The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1)

by Bethany Helwig

  I grab his arm and push him at the lower bunk before kicking off my shoes and climbing up into the top bunk. I don’t bother changing. In fact, a part of me thinks it’s a good idea to be prepared in case Hawk decides to take off again. Easier to run after him in jeans than pajamas.

  Light catches my eye and I look to the window. Jefferson is out in the barn again and his shadow passes the light that seeps out the bottom of the doorway. That intense curiosity of mine returns and I slowly drift away watching the light flicker around Jefferson’s shadow.

  I don’t stay asleep for long. Out here in the country it’s too quiet and every little sound and twitch Hawk makes in his sleep wakes me up. I’m used to a thrum of white noise in the background from living in Underground, of fauns singing softly, the hiss of steam from Old Man Two’s shop, elves cranking up hip-hop tunes to practice their breakdancing moves late into the night. Now just hearing Hawk shift his blankets throws me awake. I’m too on edge, expecting him to get up and leave again, or hear howling in the distance. Jefferson doesn’t come back inside before the sky begins to lighten so I begin to suspect he has a mattress out in that barn. He’s insane. It’s too cold to be sleeping out in a barn with October quickly coming to an end.

  I can literally feel the bags under my eyes when I finally force myself to get out of bed and change in the bathroom. I glance into Jefferson’s room but he’s still not there. I put on some coffee and raid what little there is in the fridge. I cook up some eggs and settle into my spot at the table to finish organizing what’s left of the paper disaster, but I start nodding off. I try taking a nap at the table to see if I can squeeze in some more sleep but end up sitting there with my head on the desk and my brain buzzing. Aggravated, and choosing consciousness over idle drowsing, I quickly change into some running clothes and head outside.

  The air is chill and a breeze nips at my nose, but the sky is clear and blossoming in colors like a watercolor painting. Before taking off I step carefully over to the barn. I stand at the door and decide simply barging in isn’t a good idea. It didn’t go over so well last time. Instead, I knock twice. When there isn’t a response, I yell.

  “I’m going out for a run!” No response. “Not running away, just running. Exercise! You know . . . ah, forget it.”

  I turn, pop in the earbuds of my mp3 player, and jog down the long gravel driveway. My feet pound along to a techno song Hawk and I once danced to in a competition against a group of feisty elves. They had challenged us because I had to open my big mouth and say we could take them. That first time they cleaned the floor with us. Then Hawk and I came back after months of practice. That time we won. I smile to myself as I run along the shoulder of Soldier Road. I can still picture the look on those elves’ faces when the crowd pronounced us the winners. Best. Day. Ever.

  A hip-hop tune comes on next when I realize there’s an echo to my footsteps. I slow my pace to look behind me. I jump to the side with a startled yelp and stumble across the pavement when I find a wolf running beside me, its deep reddish fur glowing in the morning light.

  “I am going to smack you into next week, Hawk,” I shout at him. I kick up my pace and he trots along beside me, tongue lolling out and everything. “You’re a freakin’ puppy, you know that?”

  He just pants and keeps his head down. I turn up the volume of my music and start running faster. It’s really a stupid thing to do because a werewolf can easily out pace me but I get competitive. He keeps pace with me easy as you please which only makes me angrier.

  “I can’t be seen running with a wolf, you moron!” I shout, make a sharp turnabout, and start running as fast as I can in the opposite direction. He catches up again. I hear the rumble of a car. “Oh, crap.”

  A minivan pulls out of a driveway directly in front of me. It’s too late to jump into the bushes and pull Hawk along with me. Instead I slow my pace and try to look like I’m merely walking my dog—my stupid, huge, wolf-like dog. I smile and wave at the woman in her fifties that swings onto the road and stares at me as she passes. She’s driving slow and, if she’s smart, she’ll realize I’ve got a wolf glued to my hip.

  “Go, go, go!” I say under my breath and we take off towards Jefferson’s place. I glance over my shoulder but the van has moved on. I come to a stop and plant my hands on my knees to suck down air. Once I’ve got my breath back, I whip about on my brother. “You—”

  I’m alone on the road again and hear the faint snapping of branches through the trees. I throw up my hands.

