Karin snapped the cell phone shut and dropped it back into her purse. She had no intention of jogging, even though the sky had grown considerably darker while she’d been perusing the wine aisles. Night didn’t bother her. And even if the city planners had attempted to keep the original “country feel” of the area by leaving the sidewalks tree lined and avoiding the overuse of streetlights, it was still upper-middle-class suburbia, for God’s sake.
Once she left the strip mall, with its ring of sodium security lights, Karin had only the full moon to guide her way, and that was fine. What could happen to her?
She’d only gone two blocks when she heard a soft scuff on the sidewalk behind her. It could have been a dog or a cat or a deer or a-
When a second, then third, then fourth scuff condensed into steps, Karin felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Someone was following her, and that someone was getting closer.
Tightening her grip on the wine, Karin forced herself to look straight ahead and continue with the same easy, unhurried stride, as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Every college self-defense lecture she’d ever heard came thundering back to her, along with each possible reaction’s chance of actually working:
Run-50 percent, if you were faster than your assailant.
Turn and confront-30-65 percent, depending on who was behind you.
Scream “rape” or “murder” -0 percent.
Scream “fire” -75 percent, but only if you were near a building.
Fall down and play dead-minus 5.3 billion percent.
Fight-100 percent, but a bad idea for a number of reasons.
The breeze shifted and carried with it the scent of lilacs and musk… and a low, trembling growl that slowly, very slowly formed into words.
“He’s… mine.”
Before Karin could react, something cold and hard and sharp raked down her back, shredding her shirt and the skin beneath.
Karin spun to the left, only partially aware of the squeal of brakes and blaring car horn as she darted out of the tree shadows and into the street.
Russ was setting the table when she walked in.
“A couple of minutes? I was about to send out the… Jesus, what happened to you?”
Setting the bottle down on the table, she glanced over her shoulder at the tattered remains of her T-shirt and gave him a sheepish grin. “You won’t laugh?”
There was only concern in his eyes. “Of course not.”
“I… slipped and fell into some bushes. Never said I was overly coordinated.”
“God, apparently not.” Turning her, Russ gently examined her back. “You’re lucky you only got scratched. They don’t look very deep, skin’s hardly broken, but you’d better let me put some antiseptic on them just in case.”
“After dinner?”
“Now.”
While Russ went to fetch the disinfectant and cotton swab, Karin opened the wine and poured herself a glass.
She didn’t give it so much as a moment to catch its breath.
Lily was in the book, too. She answered after the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Lily. You’re right, we need to talk.”
“Who is this?”
“You know very well who this-”
“Oh, Karin, of course.” The laughter was condescending. “Yes, I suppose we should talk if you want to. Frankly, I thought you’d have already gotten my message. But if you insist…”
“I do.”
“All right, then.” She yawned. “Where and when?”
“Now’s good for me. Open your front door.”
She wasn’t dressed for company-cutoffs and a shapeless purple tank top, no makeup, hair in a tangle-but the look on Lily’s pale face, although she was trying hard to suppress the shock when she opened the door, made Karin wish she’d brought a camera. It was one of those precious moments she’d want to remember.
“There’s a law against stalking, you know.”
Karin closed her cell phone. “Funny you should mention that.”
Pushing past the startled woman, Karin walked into the living room and sat on the edge of an overstuffed white sofa. The room was all cream and beige and lace and soft pillows; silk lilies in china vases and scrollwork furniture; knickknacks and framed pastels. There were no hard edges in the room, nothing sharp or prickly or that in any way reflected the true nature of its owner.
Karin found that interesting and wondered if Russ ever noticed.
“Oh,” she said when her hostess finally arrived, “and before you say anything, I know there’s also a law against breaking and entering… and even if I didn’t have an uncle on the police force, I could always say you invited me in. But don’t worry… I haven’t said anything to my uncle or to Russ. This is between you and me.”
Lily stood like a queen-head held high, movements sure, her eyes as hard as slate and just as brittle. Karin couldn’t help but admiring that.
“But where are my manners?” Lily asked, hand dramatically placed at her chest… undoubtedly to reinforce the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Karin fought the urge to look down at her own size 34Bs, knowing the comparison wouldn’t be in her favor. “Please forgive me. May I offer you something to drink?”
“No. Thanks.”
“Well, since you’ve already made yourself at home…”
Silence-profound and heavy-filled the moments until Lily had settled herself in the chair directly opposite Karin.
“So you wanted to talk.” Lily crossed one leg over the other. “Go on, then. What did you want to talk about?”
Karin sat a little straighter. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? I want you to stop bothering Russ.”
Lily smiled. “I’ve never bothered Russell. We’re friends.”
“No.” Karin smiled back. “You’re ex-lovers-emphasis on ex-and that’s all you are. Now, I know sometimes people can remain friends after a relationship, but, lady, I am positively certain you’re not one of those people.”
Lily’s pantomime smile faded, and before Lily could control herself, Karin saw the hardness beneath her skin. It was impressive.
