Waxing Moon

by Sarah E Stevens

  “Rebecca hates the pack, because they forced my mom—and my father, too, I suppose—to make such choices. She hates the pack for the contempt she saw in every Were’s eyes once they realized she’s a dark moon.”

  I nodded in complete understanding.

  “Dave loathes—loathed—all humans because he found it easier to blame Peter Ramirez than my parents or the pack. I think he helped the mafia with those twisted experiments to turn regular humans into Weres because he actually thought that was the right thing to do. Like missionaries who kill heathens in their best interest.”

  I’d seen the pitiful creatures that resulted from those experiments; I still saw them sometimes in my dreams. I’d also heard the fervor in Dave’s voice when he tried to convince us he’d been doing the right thing, that human lives had no inherent worth, that the larger goal of creating Weres was worth any cost.

  After a moment, I asked, “What about you?”

  Tony’s mouth twisted bitterly, but when he spoke, his voice was clear. “I spent five years as a wolf in order not to think about any of it. Something has to change, Julie.”

  What he said supported my choices, my desire for Carson to bridge the gap between Were and human. But I heard something else behind his words: Weres didn’t marry someone who wasn’t pack. No matter what the personal cost. Better not to love in the first place, because a relationship between a Were and a human could never work out. I wasn’t sure if he intended me to hear the message, but it came through loud and clear, and spiked the rejection swirling inside of me with a dash of anger.

  We drank our coffee in silence, mostly because we found nothing left to say. I kept glancing at the clock, very aware of our seven a.m. deadline, wondering if the Salamanders and Special Ops even now surrounded the hotel, if any tourists would die this morning because of my stubbornness.

  I set down my mug and stood up. “I can’t take this. The waiting is worse than anything else.”

  “What do you propose? A game of Scrabble?”

  I had to glance at Tony before I knew he joked. Even then, it felt more like mockery than anything else. I couldn’t trust any of my emotional reactions where he was concerned.

  “I need to call Sheila.”

  Tim answered the phone on the second ring. “Julie? Where the hell are you and what the hell are you doing? Why are you calling at six thirty in the morning?”

  That quickly, my anger drained, leaving a residue of exhaustion, worry, and fear. Six-thirty. Thirty more minutes before a hotel full of Shakespeare Festival tourists either burned to the ground or didn’t.

  “I’m fine. I’m all by myself—well, almost—defying the entire Were structure and a bunch of crazy Eclipsers about to burn down a hotel. I know it’s crazy, but it’s right.”

  There was a beat. “That’s exactly what Sheila says. Eliza called us last night.”

  “Oh my God, can I talk to her? How is she?”

  “She’s good, Julie. She’s doing really, really well. The doctors are amazed at how well she’s healing, thanks to Tessa White.”

  I sent silent thanks up to the universe. “I’m so glad.” An understatement.

  “You know what she said after Eliza tried to convince us to talk sense into you? She said—and this is a quote—‘That’s our Jules. Damn, I love that girl.’ ” Tim’s voice sounded bewildered, but the affection for Sheila shone through.

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s asleep, but I can have her call you later.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I tried to shrug off my disappointment.

  I finished my coffee, glanced up at Tony who sat on the other side of the kitchen table. I found myself unable to break the silence, which seemed like a tangible object between us in the room. When Carson stirred upstairs, I jumped up, happy for the excuse.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “It’s seven o’clock,” I said, when I came back downstairs with Carson.

  “Yes,” said Tony.

  “I feel like a coward.”

  “I don’t.”

  When I glanced at him, he elaborated. “We’d be very little help in the fight at the hotel. They already have a combined force of Weres and Salamanders at the scene. We need to focus on the larger battle: protecting Carson and changing the council’s attitude on Weres and non-Weres alike.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I glanced down at Carson, nestled on my hip. “Dammit, I know you’re right. We’re not going to be able to do this by ourselves. We need allies. We can’t stay underground forever.”

  “We can’t hide from the council, it’s linked to most government agencies. Unless…unless you’d like Carson to hide as a wolf. With me.”

