I walked to her car, one foot ahead of the other. Her dog, Haff, appeared from nowhere to growl and bark. My lip rose, and I gave it a sidelong glance. It took off yelping like I’d kicked it.
I climbed into the passenger seat. Brittany buckled in, and then changed the radio back to the indie station. She backed out of the carport. I knew she was disappointed. She probably planned to have me stay for dinner, wanting to cook for me. I was ruining everything. With a groan, I leaned against the door and let the breeze from the open window dry my sweat.
“You look feverish,” she said.
“Not feeling good.”
“I’ll get you home.” She nodded at me and smiled.
My heart nearly burst with emotion. I wanted to tell her everything—why I was ill, why my parents kicked me out, and how none of it mattered now that I met her. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her. Of course, I couldn’t.
We pulled onto the dirt road and turned opposite the direction we came in. The wind was refreshing. The temperature dropped with the sun. The road met another, forming a T, and we turned left. After a while, I saw flashing lights and two green and white cars parked on the grass. Orange cones blocked the street. Brittany slowed to get around them.
“This must be where they found the body,” she said.
We were on North Road. Had she gone that way out of curiosity? Several men stood at the edge of trees. Not all were in uniform. They milled about like they were at one of my mom’s cocktail parties. All they needed were champagne glasses.
I smelled fur a moment before four police dogs and their owners stepped out of the woods. My heart nearly stopped. I stared straight ahead, picturing the dogs lunging through my window, foaming at the mouth to get at me. How would I explain that? But we were past the cones and picking up speed before anyone saw we were there.
“I wonder who it was,” Brittany said. “They only said she was a young woman.”
It occurred to me there was a good chance Brittany knew the deceased. The killing was near her house.
“It was probably a jogger,” she said. “We have a lot of joggers around here.”
“Do they run at night?”
“Doubt it. That’s a good way to turn an ankle.”
“Do you jog?”
She laughed. “It’s not my thing.”
“Stay inside tonight. Really.”
She glanced at me. “All right.”
We got to my uncle’s house. His truck was in the drive. I stared at the front door, reluctant to go inside, afraid to let him see me like this.
“Here we are,” Brittany said. “Feel better.”
“Thanks.” I looked at her, wanting to tell her to be careful, to watch out for her little brother, but the words tangled in my mouth, and all I said was, “Seeya.” I opened the door of the Beetle and got out.
Her tires crackled on the gravel as she pulled away. I looked at the house, and my stomach twisted.
I would turn into a wolf tonight. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I was weak. Hopeless. Angry at myself, I stomped across the porch and through the front door.
Uncle Bob sat before his old black-and-white, watching the news. “Cute girl.”
I glared as if he’d ridiculed me. Yeah, cute girl. Too bad she’ll never want to be with me. I wanted to yell at him to keep out of my business, wanted to pack up my things and run away. But that would be stupid. Instead, I stormed into the kitchen.
I was sweating harder than ever. At the fridge, I grabbed the chocolate milk and drank from the jug. I remembered Grandpa Earle on his lawn chair, talking about the good old days. I understood. I hadn’t wanted my life to change, either.
“I thought we could spend some time together tonight,” my uncle said from the kitchen doorway.
I set the empty container on the sink. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Not tonight,” I said, my voice husky. “I have to go.”
Without looking at him, I pressed past and left the house. He could have stopped me, but he didn’t try. I grabbed my bike and took off, pedaling as fast as I could. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I would do when I got there.
I followed the winding street out of the neighborhood and stopped at the two-lane highway that led into town. The long stretch of asphalt spread before me. I turned away from civilization, riding on the shoulder of the road. Only one car passed. For a wild moment, I half-hoped it would be Brittany, but the car kept going.
I came to a dirt road jutting off through the brush. It felt familiar, so after a moment’s hesitation, I followed it. It was rough. Broken seashells and bits of coral packed the dirt, and it gave me a workout in spite of my wolf super-strength.
Before I knew it, I found the tree-enclosed courtyard where I had shifted the night before. I guess something inside me knew it would be there. I hopped off the bike and walked it through the tall pines.
The scent of the trees and grass felt comforting. This was my safe place. No one would find me here. I laid my bike on the grass and took off my shoes. As I undressed, I draped my clothes over the bike to keep them out of the morning dew.
Moonrise was coming. I used the time left to me to scout around the enclosure, searching for the underwear and socks I’d stripped off the night before. When I found them, they looked like rags. I could have left them there, but it wasn’t cool to litter in your own home. I laid them next to my bike.
The change hit. I didn’t fight it. I was so wound up over the murders and my fears that Brittany would never love me that I welcomed becoming something else for a while.
But if I thought turning into a wolf would make me oblivious to my problems, I was wrong. As I shook the last traces of humanity from my fur, I felt an overwhelming need to know who was poaching in my territory. I turned my back to the bike and kicked a little grass up as if to bury it, and then headed to the murder site.
There was no one there, of course. The only barrier was yellow tape; that was easy enough to avoid. The place reeked of boots and pants legs. And death. There was a lot of blood. The brush was trampled, but whether from the victim putting up a fight or from homicide detectives afterward, I couldn’t tell.
