Hungry Ghost

by Allison Moon

  “Are you sure you translated right?” Hazel asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Lexie muttered. “It’s like some bastardized indigenous language plus eight other things I’ve never heard of. Well, not technically, but you know, cognitively. Or, like experientially, or, whatever. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. But, you know.”

  “I dunno,” Mitch said. “It sounds too Hallmark-y to be meaningful.”

  Hazel rolled her eyes and walked to the quilt. “Oh my god, you guys. It’s like you’ve never read a fantasy novel or a spiritual text.

  “Change and the moon, right?” Hazel said, pointing to a line—the wrong line, since she couldn’t read it. “She’s talking about us.”

  Mitch peered at the quilt and rubbed his chin. “Renee, Sharm, you both speak two languages.”

  Renee held up four fingers above her crossed arms and shrugged.

  Sharmalee nodded. “Seven-ish.”

  Corwin muttered, “God, I hate being American sometimes.”

  “Okay, you both speak multiple languages,” Mitch said. “You know how to interpret a direct translation.”

  “Not really,” Renee said. “It’s all just context. Like Shakespeare more than Austrian or Bajan.”

  “To something new, something strange,” Lexie repeated. “What’s strange?”

  Jenna frowned. “Our wolves.”

  “But different from the Morloc or other Rares?” Sharmalee asked.

  “I suppose our ability to keep our heads even when we change,” Jenna said.

  “Which is a theory,” Renee said.

  “With good evidence,” Mitch offered.

  “What else?” Jenna asked.

  “Maybe it means ‘nature’ in the literal sense,” Hazel said. “Like our periods or something.”

  “We’ll fight them with menstrual blood!” Corwin shouted with a laugh while Sharmalee grimaced.

  “Knowing men, it’d probably work,” Renee said.

  The girls all studied the quilt, as though the solution to the riddle would emerge spontaneously from the worn cotton and corduroy.

  Renee asked Lexie to repeat it aloud again, word for word, the crudest translation she could divine, while Renee wrote it down in small neat print on a lined notebook page.

  When Lexie was finished, Renee studied the text and said, “Hm,” once, percussive.

  “Longfellow,” Corwin said from the kitchen. While the girls had struggled over the translation, Corwin had grabbed her laptop and done some investigative Googling.

  “What?” Renee said.

  “‘Keramos,’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. “Never man/As artist or as artisan/Pursuing his own fantasies/Can touch the human heart, or please/Or satisfy our nobler needs/As he who sets his willing feet In Nature’s footprints/light and fleet/And follows fearless where she leads. ‘Keramos and Other Poems’. 1878.”

  The girls cocked their heads and looked back to the quilt. “I guess that solves that mystery.” Renee said. “A twice-translated, cryptic message that ends up being a poem by a dead white guy.”

  “It’s probably a clue,” Hazel said. “A message from beyond the grave.”

  “Sure,” Renee said. “And our highly contextual, highly stressed reading will certainly yield accurate results.” She buried her hand in her hair and scratched her scalp, staring at the glowing wall of faint text. “Well, good night again, everyone.”

  The girls scattered back to bed, leaving Lexie and Jenna alone again next to the quilt.

  “A poem,” Jenna said. “That’s sweet.”

  Lexie shrugged. “I guess. But why translate an American poem into some random language? And why sew it into a quilt?”

  “I do things like that. It’s like spell casting. Weaving the words into intentions. Maybe she intended for you to find it when the time was right, and treat the words with some extra attention.”

  Lexie thrummed her lips. “Bummer,” she said.

  Jenna squeezed her shoulders. “Not everything has to be a symbol, I guess. Maybe you can just appreciate your mother’s artistic eye and generous spirit.” She took steps toward the stairs. “Try to get some rest. We’ve got a lot coming our way.”

  Lexie sighed. Right.