  I nearly laughed. “No. For so many reasons.”

  Tony nodded, as if he expected that answer. “Then we need to find more allies.”

  “Newt will be on our side. I think. When he’s better.”

  “Right. He would be. I imagine many Salamanders would like to see the council lose power. As things stand, Weres are far more influential than ’Manders.”

  “The trick will be to find other Weres to join us—Weres who believe prejudice against non-Weres hurts us all.”

  We sat in the living room. Or, at least, Tony sat. Almost immediately, I sprang up and paced the room, my whole body jittery, partly from remembering what a fool I’d made of myself the previous evening on that very couch, partly out of my anxiety over what might happen at the Ashland Springs Hotel.

  Carson practiced sitting up, while Tony and I discussed possible Were allies. I argued that Carson’s MacGregor relatives—Mac’s parents Erin, Liam, and his brother Ian—might join with us, both out of a sense of loyalty and because Erin had been close with Tony’s mother, hence affected personally by their family tragedy. Tony was noncommittal, but thought of a few younger Weres he knew in other packs who seemed dissatisfied with the status quo.

  As our brainstorming petered out, I tapped the pen on the pad where I’d scribbled a list of possibilities.

  “I guess that’s a start,” I said, dubiously surveying the double handful of names we’d come up with.

  Tony jerked his head, a sudden frown on his face.

  “What?”

  After a minute, he shrugged. “Nothing. I just thought—”

  He jumped to his feet and chills broke out on my skin. In the same moment, I heard a roar and flames shot up the rear of the house. The sliding glass door exploded, flinging shards across the room. I dove toward Carson, grabbed him to me, and turned back to the door, searching for an exit through the sudden wall of flames. Fire leapt the length of the house and consumed each window. The wrap-around deck burned, as well as the wood siding.

  Carson writhed in my arms, like an electric eel covered with fur.

  “No!” I yelled. “No!”

  Too late. He sprang from me and landed on the floor: a small gray wolf with hackles raised and little fangs gleaming. He barked, though I could barely hear him over the fire. His small body tensed as if he wanted to run, to fight.

  “Carson! Stay here!” I screamed, just as he leapt toward the hall, away from the wall of fire that used to be the back of the house.

  Tony grabbed my arm so hard I knew I’d have bruises the next day. If we were still alive. He shouted in my ear, “Come on!”

  The air shimmered with darkness and distortion, resolved into the huge black wolf. He ran after Carson.

  I grabbed my gun off the mantel, checked it, and shoved it into the back of my jeans. Dropping to the ground to escape the choking gusts of smoke, I crawled after the wolves. Terror spiked through me, but I forced myself to breathe evenly and focus. I survived this once. I could do it again.

  Flames engulfed the front hallway. The door. The windows. I looked frantically through the smoke, searching for an exit, for Carson and Tony. I crawled into the kitchen and found the two wolves on the tiles. Carson lay on his back, with one of Tony’s paws on his chest, Tony’s muzzle inches from Carson’s neck. My heart skipped
a beat, then settled back into its rapid pounding as Tony nosed Carson to his feet.

  Tony swung his black head in my direction.

  “Take him,” I shouted. “Get him out of here!”

  Tony’s ears pressed back and he shook his head like a human.

  Flames roared at the side door of the kitchen. The room was dark from smoke and I knew we didn’t have much time.

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I didn’t wait for Tony to agree. I scrambled to the kitchen sink, opened the water full force, and grabbed the sprayer. I turned the hose on the two wolves. Tony flinched inadvertently before he realized my intention and stepped into the spray to soak his fur. Carson nosed closer—goddammit, in the midst of all this, he looked excited by the commotion, by the chance to fight. Tony grabbed Carson by the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the water. I doused the two wolves as much as possible, then soaked a nearby kitchen towel.

  “Get him out,” I yelled at Tony.

  Tony hesitated. Carson squirmed and Tony gave the pup a short shake until he lay quiet. Tony’s amber eyes bored into me for a long second.

