They opened the front passengers’ side door and peered inside.
“Look who gets to ride shotgun,” said Bea.
There, resting in a nest made from an old blanket, was a bundle of brown feathers.
“Wacka!” said Kate. “You’re okay!”
The duck raised her head.
“When Bobby found your parents and I in the woods, he was worried her wing was broken,” said Bea. “But we had a good look at her, and I think she’s okay. We managed to stop her bleeding about an hour ago. She’s been resting ever since. That’s one brave little duck.”
“Oh, Wacka,” said Kate, stroking the duck’s feathers.
“We’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.”
Wacka laid her head back in her nest.
“How is our patient?” came a voice.
Kate and Bea turned to see Marge walking slowly from the cabin.
“Resting now, Mum, like you should be,” said Bea.
“How are you, Grandma? Are you okay?” asked Kate.
“I’m fine,” said Marge, rubbing her bandaged neck. She put an arm around Kate. “It’ll take more than Marcus to do me in.” She turned to Bea and muttered under her breath. “I told you he was no good.”
“Spare me, Mother,” said Bea, retreating to the cabin. She passed Bobby and John on their way out, their arms full of bags.
“Hey, you made it!” said John. He dropped his load into the back of the van and greeted Kate. “What happened?” he said. “Did you find Dirt Bag?”
Kate repeated her story, a little less enthusiastically this time.
“So, what’s going to happen with you?” Kate asked John.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t suppose Dad’s terribly happy with me right about now.” He looked thoughtful for a moment then perked up again. “But Bea says I can stay at her place with you guys. Cool, huh?”
Bea walked past as John spoke, carrying a load of laundry from the cabin. Kate couldn’t help but notice John’s gaze follow her as she stuffed towels into the back hatch of her car.
“Need a hand?” asked John eagerly.
Kate watched as he peeled away from their conversation to help Bea. So much had changed. So little had changed.
Kate stood by the cabin, feeling her world swirl around her. She looked at the familiar trees, lake, and sky that had been part of her home for nearly as long as she could remember. She watched as her family hastily tossed all their worldly possessions into the back of the van.
Kate would miss this place. But somehow, she knew she would be okay. She knew exactly who she was. Wherever she went, she would still be Kate.
Kate Wereduck.
“Are you going to help out here, Miss Duckie, or what?” called practical Marge as she headed back into the cabin for a fresh load of bedding and towels.
Kate wrapped her arms around her body to warm herself against the chill morning air.
“Coming, Grandma,” she said. “Coming.”
“Welcome back to America This Morning!” said a man with silver hair and gleaming teeth. His phony smile beamed to millions of television sets around the world.
“I’m Waaaaayne Noostum. Coming up in this half hour, Ah-wooooo! It’s a wolf of a story you don’t want to miss.”
A graphic of a wolf howling at the moon danced across the screen.
Noostum chuckled. “We’re not talking about Hollywood-special-effects-and-makeup werewolves. We’re talking about the real thing. Here on America This Morning, we have an exclusive look at the world’s first evidence of werewolves. And, would you believe—a wereduck? Joining me via satellite, from our studio in Canada, is Dirk Bragg. He’s a reporter with Really Real News, and he’s brought with him photographic evidence he says will knock your socks off. Good morning, Dirk.”
“Good morning, Wayne,” said Dirk. A box featuring Dirk’s smiling face popped up on the screen beside the host.
“Now, I understand you barely got away from these werewolves with your life!”
“That’s right, Wayne,” answered Dirk. He slowly and dramatically told the story of his adventure.
Noostum gasped at all the right spots. He was riveted by the tale. Dirk couldn’t believe how well this was going.
“That’s quite a story,” said Noostum as Dirk wrapped up, turning his gaze back to the camera. “And now, dear audience, for the proof. Dirk Bragg took digital photos and video of these amazing events last night, and I’m pleased to say, we can now share them with you. Our affiliate station in Canada just sent us the files, and—well—let’s just take a look for ourselves. Dirk, shall we just roll the video?”
“Absolutely, Wayne,” said Dirk with a grin. “Let it roll.”
The picture on the screen jumped as the video began to play. The screen was mostly shadows. It was difficult to make out exactly what was going on.
An image came slowly into focus. A man was walking up the steps of what looked like the stage of a dimly lit bar. The audio track played the tinny opening notes of a country song.
“What’s this?” said Noostum.
“Uh,” said Dirk. “I’m not quite…sure. This might not be the right file.”
“My producer says it’s the only video in your camera, Dirk,” said the host.
The figure on the stage walked into the spotlight. It was Dirk. He pulled a microphone into his hand.
“My wheels belong to the roooad…but my heart belongs to yooooooooou!” sang the Dirk in the video.
“No! This isn’t it!” yelled Dirk.
“Oh, I get it. Really Real News strikes again.” Noostum chuckled. “Right. A wereduck. You almost had me for a minute. Get this clown out of our studio.”
“I swear!” yelled Dirk. “It was real! All of it! The werewolves! The duck! Everythi–”
The satellite feed went dark.
Noostum looked calmly at the camera.
“In other news,” continued the host, “K9 justice! A dog took to the witness stand today in a bizarre trial that’s rocking the legal world….”
Jacques Poitras, Margaret McPike, Karen Rawlines, and Marion Smith provided valuable feedback on the earliest drafts of Wereduck. Ben Carwana and Jessica Arbing were my test-kids: both had questions and suggestions that helped me shape the story as I was writing. Thanks to Penelope Jackson and Nimbus Publishing for seeing the potential in my manuscript, and to my editor, Whitney Moran, for turning it all into a book. Thanks also to the talented Jenn Embree, whose illustrations and cover art, when I first saw them, made me squee with glee.
Henry, Jane, and Alice are the three silliest kids in the entire world. We read together on the couch every night, and it’s the best part of my day, every day.
Special thanks to Erin. If it weren’t for her creativity, patience, support, and endless cups of tea, this book wouldn’t have been possible.
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