  “Oh, now you wise up?” I shout after him. “Ugh!”

  Too angry to continue my run, I complete the short distance to Jefferson’s and jog down the driveway. Hawk is standing outside the door of the cabin holding a plate with a few scraps of eggs left on it. He lifts it up for me to see once I’m in range.

  “What, none for me?” he scoffs.

  “Are you an idiot?”

  “Depends on who you ask, but not generally, no.”

  I gesture to the road. “Then what was all that about!”

  He looks wide-eyed from the driveway, to me, to his empty plate, then back to me. His face is blank. “What? I’m lost.”

  “You’ve been careful for how many years, then you just strut along the road like a stray husky? What’s wrong with you?”

  He squeezes his eyes shut and holds up his hand. “Wait, wait, wait.” He opens his eyes and points very deliberately to me. “You think that I—” he points to himself, “—went out there—” he points to the road, “—as . . . my other half?” He narrows his eyes at the empty plate. “Was there something in these eggs? Because you’re crazy.”

  “I just saw you out there! You were running beside me!”

  “Uh . . . no, that’s a negatory. I woke up like two minutes ago and you didn’t leave me any eggs, you hog.”

  I throw my hands up. “It was you! Reddish fur, werewolf, about yea high . . .” I freeze with my hand hovering at the right height. Thinking back, the wolf was a little short for Hawk, the red fur not quiet reaching all the way down its back. My eyes snap up and I drop my hand.

  “It wasn’t you?”

  He shakes his head very slowly so I can’t misunderstand him. “Looks like you’ve got a stalker friend. A furry, shapeshifting, stalker friend.”

  Chapter 9

  I pace in front of the cabin, eyes darting off to the woods every other second. Jefferson sits in the front seat of the old truck pouring over a map and muttering to himself. He dials multiple people I don’t know and I can’t hear what he’s talking about. He’s been that way since he came out of the barn. I told him about the mysterious running companion I had but he just waved it off. He seems to have a few new wrinkles on his forehead though so maybe it perturbed him more than he let on.

  Shortly before noon wolf-Hawk trots back through the underbrush. He nods in my direction then disappears behind the barn, returning a minute later as his usual slim, upright self. He musses his hair and avoids direct eye contact. Crap.

  Once he reaches me, he shakes his head. “Your friend must be a ghost.” He crosses his arms. “Or got into a car somewhere. The trail vanished at the end of Soldier Road. No luck.”

  He glances in Jefferson’s direction who lets out a choice swear word after hanging up his cell phone for the umpteenth time. Hawk quirks an eyebrow at me and I shrug. As if Jefferson would tell me what he’s doing. We’re the slaves to his whim, not his confidantes. I pick at the seam of my Go Fire Sprites! sweatshirt and debate asking Jefferson what he’s doing. Does he know who that random werewolf was? Not that I’m afraid or anything—just creeped out. Does that werewolf randomly run alongside people for kicks or does he or she know that I know about werewolves? Was it the one howling out in the woods last night?

  I start walking towards Jefferson when Hawk throws out his arm and stops me. He gestures to the driveway and I hear the rumble of an engine. My stomach plummets when I see the bar of red and blue lights on top, the reinforced grill, and the brown and wh
ite paint job. When it stops in the turn-around I read Carlton County Sheriff’s Office across the side. I self-consciously stand at attention and straighten my sweatshirt. This can’t be good.

  A deputy unfolds from the driver’s seat and straightens to a good half foot over my head. He could have been the son of a giant—tall, reaching, and strapping. His tan uniform stretches across solid biceps and when he takes off his wide brimmed hat brown hair falls past his ears. His dark inquisitive eyes peer down a pointed nose at us. He seems friendly enough, and young, but his size is menacing. His gaze moves past us to Jefferson who finally exits the rusted truck.

  “Deputy Graham.” Jefferson shakes hands with the deputy like he’s an old friend.

  Deputy Graham smiles and it changes everything about him immediately. He’s suddenly warm and approachable and a giant ray of sunshine. I let myself relax a little. He fiddles with the brim of his hat and shifts his weight onto one leg, throwing an eye over all of us.