I followed the victim to the road where there was more blood. Apparently, someone attacked her on the street and dragged her into the woods. It would take a really large animal to drag a woman that far. The only animals I smelled were police dogs. Could the murderer be a man?
The area was so sullied with odors it was difficult to identify just one. As I moved away, however, I picked up the woman’s scent. I followed it. The dogs hadn’t been down the road, so I was in fresh territory.
The woman was indeed a jogger, just as Brittany surmised. She’d run right past the narrow dirt road that led to Brittany’s house. My hackles rose. The murder had taken place practically in her backyard. That meant the murderer had been nearby, too.
Brittany needs my protection.
I cut through the trees and angled toward her house. The grounds were wild with growth. A man would need a machete to get through. That would be a good deterrent.
I came across a septic tank site and an old well with a few rotten boards across the top. Farther along, I found a shed so overgrown with vines and saplings it was nearly invisible. It stank of humans. I circled around. Soda cans littered the ground. A few sat on a log like targets. Pellet gun practice.
The human odor intensified as I entered the yard. Light fell from the house. I recognized the kitchen’s yellow curtains. On the floor above, a figure passed a window. It was Brittany.
Relief washed through me. She was safe. My mission was to keep her that way. I prowled the yard, liberally leaving my scent, marking the area as mine. Let the cowardly dog, Haff, deal with that.
Later, the back door opened, carving a yellow square from the darkness. Brittany stepped into the light. I leaped into the dry brush. She must have heard, because she looked my way. She looked for a long while. Maybe she sensed I was there, or perhaps my eyes caught her lig
ht. At last, she stuffed a bag into the garbage can.
Ham bones. My mouth watered.
After she went inside, I approached the cans. Wooden stakes corralled them so they wouldn’t tip over. No problem. I identified the can I wanted. On my hind legs, I took the handle in my teeth and twisted it to unlatch the lid. I nosed it off and pulled out the bag of bones.
Careful not to tear the plastic, I carried the bag to the trees. I chuckled to myself. Brittany made my dinner after all. The ham hocks were warm and delicious. I was still munching when a minivan pulled up to the carport. My ears twitched, and I lifted my nose.
A woman got out of the van. She wore rubber shoes and a thin sweater that smelled so strongly of antiseptic and medicine I wanted to sneeze. She strode across the porch and unlocked the front door. I heard Grandpa Earle’s voice. The door closed on his greeting.
I relaxed after that. Even dozed. Just before the moon set, I returned to my safe place. The courtyard made me feel like I’d come home. I rolled in the damp grass, allowing myself a moment to relish the scents. Then I shifted back to my other self.
Tired and aching, I pulled on my clothes and walked my bike to the road. It was still dark as I rode the long stretch of asphalt to my uncle’s house. When I got there, I skidded to a halt in the driveway, frowning.
Uncle Bob had pulled his pickup onto the side yard. He was wrestling a bundle from the truck bed. It looked like a body.
My stomach plummeted. Had he killed someone? I didn’t know whether to call the sheriff or to back away and pretend I hadn’t seen. He pulled the bundle from the truck bed with a wet plop. I smelled blood. My heart raced. Oh God. What should I do?
Quietly, I leaned my bike against the porch and walked toward him. Uncle Bob must have been so intent on dragging the tarp behind the house, he didn’t notice me because he jumped when I spoke.
“What happened?” I said in a low voice.
He looked frazzled. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.”
A runlet of blood drizzled from the tarp. I closed my eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“I’ll call Howard,” he said. “He’ll help me. He’s good at butchering.”
“You’re going to butcher it?” I shouted.
He avoided my eyes. “Well, we can’t just leave it here.”
My head whirled in confusion. My uncle was a good man. He took me in after my parents threw me out. What was he doing with a body?
“Open it,” I said.
Uncle Bob frowned. “But—”
“I want to see.”
He woofed a sigh. I braced myself as he grabbed the corner of the tarp. With a flap of noise and a burst of foul odor, he flipped the side open.
I stiffened. I saw a mound of black feathers and thin, pink legs.
“An ostrich?” I squeaked. “You killed an ostrich?”
A giggle burbled up my throat. It was a stupid bird. Had I actually thought my uncle killed a person?
Right then, I heard the jingle of Sheriff Brad’s pockets as he came around the house. I didn’t know whether to flip the tarp closed and pretend it wasn’t there or rush forward to talk him away from the scene.
My uncle faced him with a cold smile and narrowed eyes. “Out and about early, aren’t you Brad?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have stopped if I hadn’t seen you were already up.” He nodded at the bird. “Bit of a problem?”
“It came out of nowhere,” Uncle Bob said. “Shocked the heck out of me.”
“Don’t see any damage to your truck.”
My uncle’s smile widened. “Fortunately, it’s a lightweight.”
“Maybe it’s from that safari,” I said. “We get a lot of their peacocks.”
“I thought so, too, at first.” Uncle Bob leaned over the carcass. “But they tag all their animals. I don’t see a tag on this one.”
“There are some ostrich farms north of here,” said the sheriff. “People thought there’d be good money in the meat. Maybe it escaped.”
