I still didn’t want to, but I gave in, limped inside and braced for another round of poking, prodding and impossible questions. It didn’t take long before Dr. Fitzpatrick was wearing the sort of exhausted expression usually reserved for truly lost causes.
“I thought the pain was improving,” he said at last.
“It was,” I said quietly.
“Did anything happen to cause the relapse? Was there an injury? Did you fall, or—”
I identified his silence as did anyone hurt you?
“No,” I said, instead of, Well, I probably threw myself against the wall a few times and tried to gnaw through a door, then bit and clawed myself all night when that didn’t work.
I shuddered. Dr. Fitzpatrick awkwardly adjusted his glasses, looking tired, and I wondered in that moment exactly how much of his graying hair I was responsible for.
“I want to help you, but you’re going to have to help me out here, too. I can only prescribe appropriately if I know what I’m dealing with.”
I bit my tongue. We’d had this conversation before.
“There are things we can do to help support your posture, get stress off the joints. I know we’ve discussed rods—”
Oh, God, no. I could only imagine what would happen to me a month from now if I had metal rods in my back.
“But I understand that’s off the table,” he finished wryly. “Is there anything else you haven’t been telling me, B?”
There was, of course, plenty. The best I could say was only a fraction of it. “I think I just overexerted myself. I’m exhausted, and everything hurts. I need something for that, is all.” I swallowed. “Please.”
He sighed and poked at his keyboard. “I can update your prescriptions, but I’m hesitant to do that. The drugs you’ve taken before are very powerful. Have you noticed any of the side effects we’ve discussed?”
The answer was no. I metabolize everything too fast, which is why I eat so much and why medicines never do much. They’re burned up and gone far faster than they should be. I have to take five or six pills at a time to feel anything at all. But the side effects never sink in, either, and I never get addicted. My whole system gets a purge and refresh after thirty days, after all—the change burns everything artificial off—so nothing sticks.
Again with the small favors.
“There’s one other thing I’d like to discuss,” Dr. Fitzpatrick added.
I painfully hoisted myself up on the exam table. “What?”
“Your symptoms are rare. But there are common factors with disorders I’ve treated before. If you’d permit me to suggest—”
I rubbed my forehead. This wasn’t going to end well.
“There are other drugs I might be able to prescribe. But I’d need to be sure. I’d have to run more tests.”
Oh, no. The last time anyone did blood work on me—when Mom finally overruled Dad, and hauled me off to the nearest research hospital—they found out, just for starters, that my blood type matched nothing on known record. Not only did they want to do deeper testing, they tried to keep me there. I went without painkillers for months during that particular episode of doctor dodging.
“The medicine I’m speaking of is experimental. But it’s a promising procedure. It might suppress the pain. It might even get you on your feet again without aid, B.”
“I doubt it,” I whispered. All I could see was blood and darkness and silhouettes upon the hill, and I couldn’t imagine poor old Dr. FitzP trying to save me from that. “Grey’s told you. I just need my refills.”
He considered his computer. My temperature displayed there, just barely cresting 100 degrees. It always did, so Dr. FitzP didn’t even mention it anymore. My blood pressure, though, was distressingly high even for me. Severe pain can do that to a person.
He clicked his pen, then sighed. “I’ll be just a moment,” he said, rising from his chair.
From the raised voices outside that soon followed, I knew he was duking it out with my brother again. I shut my eyes, tried to shut my ears, and waited for Dr. Fitzpatrick to lose.
Dr. FitzP returned with the scrip soon after, then showed us out, almost without a word.
“I’m sorry,” Grey said heavily, once we were in the privacy of the truck’s cab. He sounded like he meant it to cover everything—the clinic visit, the last few weeks, the entirety of my life. “I wish there was an easier way to do this.”
There is an easier way, I thought. Ilsa told me. I just have to become a wild animal for good and stop caring. What do you think? Ready to let me go?
“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, and said nothing more.
*
Returning to school got me the best welcome ever: being lectured to death by my guidance counselor.
She was determined to make it clear that my recent absences had been noted, although probably not by her. She even had to ask what grade I was in, so I doubt she’d bothered to read my painfully skinny file. The conversation, such as it was, went like this:
Her: Your education is very important, blah blah blah, attendance is critical, blee, I memorized this script twelve years ago and wouldn’t know how to deviate from it if my life depended on it, etc.
Me: I have severe health problems and am still learning how to adjust, which is in my file, signed by a medical professional. If you care. Which you better, since after that last checkup, I’m not sure I can get him to talk to me again.
Her: Sorry. I’m blindly sticking to the rules, which include telling you that if you miss any more days you will be subjected to disciplinary action and possibly suspension from this school, blah blah, snore.
Me: You do realize I’m a werewolf and could bite your tiny head off with one good snap?
Her: If you actually had said that aloud, I might be concerned, but since you only wish you’d said that, you have no valid defense and no power in this room, so I’ll just sit here and glare.
Me: Fume.