“You don’t know how right you are. However, you should be very careful about saying things like that. It could be dangerous.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not like other women. I can’t be intimidated or shoved aside. When I want something, I get it… and when I have it, I keep it-until I’m tired of it.”
“So what you’re saying is that Russ hurt your pride and you’re going to try and get him back just so you can… what, return the favor? Do you think I’d let you do that?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Lily’s voice deepened until it was a growl more menacing than the one Karin had heard the night before.
“Russell belongs to me. I decided that the first moment I saw him. I never expected to find anyone after my husband died, but Russell… managed to fill the void very nicely. We were good together, he’s just forgotten that.”
“But he still left you.”
“No, he ran because he realized what I am.”
“And what is that?”
“Dangerous. Poor Russell, but I forgive him for his weakness and will continue to do so until he finally comes to his senses.”
Lily smiled and ran a hand languidly through her hair while Karin dug her nails into the palms of both hands.
“Meaning,” Karin translated, “when he comes back to you?”
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“And until then, you continue to harass us?”
Lily laughed, tossing her head like a schoolgirl. “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”
“Okay, then,” Karin said, “how about this-from this moment on, you will leave Russ and me alone.”
Lily smoothed down her hair. “No.”
“He doesn’t want you.”
“He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“I’m warning you, Lily-get out of his life.”
She blinked her sad gray eyes. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Russell. I knew I’d find your weak spot. You’re just like all the others. I only want to be friends and you… and you come into my house and threaten me. He’ll be so disappointed when I tell him.”
If Lily hadn’t started laughing, things might have gone… differently.
Karin opened her hands and watched the blood that had filled the small crescent-shaped cuts in her palms reverse direction as the flesh regenerated. “You know, I had a strange feeling you were going to say something like that.”
She leaned back against the white sofa cushion and Lily gasped.
“Don’t!”
“It’s okay, I’m house-trained. Oh… wait, you’re worried about what you did to my back, all that bloody seepage and stuff like that. Well, you don’t have to be.”
Karin stood up, lifting her shirt as she turned around… and wished she could see the woman’s face. There wasn’t a scratch, or a scar, or the faintest hint of the four jagged wounds that had cut her to the bone. Nothing but solid, healthy, unmarked flesh.
“We heal quickly. It’s part of some inherited survival trait, I guess. People were always trying to kill us.” Turning, she tucked her shirt back into her jeans but remained standing. “What did you use? My guess is a cultivator, right? And I have to say, I admire the restraint you showed, although it could have done some pretty serious damage if I were human.”
“Hu-hu-”
“Yes, me, but we’re talking about you right now. I hate to say it, even though it’s already been established that you’re not a wholly rational, understanding woman, but I can’t leave a body. The trouble is, Russ would think he was responsible for your killing yourself.”
Karin extended her jaw, sighing with pleasure as the canines elongated to their full and deadly length. They made her lisp a little, but she didn’t have any choice.
“He would blame himself until the day he died, and frankly, lady, you’ve already hurt him enough.”
Lily’s mouth kept opening and closing, but fortunately for both of them, she didn’t say anything.
“So, you see, I really have no choice. Hope you understand.”
Karin didn’t have to do it-it was an absolute, unadulterated, and selfish indulgence on her part and she knew it. Over the generations, her kind had learned it was easier, and much safer, to transform after the prey animal was dead… but she’d wanted Lily to see what a real Alpha Bitch looked like.
Right before Karin snapped her neck and dragged her body into the bathroom.
Tile was much easier to clean than carpet… especially white carpet.
While Russ turned the steaks on the firepit’s grill, Karin used the sizzling flames to reread the words that she’d so carefully scripted in Lily’s beautiful forward-slanted handwriting. It had taken her a bit more practice, but once she’d found a sample, she had to admit, she’d done a pretty good job.
Russell… and I hope you noticed I didn’t add “dear” or “dearest” or “my beloved”… because I’m finally tired of this. It’s over. Foolish me, but I thought you were a different sort of man. I need a man who is my equal, and, let’s face it, Russell, you are hardly that. Still, I can’t bear the thought of seeing you with… her, so you’ll be pleased to know, I’m sure, that I won’t be around to witness the charade any longer. There’s a wide world out there, and perhaps, if I’m lucky enough, I’ll find someone truly worthy of me. The best to you and what’s-her-name-
Karin handed him back the note, the scent of Lily’s perfume-lilacs and musk-that she had liberally dabbed onto the paper competing with the aroma of roasting meat.
“Ouch.”
Russ shook his head and, laughing, fed the note to the fire. “Yep, a real bitch to the end.”
Karin smiled. “Well, I know it’s selfish of me… but I’m glad it’s over.”
“Amen, sister.” Russ poked at one of the steaks with a long-handled fork and got quiet for a minute. “Tell me you’re not the… possessive type, are you?”
She thought about telling him how werewolves, like their lupine cousins, mate only once and for life… but it was still too early in their relationship to get into all that family stuff, so she just gave him an “are you kidding” look and sniffed the air.
“Mmmm… steaks smell done to me.”
“Only if you like ’em red and runny.”
“My favorite.”