  “Go! Go, damn you!”

  I dropped as close to the ground as possible and turned the spray on myself, holding the wet towel to my face.

  Tony whirled and ran toward the side door. Flames leapt outside; the small windows had shattered into sharp bits that Tony ran through without heed. At the last moment, he turned his head—protecting Carson—and slammed his shoulder into the fire-weakened door. The door crashed open and the wolves disappeared into the flames.

  My whole body shook with adrenaline.

  They’d be okay. Carson would be okay. Weres healed quickly, even from burns, and I did all I could by soaking their fur. Tony would call darkness, would somehow avoid all the Salamanders waiting for us…

  I needed to worry about myself, to get out.

  Flames climbed the wall above the broken kitchen door, spread to the cabinets.

  I crawled a few feet in that direction, but stopped. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t a Were and I just couldn’t force myself through the flames. Even if clear air existed on the other side—which I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t know how big the fire was, how long it would take to run through it, and my whole body fought against the part of my brain that said I should just do it, just dart after the Weres.

  Maybe there was another way. There had to be another way.

  I scuttled down the hall toward the door into the garage. I put my hand on the connecting door and it was warm. Warm, but not hot. There must be fire in the garage—but how much? And where? Could I get through?

  The entire far side of the house near the kitchen was filled with flames now and I cursed myself for the earlier indecision. I looked wildly in all directions: a wall of flame against the shattered sliding doors, fire at the front windows. Every second I was separated from Carson made me more desperate and my mind tortured me with images of him on fire, surrounded by Salamanders, dead. My God—how many Eclipsers were out there?

  I lay flat on the ground near the garage door and tried to smell the air drafting through. How smoky was it? I had to try.

  Wait.

  I reached into my pocket and grabbed my phone, called Eliza. It rang once, twice, and I cursed. I nearly hung up, but then she answered. I couldn’t hear her over the flames, over the blood pounding in my ears, but I didn’t need to.

  “Eliza,” I shouted, “we’re on Greenmeadows Way. We need help now!”

  I didn’t wait for an answer, but shoved the phone in my pocket. I held the wet towel to my face, braced myself, and opened the door to the garage.

  Heat smacked me in the face and I flinched before realizing it wasn’t fire. Just heat. I pulled the door toward me and half-crawled half-fell down the few stairs onto the concrete floor of the garage. Smoke filled the space, but not as bad as the house. A side door to the yard. Charred black. But not on fire? I couldn’t see. The wooden garage doors burned; flames licked the blackened ceiling.

  Which way?

  I scraped my way across the garage floor toward the door leading to the yard. A roaring boom made me scream and I swung around. A gas tank near the front of the garage had exploded, sending up a gout of flame and choking black cloud. I crawled quicker, suddenly very aware of Sheila’s car in the garage—it could catch at any minute, the gas tank—

  I reached the side door and didn’t pause because at this point it didn’t matter if there was fire outside or not; this was my last chance and I’d fully committed. The doorknob burned my hand and I yanked it back.

  “Fuck!”

  I crouched on my feet, wrapped my hand in the wet towel, held my breath, and opened the door. I darted out, ran through and beside the small flames. I missed my step on the irregular ground and fell heavily, then crawled to a group of trees. My body screamed. I expected at every step to feel fire on my skin.

  I made it. Somehow. I crashed to the ground behind a pine tree and lay there for the space of several breaths, my body spasming. I breathed in and out, conscious of each lungful of air so dearly won. The noise of the fire rolled over me, punctuated by a sound that drove me to my feet: someone yelling from the other side of the house.

  Carson.

  I slipped the gun out from the back of my jeans and thumbed off the safety, checking to make sure it was loaded. Six shots, no extra ammunition. Eliza would come; I knew it in my core. Tony and I had to hold the Eclipsers off until then.