  “I got a call this morning.” The deputy clears his throat and he’s back to being deadly serious again. “Mrs. Swenson thought she saw some young woman being followed by a wolf on your road. I told animal control I would look into it. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you? Happened right past your driveway.”

  Jefferson glares in my direction. “It’s handled, Jared. Just some teenage miscreant causing trouble and bothering our girl here. We’ll handle it.”

  It takes me a second to process what Jefferson just said, and the fact Deputy Graham doesn’t even flinch or look confused. He knows. He knows about the werewolves. I’ve been told there are officers in law enforcement all over the globe that work with the IMS but it feels strange knowing this man is one of them. An ordinary guy in the ordinary world dealing with your usual delinquent teenagers, suspicious reports, and, oh right—werewolves. Just another day at the office.

  “I’ve been catching a number of calls,” Deputy Graham continues. “Wolf sightings. Something going on, Jefferson?”

  “It’s nothing.” He waves the comment away. “But, uh, if you hear anything about a black wolf, let me know.”

  The deputy looks like he wants to ask more but doesn’t. Instead he turns his attention to me and Hawk. “So, trainees?” He moves with easy grace for such a big guy and gives both our hands a firm shake as we exchange names. “I guess I’ll see you around town then. Holler if you need anything, Jefferson.”

  He puts his hat back on, tips it at us, and then squeezes himself into the squad car. Jefferson gives a short wave as he pulls away. I’m bubbling over with questions and suspicion.

  “He was nice,” I say offhand before moving onto what I really want to talk about. “So, is nothing going on?”

  “No, something is.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye like he’s deciding if he can trust me. It’s hard to look trustworthy when all I’ve been feeling lately is guilty. I hold my chin up and try to at least look the part of an adult who has it together—apart from the fact my brother’s a werewolf, I probably have powers I don’t even realize, and at least one strange werewolf is stalking me.

  He flips his cell phone over and over again in his hands before stuffing it into his pants pocket. “I went through the information you two organized and I’ve been calling the werewolves around town. There have been other odd dosages of the werewolf serum. A lot more people than just Ben are taking extra shots, but none of the werewolves in town want to talk to me. They’re claiming amendment rights, and blah, blah, blah. Then Deputy Graham says we’re getting wolf calls? The people here know the dangers of discovery and they’ve never wanted anything like that to happen. Something’s changed and it worries me.”

  “But no one’s talking to you,” I say aloud, talking to myself.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Hawk holds up a finger. “But they would talk to another werewolf.”

  Jefferson’s beady eyes get even smaller if that’s possible. “What, you want to go knocking on people’s doors hoping for a wolfy group hug and answers? Kid, they still don’t know you. You aren’t from around here. They won’t talk to you. And honestly, I don’t trust you to talk to them. Remember the last time I took you two to someone’s house?”

  Hawk holds up both hands. “I get that, but isn’t it better if someone like me tries to find out what’s going on? If you plan on plowing into someone’s house demanding answers with an IMS badge, do you really think it’s going to go better that way? Or hiding cameras out in the woods and spying on them?” He taps his palms on his chest. “I know what they’re going through. I can help them.”

  I can hear the grasping need in my brother’s voice, that urge to do something for his fellow kind. It’s something I can never help him with even though I’ve tried. There are just some things you can’t understand if you’ve never been in that person’s shoes. This magical disease is one of them.

  Jefferson rolls his shoulders, looks to the woods, and then leans his head back to face the sky. This decision must be agonizing for him—trust us two rotten scoundrels or try to fight his way through the brick wall the wolfy residents have put up around themselves. Hawk gives him a wide smile.

  “Come on, Agent Barnes,” Hawk says. “I’ve even got a plan.”

  “Oh, why is that not at all reassuring?” Jefferson massages the bridge of his nose. “All right! What’s this plan of yours?”

  “The W.A. meeting. There’s got to be one here, right?”

  Jefferson makes a kind of growling noise from the back of his throat. “You’re kidding.”