  Jenna left her alone in the living room. Lexie stared at the flickering quilt for a long time, thinking back on the only two times she remembered her mother tucking her into bed. She replayed them in her mind, as though rehearsing a scene to memorize the lines and blocking. Lexie knew the memories were likely false or at least exaggerated, but that didn’t really bother her. Only when the fire faded into embers did Lexie draw her attention away, remembering the book that now lay face-up on the low table beside her. She reached for it, the tiny yellow slip of paper floating to the ground. Lexie leaned over to grab it, and the translation came easy now: Crow Moon. They Attack.

  35

  Lexie had been typing a pre-morning-coffee email to her father when she was jolted by a shout from outside.

  She looked out the window and saw a standoff in the backyard. Hazel had apparently caught Sage trying to retrieve the clothes Lexie left out for him, and now Hazel was screaming for the girls. Sage stood naked in the grass, holding his hands at his sides, trying to calm her down.

  Everyone was home, but Renee got to the backyard first, crossbow in hand.

  Shit. Lexie threw on her bathrobe and ran downstairs.

  “You move, you die, fatherfucker!” Renee screamed as Lexie burst through the back door.

  Sage said nothing, but kept his hands to his sides, proving nothing but his passivity.

  “Renee, cool it. He’s with me.”

  “He’s with what?”

  “Put down the crossbow and I’ll explain.”

  Renee withdrew the weapon but kept her aggressive glare.

  “Put on the clothes, Sage.”

  He wriggled awkwardly into Ray’s rifle club t-shirt and the polka dot pajama pants Lexie had provided him. Hazel side-eyed Lexie. Lexie shrugged. “They were the best I had.”

  Back inside, Lexie filled in the Pack with what she knew and let Sage tell the rest.

  “I said I will help you,” Sage said. “And I will. But I vowed a long time ago never to draw blood from my brethren. Or sistren,” he said with a glance to Renee.

  “Some of your brethren deserve a little blood-drawing,” Renee said.

  Sage just smiled that smile. “I’ll leave that to you.”

  “Even if we fight during the full moon, we’re out-muscled,” Corwin said.

  “Especially if you do,” Sage said. “The moon gives them strength that outmatches yours.”

  Sharmalee looked warily at the girls. “And that’s different than the rest of the month how?”

  Sage reached to the glass of water Jenna had set for him and took a long sip before speaking. “My kind lived in relative peace alongside humans for a very long time. Do you know what changed it?”

  “Colonialism?” Hazel said.

  Sage shook his head, the pale curls grazing his cheeks. “No. Not quite. The Americas at that time were experiencing settlement to be sure, but what drove that settlement was an arms race. We didn’t try to reason or appeal to the emotions of our invaders. We just fought back. Wars of beasts are fought face to face. Claw to claw. No treaties or negotiations. Just blood.

  “If you want to win, you have to think like animals but fight like men.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘think like women’?” Hazel asked.

  Sage looked at her, unblinking. “No. I don’t. That is what likely got your previous pack killed. You must fight with weapons and grit, but you must trade strategy for instinct.”

  “But you just said we’re outmatched at the full moon, and we aren’t animals the rest of the time,” Renee said. “We can’t change like you and Archer. Not at will.”

  “I did,” Lexie reminded her softly, though she certainly hadn’t willed it.

  Sage nodded. “I believe it could be possible. Though for ha
lf-bloods like you it will always be painful and difficult to maintain. And forcing it for too long could undo you.”

  “Undo like insanity?” Hazel asked.

  “Like pain, illness. Like death,” he said.

  Renee looked ready to explode, and an exploding Renee would sidetrack the rest of the discussion. “What else do we have?” Lexie asked before that could happen.

  “Well, you are lucky in one respect. These full-bloods know very little of the human world. They know even less of turning than you do. They do not think like humans.”

  “This is a good thing?” Mitch asked.

  Sage looked unblinking to him. “Quite.”

  Renee checked her phone, but didn’t send anything. Lexie noted this and caught Renee’s eyes as she slipped the phone back in her pocket.

  “Do not ever underestimate that which is the boon of your species,” Sage said, looking each of the four sisters in the eye.

  “Which is what? Logic?” Mitch asked.

  “Empathy?” Hazel said.