  I crouched behind the brush and took stock of the area. Across the grass in front of me, the house still burned. The fire had spread to the roof, sending a plume of black smoke into the air that would surely have someone calling 911 any moment. The house was surrounded by a lawn of well-irrigated grass, some of which burned with a line of red tracing outward. Near the back corner, just out of the fire’s reach, a man stood, looking across the yard toward the other side of the house, the direction taken by Tony and Carson. I gave silent thanks he wasn’t facing me, even as I wondered what captured his attention. I didn’t see any other Salamanders—which didn’t mean they weren’t hiding in plain sight, covered by a shaft of sunlight. The woods surrounding the house were sparse nearest the lawn, but I thought if I were careful, I should be able to stay under cover and make my way closer to the Weres. To my son.

  I knelt and raised my gun, brought the Eclipser into my site and steeled myself with a grimace. I braced for a shot and exhaled, but didn’t squeeze the trigger, finally lowering the gun to my side.

  Shit. A long shot and I’d only have one chance. The noise of the fire might not cover a gunshot; as soon as I fired, my cover was blown. If I killed him, it would be one less enemy, but others might surround me in seconds. If I missed, I’d surely find myself consumed by flesh-searing fire. Better to maneuver across the back of the yard and assess the situation before I lost surprise as my only advantage.

  Keeping my gun in hand, I skirted the yard and crept from tree to tree. At first, I tried to be as quiet as possible, freezing each time a stick snapped, but I soon realized such small noises weren’t audible over the sound of the blaze—and that most, if not all, of the Eclipsers were solidly occupied by something. Even the Salamander standing at the corner and presumably set to guard this side of the house neglected his duty, standing with his whole body turned away from me. As I moved down the length of the yard, I glanced in that direction as my angle of vision changed. Purple flames leapt up, moved, a dance of bright lights and shadows, barely glimpsed figures. Suddenly, someone shouted at the Eclipser near me and he abandoned his post, sprinting away.

  I cursed under my breath and hurried as much as I dared, finally rounding the corner and making my way behind the yard. A crash sounded from the woods and I saw flames in that direction—dark indigo flames. I looked down at my wrist, where the woven bracelet from Sheila still lay. I touched it for luck, hoping it still worked to make me less noticeable. Letting out a breath to calm my nerves, I crept my w
ay toward the fight, staying as low as I could, using every bit of cover, gun held at the ready.

  “I see him,” someone yelled and came crashing through the woods near me.

  I shrank back into a blackberry bush, heedless of the sharp tear of its thorns, and froze. Were they coming for me?

  The man came to a stop next to a tree about ten feet from me. He scanned the woods ahead of us and I let out a silent, shaky breath.

  “There,” he shouted.

  I followed the direction he pointed and frowned, seeing only—wait, that knot of shadows—

  The Eclipser made a motion and a ball of purple fire appeared in his hand. As he raised his arm, I shot him in the back. He jerked and I shot again. Several voices shouted, even as the man fell to the ground. I scrambled out of the brush and launched myself pell-mell in the direction the Eclipser had aimed, hoping I had a few seconds as the ’Manders realized what had happened. A tree branch whipped me in the face. Fire blossomed just inches behind me and I felt the blistering heat through my jeans.

  Then a cloud seemed to cover the sun, somehow—a confusing pattern of shadows and suddenly gray air. Tony called darkness to cover me, I realized, even as I skidded to a stop next to his wolf form, behind a pile of dead branches. Static electricity hung heavily in the air and resolved as Tony shifted shape.

  “Come on,” he said, and took off at a run down a slope. I followed, silently, though I wanted to yell, to scream, to shake him.

  Tony crashed to a halt in a deep cluster of Manzanita trees, taking advantage of their shade to enhance the called darkness. I slid to a halt next to him and grabbed his arm.

  “Where is Carson?” I hissed the words instead of shouting.

  His face twisted in a grimace.

  “I hid him.”

  “What the fuck does that mean? You hid him?”

  “Look. He’s six months old. He wouldn’t listen to me. He tried to jump out and attack the Salamanders. I knocked him unconscious.”

  “What?”