“Okay then.” He slid the thicker of the two steaks onto her plate and grimaced. “Christ, I’ve seen cows hurt worse than that get better.”
“Oh, ha-ha.”
“Yeah, well, just remember-you are what you eat.”
Karin belched softly and smiled. “Not necessarily.”
The Aarne-Thompson Classification Revue by Holly Black
There is a werewolf girl in the city. She sits by the phone on a Saturday night, waiting for it to ring. She paints her nails purple.
She goes to bed early.
Body curled around a pillow, fingers clawing at the bedspread, she dreams that she’s on a dating show, a reality television one. She’s supposed to pick one boyfriend out of a dozen strangers by eliminating one candidate each week. After eliminations, she eats the guy she’s asked to leave. In her dream, the boys get more and more afraid as they overhear screams, but they can’t quite believe the show is letting them be murdered one by one, so they convince each other to stay until the end. In the reunion episode, the werewolf girl eats the boy who she’s picked to be her boyfriend.
That’s the only way to get to do a second season, after all.
When she wakes up, she’s sorry about the dream. It makes her feel guilty and a little bit hungry, which makes her feel worse. Her real-life boyfriend is a good guy, the son of a dentist from an ancestral line of dentists. Sometimes he takes her to his dad’s office and they sit in the chairs and suck on nitrous oxide while watching the overhead televisions that are supposed to distract patients. When they do that, the werewolf girl feels calmer than she’s felt her whole life.
She’s calling herself Nadia in this city. She’s called herself Laura and Liana and Dana in other places.
Despite having gone to bed early, she’s woken up tired.
Nadia takes her temperature and jots it down in a little notebook by the side of the bed. Temperature is more accurate than phases of the moon in telling her when she’s going to change.
She gets dressed, makes coffee and drinks it. Then goes to work. She is a waitress on a street where there are shirt shops and shops that sell used records and bandannas and studded belts. She brings out tuna salads to aged punks and cappuccinos in massive bowls to tourists who ask her why she doesn’t have any tattoos.
Nadia still looks young enough that her lack of references doesn’t seem strange to her employers, although she worries about the future. For now, though, she appears to be one of a certain type of girl-a girl who wants to be an actress, who’s come in from the suburbs and never really worked before, a girl restaurants in the city employ a lot of. She always asks about flexibility in her interviews, citing auditions and rehearsals. Nadia is glad of the easy excuses, since she does actually need a flexible schedule.
The only problem with her lie is that the other girls ask her to go to auditions.
Sometimes Nadia goes, especially when she’s lonely. Her boyfriend is busy learning about teeth and gets annoyed when she calls him. He has a lot of classes. The auditions are often dull, but she likes the part where all the girls stand in line and drink coffee while they wait. She likes the way their skin shimmers with nervous sweat and their eyes shine with the possibility of transformation. The right part will let them leave their dirty little lives behind and turn them into celebrities.
Nadia sits next to another waitress, Rhonda, as they wait to be called back for the second phase of the audition for a musical. Rhonda is fingering a cigarette that she doesn’t light-because smoking is not allowed in the building and also because she’s trying to quit.
Grace, a willowy girl who can never remember anyone’s order at work, has already been cut.
“I hate it when people stop doing things and then they don’t want to be around other people doing them,” Rhonda says, flipping the cigarette over and over in her fingers. “Like people who stop drinking and then can’t hang out in bars. I mean, how can you really know you’re over something if you can’t deal with being tempted by it?”
Nadia nods automatically, since it makes her feel better to think that letting herself be tempted is a virtue. Sometimes she thinks of the way a ribcage cracks or the way fat and sinew and offal taste when they’re gulped down together, hot and raw. It doesn’t bother her that she has these thoughts, except when they come at inappropriate moments, like being alone with the driver in a taxi or helping a friend clean up after a party.
A large woman with many necklaces calls Rhonda’s name and she goes out onto the stage. Nadia takes another sip of her coffee and looks over at the sea of other girls on the call-back list. The girls look back at her through narrowed eyes.
Rhonda comes back quickly. “You’re next,” she says to Nadia. “I saw the clipboard.”
“How was it?”
Rhonda shakes her head and lights her cigarette. “Stupid. They wanted me to jump around. They didn’t even care if I could sing.”
“You can’t smoke in here,” one of the other girls says.
“Oh, shove it,” says Rhonda.
When Nadia goes out onto the stage, she expects her audition to go fast. She reads monologues in a way that can only be called stilted. She’s never had a voice coach. The only actual acting she ever does is when she pretends to be disappointed when the casting people don’t want her. Usually she just holds the duffel bags of the other girls as they are winnowed down, cut by cut.
The stage is lit so that she can’t see the three people sitting in the audience too well. It’s one of those converted warehouse theaters where everyone sits at tables with tea lights and gets up a lot to go to the bar in the back. No tea lights are flickering now.
“We want to teach you a routine,” one of them says. A man’s voice, with an accent she can’t place. “But first-a little about our musical. It’s called the Aarne-Thompson Classification Revue. Have you heard of it?”
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