybe if you’re lucky, you might actually live long enough to see an IMS badge with your name on it.”
He stalks past me to the door and is about to leave when he pauses and turns around. “And just because I don’t know you doesn’t mean I don’t care if you die or not.” With that he retreats into the night and slams the door shut behind him.
The silence echoes between Hawk and me.
My brother looks up at me with comically wide eyes. “I had no idea he ca
red,” he says and sniffles for dramatic effect. I roll my eyes and make for my bunk bed. Midnight has crawled away and I’m exhausted. Hawk stays out in the main room a moment longer so I dig through my things and find a hard black case at the bottom of my travel bag. I ease it open to make sure the pair of werewolf serum injections are still there.
Hawk hasn’t taken one in years, not since that time he went after me, because after that day when I vowed to save him from himself he changed. We ran off for a short while after it happened and hadn’t brought the serum with us. Hawk managed to change and change back without any side effects and kept his mind. He’s one of a kind—the one werewolf who doesn’t need the serum to stop from being a monster. We falsified his logs, bought the serum but never used it. The IMS would have our heads for that, or steal Hawk away to experiment on and find out what makes him different. It’s our secret and one we have to keep.
I stare at the injections a moment longer, thinking that maybe we’ve made a mistake. I hear Hawk’s footsteps behind me and hastily tuck the case out of sight where he won’t find it.
Hawk stops in the doorway and leans his head against the wood frame. “We’re okay, right?”
I stand to face him. “I don’t know. Are we? Are you?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m okay. When I’m with you, it’s . . .” He swallows and averts his eyes, not wanting to lay any mushy feelings or anything on the table. I don’t want him to either. I hate chick flick movies. I just want him to be okay. “It’s easier to be regular ol’ me.”
“Good.” I nod and stand with my hands planted on my waist, adding to the awkwardness in the room. To break the tension, I step forward and punch him in the shoulder with a grin. “No more howling at the moon tonight though, right?”
“I got it all out of my system.”
“Then I’m going to bed. I’m bushed. Come on, Balto.”
The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1) Page 10