  “Only on Tuesdays, and luckily for you it’s Saturday,” Hawk says and winks. “That’s right. I’m going to Werewolves Anonymous.”

  * * *

  We all cram into the front seat of the truck and make our way noisily along the road to the W.A. meeting on Sunday night. I’ve heard of these meetings before. Hawk went to one once. When he came back to the apartment he made a face and said he’d never go back. It’s a support group for those that have problems coming to terms with what they are or can’t handle the issues that come with shifting into a furry creature. Hawk, apart from the injections, has taken being a werewolf in stride. It doesn’t seem to bother him in the least with the exception of when others in the legendary community isolate him for it. To some, werewolves are second-class magical citizens—humans with magic that don’t belong with the rest. Thankfully, we haven’t encountered too much of that in Underground.

  It’s dark out by the time we reach our destination. I stare out the windshield confused as we turn into a cemetery and slowly wind our way past tombstones.

  “Seriously?” I say, breaking the silence. “They meet here?”

  “Welcome to Riverside Cemetery,” Jefferson says and rolls the truck to stop outside a little caretaker’s shack. Dark trees rise up behind it dropping away into a forest, and when Hawk pushes open the door I can hear the rush of a river close by.

  “Isn’t this a little . . . creepy?” I ask, my eyes roving over the tombstones and neat stretches of grass on a rolling hill. “And counterproductive to having a happy ‘feel better’ sort of meeting?”

  “It’s secluded, next to an easily accessible road, and where someone won’t accidently stumble onto it,” Jefferson explains as if it’s all quite plain and I’m an idiot. “You don’t exactly want a group of people talking about the urge to rip apart cattle to be overheard.”

  “Okay,” Hawk sighs. “Let’s do this.”

  Jefferson reaches over me and pats Hawk on the chest. The friendly gesture is a little odd considering Jefferson has made it a point to tell us how much he doesn’t like us. “Hey, do a good job in there, all right?”

  “Well, duh,” Hawk says then hops out and disappears into the shack.

  Once he’s gone Jefferson pulls around on the little dirt track and exits the cemetery, finding a nice secluded side road a ways down to sit and wait. In the darkening cabin of the truck I’m about to ask Jefferson if he brought a
deck of cards for something to do when I hear people talking faintly. I look out the back, to the side, but don’t see anybody around us. Then Jefferson pulls a cell phone out of his pocket and turns up the volume.

  “What—” I start but then catch Hawk’s voice on the phone as he introduces himself to some woman. I put two and two together and glare at Jefferson. “That was some nice sleight of hand, sticking a phone in Hawk’s pocket just then. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Did you really think I was going to let him go in there alone and take his word for whatever he tells us when he gets out?”

  I can’t believe this. “Yes,” I say forcefully. “He wouldn’t lie. Why would he?”

  He leans back from me, one elbow propped up on the steering wheel. “Have you ever been around other werewolves? Of course they lie! They lie to protect themselves. Do you honestly think your brother has shared all the gory details of what it is to be what he is? If you were in his shoes, you would do the same. Anyone would. They’re not pure human, and they protect their own.”

  I turn away from him and stare out the windshield. I hug my arms and curl my fingers around my biceps. I feel uncomfortable and a chill crawls up my neck. “This is wrong. They go to this meeting because they need to talk freely. We can’t just eavesdrop. Isn’t that breaking the law or something anyway?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, the IMS gets a bit more flexibility than most because we have bigger secrets to keep than anyone.” Jefferson bumps up the volume on his cell phone and I hear a rumble of voices mixing together. “Think of it this way. Someone in there might know what came over your brother the other night when he ran off. Maybe it’s something he won’t want to talk about and hides it from you. Wouldn’t it be better if you knew what happened? What if you could protect him from it but he didn’t give you the chance to because he didn’t share what’s being said in that room?”

  I face away from him to the passenger side window. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my brother. I still feel this is wrong and we’ll end up paying for it later if Hawk or anyone else finds out, but that part of me twisted up with anxiety for my brother drowns out my morality. I don’t stop Jefferson or tell him to turn off the phone. I sit silently and listen curled up against the door acting like I can’t hear.