At least I wasn’t the only one having issues with the school officials. I got that story when I ran into Lin. She volunteered on the school’s tiny radio station, and by extension, served as half of the morning-announcements crew. I’d discovered that last week when I recognized her voice after the Pledge of Allegiance, sounding as bored as I felt about the debate club meetings and that day’s offerings from our school’s lamentable chef. This morning, she left the PA room in time to cross my path—but was far less concerned about me than the argument going on ten feet away. I didn’t blame her.
It was the vice principal and Brandon’s girlfriend Antonella, the latter of whom was sounding so desperate she was about to break the octave barrier.
“You can’t do this,” Antonella pleaded. “You just can’t. It’s not right.”
I stopped beside Lin, leaning on my crutches. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hey.”
“Come to watch the show?”
Antonella was doing a remarkable job of feigning tears. Lin’s eyebrows lifted. “I think I should’ve brought popcorn,” she said.
“Really, Mr. Jones, I know you’re in a tight spot, but think about this. All you’re doing is hurting the school. You know he’s the best player on the team, and without him—” Brandon? I mouthed at Lin. She nodded, her mouth slightly open. “—we can’t possibly keep winning.”
Mr. Jones sighed. “I understand your feelings, but after that scene last night, there’s no way we can keep him on the team.”
“It wasn’t that bad—”
“He punched out the opposing quarterback, in full view of the crowd,” Mr. Jones said bluntly. “This counts as bad, Miss Carra.”
I’m not sure what shocked me more: Brandon blatantly assaulting someone in front of a crowd, or our vice principal actually possessing a backbone. Antonella looked equally dismayed at both. She readied herself to launch another volley, but then she saw me.
“Do you mind?” she snapped.
I did, but that was the end of that. Lin grabbed my elbow and pulled me ou
tside. There, we tried to collect ourselves while the crowd milled past.
“Wow,” Lin said. “I’d heard rumors, but I didn’t quite believe it. That’s a new low even for him.”
“What did you hear?”
Lin made a face. “He kept getting called out for rules violations. Attitude problems. Then his temper went, and he just whaled on the guy for no good reason. If they hadn’t been in protective gear and the others hadn’t pulled Brandon off, well…”
I mentally filled in the blanks. It would have ended more badly than she knew. This close to the full moon, werewolves were still pretty on edge, and if Brandon had been in that much of a temper…I shuddered.
“Anyway, that’s why he’s not here. Got a couple days of cool-off time.” Lin made another face, as if to suggest two days wasn’t enough. “Glad you’re back, though. Are you feeling better?”
The sudden kindness caught me off-guard. “Um, not really, but…”
“Sticking it out?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d take sick days if I could, but I never get sick, and my parents know it. I never have any excuse. I’m always left hoping for a sniffle, just the once.”
I cracked a wry smile. It would be awfully nice to have that problem.
“Listen, break’s almost up, but will I see you at lunch? I know Lacey wants to talk to you. She keeps going on about Animal Control and how they won’t return her phone calls, but I have no idea what she’s on about. Do you—” Lin stopped and looked me over. Finally it all seemed to sink in. “Cee can wait. You’re worn out. Go see the nurse or something.”
“Yeah,” I said, not quite agreeing. She didn’t notice, only patted my shoulder and ran off toward the commons. It looked so easy. It was still frustrating to watch.
I went the other direction and found a place to sit in the courtyard, where it was drizzling. Naturally. Still, I needed a place to phone Grey with the news, since I knew he’d want to hear about this particular mess from me.
I just had to wonder if something had happened over the full moon to set Brandon off.
And if I was going to have to make myself even scarcer around here when he got back.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. I had too much cause to worry, and too many unpleasant distractions—not the least of which was Grey’s latest medical concoction, meant to replace my already dwindling painkillers. It did more to make the house smell like nothing on earth than it did to make me feel better. It’s hard to rest when you can’t get the smell of Mad Science out of your nose.
And when you sleep and dream of someone else’s nightmares, it’s easy to wake up feeling worse than when you started.
I woke confused, displaced and aching all over, and possessed by the terrible sense that I was supposed to be doing something. I could nearly hear the Elder whispering to me, angry that I hadn’t made a move yet. But I still couldn’t make enough sense of his memories to know what to do.
Which is why I was in no shape to confront Brandon. Unfortunately, he was back at school in full force.
We were in the library for English, sitting around the computer tables. Lacey noticed I wasn’t typing anything, and asked what was wrong. Then she raised her head, seeing who’d walked through the door. It was Brandon, radiating wrongness. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t agitated—he was just smiling. Quiet, outwardly calm, and smiling.
It freaked me the hell out.
I briefly considered lying to Lacey, but knew it was stupid to try. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said instead, ducking my head and hoping, however vainly, that Brandon wouldn’t notice me.
“Well, that’s obvious. You haven’t talked for days. Seriously…what is it?”
It was the uncomfortable heat pouring through the air, is what it was. It was the smell. Brandon, two tables away now, kept picking at a tiny scab on his left hand to distract me. A flash of blood, then it healed. Another, then gone. And he was staring right at me, watching my nostrils flare.