  “Strategy?” Renee said.

  Lexie watched Sage as a small, wily smile crept onto his face. He shook his head, his curls catching the firelight. He raised his hands to his cheeks and wiggled his thumbs.

  Lexie snorted.

  “Thumbs?” Renee said, with an are-you-serious glare.

  Sage nodded. “Thumbs.”

  “But we can’t be wolves and have thumbs at the same time,” Mitch said.

  “Such is your curse.”

  “Fighting the Morloc while human is suicide,” Mitch said. “We’re at our strongest during the moon.”

  “As are the full-bloods,” Sage said. “As am I. The moon won’t change your odds one bit.”

  “What would?”

  “Using your distinctly-human advantage while the Morloc are at their mundane strength.”

  Lexie and Renee shared another long look. Both girls picked up their phones and texted—with their thumbs.

  An hour later, Mitch had emptied the fridge onto the kitchen counter, preparing a legion of snacks, and Stefan walked in with Taylor and Otter.

  “Lexie, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Stefan said as he led the boys through the front hall into the kitchen. “I’ve got a midterm paper due tomorrow, and right now I’m thinking you are one crazy bi—”

  He was interrupted by the entrance of Sage. “Holy … ”

  “ … Man,” Taylor finished.

  The boys stumbled over themselves to get to Sage, who stood at the back door, holding some fresh logs for a new fire and looking confused.

  Jenna, Corwin, and Sharm had arrived home with more groceries and were sorting them into “eat now” and “eat later” piles. They seemed intent on their task, working hard to ignore the strange men in their home.

  “Open some beers, Mitch,” Renee said. “Let’s gather.”

  Renee led everyone into the living room. Sage deposited the logs next to the hearth and perched on the windowsill in the corner.

  “Okay, honestly,” Taylor said, “it feels like you guys doused the room in sex, and it’s really distracting, so can we please cut to the chase?”

  “It’s Sage,” Lexie said with a bat of her hand.

  Sage shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Taylor flirted. “I’m just saying.”

  Lexie looked at the boys. “Where are the rest of them?”

  “This is it, fuzzypants,” Stefan said, grabbing the beer Mitch offered. “None of the other boys cared.”

  “They don’t live here,” Otter said, as though that answer was sufficient.

  “We’re at war,” Lexie nearly shouted.

  Otter rolled his eyes. “Okay, so what I don’t understand is why you are suddenly deciding to declare war on the Morloc.”

  “They declared war on us,” Renee said.

  “By killing Bree Curtis,” Corwin said, “and all the others over the years, and by coming onto campus in what was clearly a threat.”

  “So then why, out of the blue, are they declaring war on Milton?” Otter asked.

  The girls looked to one another, no answers between them.

  Sage spoke. “Because it was their land first.”

  “What?” said Otter.

  “Surely you know that Milton wasn’t already here?” Sage replied.

  “Of course I know that, but there were First Nations here before.”

  “And they stayed clear of the Morloc too,” Sage said. “It wasn’t until the settlers made a deal with some other packs, to exchange defense for safety, food, and territory, that the land switched hands from Rares to humans.”

  “What other packs?”

  “Female Rares have a storied past with this town,” Sage replied. “Archer and her pack lived alongside the tribes here fairly peacefully. When the white settlers came here, they sought Archer’s help to keep the wolves from the door, so to speak. For generations it was the female Rares who guarded this town, even as the indigenous tribes migrated or died off and the old ways disappeared, they stayed. It was their continued presence that attracted the Morloc, who saw them as an opportunity to continue their lineage.

  “When Archer’s relationship with the human settlers grew tenuous, my sister and her pack hid. The Morloc saw that as an opportunity to claim the land for themselves, and by extension, claim the females as well. That was the first war. Then the second, to which your mother bore witness, Lexie, and where Archer’s pack was decimated,” he nodded at Renee. “And now, it looks to be the third.”

  The packs exchanged uneasy looks.

  “We’re imperialists?” Sharmalee said.

  “What do you mean, ‘we’?” Lexie said. “I’m new to this pack.”