Bob straightened and shrugged. “Guess I should contact them.”
“If it were me, I’d have a barbecue and leave it at that.” Sheriff Brad looked my way. “I saw you over at the Meyer place.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“You spend the night there?”
“What? No!”
“I just saw you ride up on your bike.”
My mind blanked. “Uh.”
“Some people like to jog,” my uncle said. “Cody, here, likes to ride his bike a bit before school.”
“Is that right?” Sheriff Brad regarded him. “You must be just getting in yourself. That’s a fresh kill.”
Uncle Bob met his stare in silence. I fished for a plausible story. Uncle Bob gave me an alibi. What could I say for him in return?
Before I could think of anything, the sheriff turned away. “I’ll be seeing you, boys,” he said.
As he left, a realization struck. Sheriff Brad was following me.
ELEVEN
I didn’t go to school that day. It was a tough decision. On one hand, I wanted to see Brittany so bad it made my back teeth ache. And other parts, too. Just thinking of her did things to my body I could never tell my mother.
On the other hand, I had a belly full of ham bones. They felt like rocks.
Howard stopped by mid-morning. He chanted over the dead ostrich, something lilting and incomprehensible. He then announced that he wanted to save the feathers, and tasked me with pulling them off. It wasn’t difficult, but I had to wear work gloves because, as it turns out, feathers are sharp. The carcass reeked, and I didn’t enjoy sitting next to it for a couple hours in the growing heat.
As I worked, I noticed its neck was broken, the skin torn almost like bitten, but the rest of it appeared to be in good shape. Not what you would expect after being hit by a truck. When I finished plucking, I watched Howard butcher the bird. It was cool. I’d seen internal organs before, of course, but never in something so big.
Later that day, a Big Brown truck delivered a package from my parents. I didn’t want to open it, but my uncle hung over my shoulder like it was Christmas. It was a bunch of lightweight clothing, even a few swimming trunks. Like I knew anyone with a pool. At the bottom of the box, I found three pairs of shoes and some rolled up posters from my room. And my mp3 player. I was glad to see that.
There was also a note.
Contrary to what you must believe, I do love you,
and I only wish the best for you. — Mom
Tears filled my eyes, but I couldn’t cry in front of Uncle Bob and Howard, so I acted mad instead. I piled everything back in the box and shoved it on the floor of my closet. Except the iPod. I kept that.
We ate ostrich all weekend. It tasted good. Not like chicken at all. My uncle never gave details of how the bird died. The episode seemed to upset him.
When I arrived at school on Monday, Maxwell and Lonnie were waiting for me.
“Eff’s back,” Maxwell said.
I nodded. “Old raccoon eyes, eh?”
“Nah. You should see him.” Lonnie laughed. “The black has slid under his chin, and his cheeks are green and yellow.”
“He looks like a ghoul.” Maxwell chortled.
I frowned. The worse Eff looked, the more humiliated he’d feel—and the madder he’d be at me.
“Just wanted to give you a heads up,” Maxwell said, “you know, in case he tries to get even or anything.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
* * * *
Eff and crew glared at me all through PE. I had to admit, he did look like a ghoul. I’d have to remember to punch him out again right before Halloween. The thought brought a chuckle. I guess they knew I was laughing at him because their glares intensified, and they put their heads together as if planning something.
All thought of Eff and his anticipated payback whooshed out of my brain when I saw Brittany sitting at our table at lunch. After three days without seeing her, I felt like an addict gettin
g the shakes. I’d brown-bagged an ostrich sandwich, so I bypassed the line, hit the machine for a couple of Dews, and hurried over to her.
She put out her hand by way of greeting. “Give me your phone.”
I handed her my cell and sat down, watching her program her number into my contacts.
“There,” she said. “Now you have no excuse not to call.”
I took back the phone, staring at it in amazement. “Does this mean we’re, like, um…”
She made a tsking sound and flipped her head. She’d dyed her bangs cherry-red over the weekend, and they fell over one eye. “No,” she drawled. “It means we have to study twice as much. We have a history test coming up, and I need to practice our Napoleon songs.”
I leaned back, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. Okay, she wasn’t interested in anything boyfriend-girlfriend. At least, she wanted me around.
So we went to her place after school. I felt more at ease this time. I even walked into the kitchen without being shown the way.
The slow cooker held something spicy again. “Vegetarian chili,” Brittany said, stirring the pot. “All fresh. My mother and I went to the Farmer’s Market yesterday.”
“In January?”
“Sure. Florida has lots of winter crops. They’d burn to a crisp in summer.”
That sounded ominous. I wondered what I was in for, turning into a wolf in the summer heat. “Well, I’m glad you got to spend Sunday with your mother.” I knew how much I missed mine, even if I was still sore about being kicked to the curb.
“Yeah, it’s confusing, right? I don’t know whether I want to spend more time or less time together. She drives me crazy. But we had a nice day yesterday. She didn’t even complain about my hair.”
“I like it, by the way.”
“You do?” She looked at me through her red swag and smiled.
I sighed. I couldn’t help myself. She was that cute.
“Too floppy, even when I gel it.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I swear, someday I’m going to shave my head.”
The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 9