I kicked a table leg and glowered.
“B, look at me. Is he—”
We’re still watching you, you know, he said in my head.
I kicked the desk so hard that time that two toes snapped.
My vision spiked into bright-white flashes at the pain. I’m pretty sure I swore the air toxic. Cee took the hint and helped me up from my chair, improvising some excuse about finding a book upstairs. Mr. McKay nodded, and she led me limping to the mezzanine, where I collapsed into the window seat. I could still feel Brandon down there, but at least he wasn’t following us.
Cee gingerly sat beside me. “Okay, B. What’s really wrong?”
I didn’t know where to start. Especially since Brandon could probably still hear us. I groaned and began with the obvious, as quietly as possible. “Brandon. Keep away from him, whatever you do. After what he did the other night—”
“At the game, you mean? Or up in the woods?”
She hadn’t forgotten everything, then. I scrubbed back my hair, clutching my head like if I squeezed hard enough, the right answer would pop out somehow. I got nothing. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said he’s in a wacky cult and wants me to join their terrible rituals under the light of the full moon?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, actually.”
I giggled, a little hysterically, and avoided her gaze by bending over to pull off my left shoe. I painfully wriggled my toes, getting them back in line. Lacey took the opportunity to ask another question.
“Why did you really have to meet them?” When I didn’t respond, she added, “I hate prying like this—”
I doubted that.
“But you spooked me, B. And if Pandora has something to do with this…” She shook her head. “I miss her, you know. I really do. If you won’t say what’s going on with you, you don’t have to, but maybe you could…”
“Rat her out instead?”
She paused. “Are you always this much of a cynic?”
“These days, yeah.”
“Okay, okay. You be Little Miss Mystery, just…”
“Stay away from Brandon.”
She gestured at my foot. “Probably a plan.”
“No, really. It isn’t safe. Don’t even talk to him. Stay away. Miles.”
“That’s going to be a little hard.”
“Three classes a day,” I mumbled.
Lacey looked sympathetic, then determined. “Listen—I can’t fix it all, but I can get you out of some of them.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “Helping out the teachers now and then, senior project preparation, volunteer days. We can’t get out all the time, but we can skirt the worst of it until things blow over. And I’m sure we can stay safe up here for the rest of the period. Keep an eye on him until he leaves.”
I stared. Just a few days ago I’d been messing with her mind, putting her life at risk, and scaring her half to death, and now this?
“Why are you still helping me?” I asked in disbelief.
Of all the things, she burst out laughing. “Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”
Friends. Right.
I finally conceded the point. I gave her a weary, bewildered smile and let her get on with running the show, since that was, after all, what Lacey seemed to do best.
What worried me, though, was that both Ilsa and the Elder had said they could help me, too. I doubted that friendship was what they had in mind.
*
As it turned out, I didn’t have to update Grey about Brandon’s return. He’d already heard. When I got home, he seemed oddly determined to make it a normal night, but it was hard not to notice the extra security lights he’d wired around the house. I didn’t want to know what was in the unmarked boxes in the far corner of the room, either. I guess I wasn’t the only one feeling paranoid.
Once I got upstairs, though, I found out that someone had thwarted all those efforts anyway.
I fe
lt his presence before anything else. It was like Brandon’s over-amped heat, but without the destructive edge. I felt that warmth and heard someone moving, then glimpsed something move past the window. Then, of all things, I heard a knock.
I got up, wrested up the pane and stood there, staring at Raoul through the gray mesh of the bug screen. It wasn’t enough to dull his gaze.
“If you’re looking for the front door, you’re hopelessly deluded,” I said.
To my surprise, he smiled.
In this light, I could better see Raoul’s face. There was a wildness that permeated him, and a too-careful precision to his movements, like he was very deliberately making himself be human. But he was still the most compelling thing I’d ever seen. In my bedroom light, his pale skin and amber eyes just glowed.
And who had eyes like that? Seriously? Sensible people would stop at hazel, but no, his eyes were too clear and gold-tinged for that. Freak of nature.
“Listen,” I said, trying to put some space between us. “You’re not getting inside this way. The screen’s there for a reason. Get me bit by a mosquito and you’ll be paying for weeks.”
His smile stretched wider.
“And I hate yellow jackets.”
“It’s not yellow jacket season, B.”
“No, but it sure seems to be werewolf season. What are you doing here?”
“Watching you.”
The plainness made it more unsettling. I backed up. “Like Brandon said…you’re all spying on me?”
“That’s all anyone dares do.”
Well, that shut me up. For about five seconds. Those ended with me saying, “What the fuck?”
Raoul’s mouth creased up again. You don’t know, do you.
Oh, God. That voice, in my head…I clapped my hands to my temples. “Stop that.”
He tilted his head, making his collar fall aside. His throat was unscarred. Just like Brandon’s. With the sort of deliberation that suggested he wasn’t used to doing this, he spoke again. His low, rough voice read as sexy whether he meant it to or not.
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