  “We all are,” Corwin said. “Plus, you’re white.”

  “I’m a quarter Cree,” Lexie said.

  “Funny. I’ve known you for nearly six months and I’ve never heard you claim Cree lineage until now,” Corwin said.

  “Corwin, you’re a white girl with dreadlocks,” Renee said. “I don’t think you’re in a position to talk about appropriation.”

  “Whatever. Lex, you look white, so it doesn’t really matter what you actually are,” Hazel interjected.

  “How can you say that? You’re white too!” Lexie exclaimed.

  “But when someone thinks I’m Latina, they treat me like a Latina.”

  “You’re white, Hazel. You can’t just claim privileges as it suits you,” Renee interjected. “You may as well be bisexual.”

  Hazel gasped. “How dare you?!”

  “Now, now. No one’s accusing anyone of being bisexual here,” Jenna said.

  “Except Corwin,” Mitch chuckled.

  “Except Corwin,” Hazel nodded.

  “Screw you guys,” Corwin said.

  “And Lexie has a thing for Sage,” Sharmalee said.

  “What?!” Lexie shouted.

  Renee rolled her eyes. “He’s a pureblood. He doesn’t count.”

  Sharmlaee shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Stefan, Otter, and Taylor shared desperate looks and moved to sneak out the front door. Corwin caught Stefan by the backpack and dragged him back into the living room.

  “Okay, okay. We’re all guilty of oppression, and we’re all oppressed,” Renee said. “Can we acknowledge that and get to the point? This information is rather disturbing, as I think we’re all learning.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch said. “I don’t want to be part of continued oppression of an indigenous group.”

  “Good point, Mitch. Any other thoughts?”

  Corwin crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to live.”

  “Another good point, Corwin. I think we can all agree with both of you,” Renee said. “The question remains, are these two goals mutually exclusive?”

  “Land is traded in blood,” Jenna said, solemnly. “History isn’t full of peaceful exchanges.”

  “But if we believe we belong here, aren’t we buying into the same imperialist philoso
phy?” Hazel asked.

  Stefan raised his hand. “I’m just gonna interject, okay? Male oppressor here, commanding the floor. These wolves want your asses dead. We’re past politics, and I don’t think they’re gonna trust a treaty.”

  “Can you really blame them?” Taylor muttered.

  “Exactly. Let your white guilt play itself out in other ways, okay? By like, actually helping people, instead of passively resisting werewolves and getting eaten.” Stefan said. “I think the choice you have is: dead or not dead.”

  “Yeah,” Otter said. “Just because someone is part of an oppressed class, doesn’t mean they’re not also assholes.”

  “Or, what Otter said.” Stefan said, rolling his eyes.

  The girls were somewhere between sulking and lost in thought. Lexie looked across the room to Sage who gave her the slightest nod of support.

  “But they’re not killing us,” Otter said, as though he just solved a riddle.

  “What?” Renee said.

  “We know some dudes have been turned. But as far as we know, the actual body count is all female,” he replied.

  “Yeah,” Corwin said, her composure slipping toward ire. “What of it?”

  “Why?” Otter said. “Why only females? I mean if this is a war, why not kill all the able-bodied men or whatever?”

  “We have reason to believe the Morloc are trying to get a human female pregnant to continue their line,” Renee said with a burdened sigh.

  Lexie spoke up. “Because we’re on their land. They think we belong to them.”

  “Though it seems that they’re having problems with it,” Renee said. “Hence the body count.”

  The boys shifted and glanced away. Stefan took a long swig from his beer bottle.

  “So they’re starting with you,” Otter said. “It’s ‘all your females are belong to us,’ but men aren’t on the menu?”

  The girls exchanged glances, feeling their stock fall. “No,” Renee said. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “So it’s a war on women, not on humanity,” Otter said.

  “A war on women IS a war on humanity,” Renee snapped.

  Otter made a face, unconvinced. The room fell quiet, both sides sharing wary looks with each other and glances to Sage, who stayed still and silent.