The Amazing Wolf Boy

by Roxanne Smolen

  “Then you agree with me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe.” Brittany got up and paced the kitchen. She looked so distraught, I felt sorry I told her. After a few minutes, she faced me. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Anything is possible.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “And now he’s killed again.”

  “The only way to be sure he’s the one doing this is to catch him in the act. We have to keep an eye on him.”

  “You mean, spend time together?”

  “He won’t do it in front of us. We need to follow him.” She lifted the lid on dinner. “We’ll eat. Then I’ll take you home.”

  Her brother appeared as soon as she opened the silverware drawer. He filled a bowl and sat at the table. I didn’t think I had an appetite, but the soup proved me wrong. It was delicious. Chock full of chicken and chunks of vegetables. Both Butt Crack and I had seconds. Brittany, however, barely ate at all.

  When we went out to her car, the cold air made me want to hug myself. It was dipping into the low forties, an event uncommon enough to make the news. Brittany put on a sweater, but all I had was the T-shirt I wore to school that day.

  It would be cool if I could turn into a wolf and sit in the front seat masquerading as a pet wearing a thick fur coat. I shot the thought down almost as fast as it occurred to me.

  Brittany didn’t say much as she drove me home. Stewing, my mother would call it. I didn’t mind. We both had a lot to think about. Like how would I sleep in a house with a killer? How could I follow anyone when I didn’t have a car? What would happen to me if Uncle Bob were arrested? Would my parents take me away? Would I see Brittany again?

  Even that thought fled as we drove up the driveway to find my uncle’s truck gone.

  “Think,” said Brittany. “Where would he go?”

  “Maybe he stayed late at a project.”

  “In this weather? I doubt it.”

  I sighed, staring at the dark house. “It’s dinnertime. I bet he went to eat. The Coffee Café.”

  “All right.”

  We drove back into town, but my uncle’s truck wasn’t in the parking lot. We drove past Howard’s house, but he wasn’t there, either, although Howard appeared to be home.

  We ended up cruising Southern Boulevard for a while. We never saw my uncle. But a funny thing. I spotted the same red Camaro three times. Almost like we were the ones being followed.

  NINETEEN

  Over the next few days, I learned that Uncle Bob was the most boring person on Earth. He worked long hours, and spent most of his off time at the Café. He knew the names of nearly everyone in town, and always remembered personal bits, like where their kid went to college or whether or not their dog had pups. If he ran for mayor, he’d probably win.

  So as we pulled up my driveway to find his truck gone again, I wasn’t surprised when Brittany vetoed my suggestion that we track him down.

  “Let’s take a break.” She climbed out of the VW. “It’s too nice a day to spend cooped up.”

  I followed her to the porch steps.

  “Did you repaint?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice. I used to have powder blue lipstick.” She sat on the porch swing, leaving room for me to sit beside her.

  I found I couldn’t stop grinning. We rocked back and forth, our shoulders touching.

  “It’s peaceful here,” she said. “All I hear are birds.”

  Of course, with my enhanced hearing, I heard much more than random tweeting. I heard a field mouse building a nest in the underbrush, a beehive in a tree fifty yards away. “It’s quiet at your house, too.”

  “Nah. I get traffic noise. Sometimes I hear music from the pool at the Sunspot.”

  I chuckled, imagining naked people doing belly flops and cannonballs into the water.

  “Don’t laugh,” Brittany said. “You’d be surprised how noisy they are, especially this time of year.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told you about the big festival they have every February. People come from all over the country. They have square dancing and campfire drum circles. DJ dances for the naked little kiddies.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be a nudist.”

  Her mouth quirked. “They prefer naturist. And it’s actually a healthy lifestyle, when you think about it. The idea is to accept your body as is, just bare it all, and enjoy an afternoon or a week without modern devices. They have WI-FI but it’s not strong enough to reach my house. I have to use JiWire to find the nearest free access. They don’t have cell phones. I mean, where would they put them? That in itself would drive me crazy.”

  I listened to her chatter, watching her lips move, her nose crinkle. Her skin was pale, almost too pale to be allowed in Florida, and liner made her dark eyes stand out. Her lips were painted so deep a shade of violet they were almost black.

  She was captivating. I know it sounds hokey, but there’s no other way to say it. When I was with her, I couldn’t stop staring. When I was alone, she occupied my thoughts. I wasn’t complete without her.

  I also wasn’t listening very carefully, so I was surprised when she stopped speaking and looked at me, raising a brow into a perfect black arch.

  “It’s a yes or no question,” she said.

  I cleared my throat, my thoughts racing my heart. “Ah, yeah. Sure.”

  “Yes?” She leaped up. “How can you say yes?”

  “I mean no. Of course not.”

  “So.” Her eyes flashed. “You would be perfectly happy to have me join the Sunspot and show the whole world my booty.”

  “Not the whole world,” I murmured. “Just me.”

  She blinked, and then grinned. “Yeah?”

  “It seems only fair. You saw mine.”

  “I saw your tail,” she said. “It was short and yellow.”

  I grimaced. Not a flattering picture. “Well, if anyone should be a naturist, it should be me. It would make things a lot easier. I’m always afraid of misplacing my clothes.”

  “What’s it like being a wolf?” she asked. “Is it just you, your personality, in a wolf body?”

  “No. I don’t think like myself at all. I mean, I might remember that I have a paper due in history or a math quiz coming up on Friday, but they’re silly things. Mundane things. All that matters is the wind in my face as I run and the rabbit in front of me. And the smells. Everything is so distinct. I swear a wolf can smell color.” I broke off, realizing I wasn’t describing it at all. I couldn’t describe it. “I don’t know. When I’m a wolf, I just feel like I’m part of something big.”

  “Like nature?”

  “Only there’s nothing natural about a human becoming a wolf.”

  “There are a lot worse things you could become.” She looked away, her face sad and thoughtful.

  I had the impression that someone had roughed her up in the past. Had it been her father?

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I said. “Never again.”

  She smiled and nudged my shoulder. “Are you my bodyguard?”

  “I’d like to be more.”

  “Maybe you better not make any promises until after you’ve seen my booty.” She gave me a crooked smile.

  Without thinking, I caught her face in my hand and kissed her. I don’t know what came over me. I thought, oh crap, now I’ve done it. She’ll never speak to me again. But she didn’t pull away. She kind of melted into me. Her lips were soft and tasted like grape soda. Her breath brushed my cheek. Her fingers slid up my arm and buried themselves in my hair.

  Then I heard the crackle of tires on the gravel driveway.

  She leaned back. “Your uncle’s home.”

  I scowled as he waved to us from his truck. What a time for him to show up. But even through my anger, my thoughts whirled. I kissed Brittany. And she kissed me back.

  “Hey, kids.” Uncle Bob climbed the wooden steps. “Got a lot of homework to do?”

  “
No,” I said.

  “Actually, yes.” Brittany hopped off the swing. “I better get home. Talk to you both later.”

  “Wait,” I said, trying for something witty that would make her stay.

  Uncle Bob watched her drive away. “Hope I didn’t scare her off.”

  “Not you. I can scare her off all by myself.” I slouched into the house.

  I spent the evening in my room replaying the kiss. What was I thinking? I knew she wanted to be friends. She’d told me often enough. I broke the rules.

  It was just a kiss, a voice reasoned in the back of my mind. But it was more than that. The memory of it made my lips tingle. It made other parts of me tingle, too.

  No! I had to apologize, try to salvage our friendship. The phone was in my hand. But I couldn’t call. She’d driven away after I professed my love. Things couldn’t be clearer than that.

  But the next day, she sat across from me at the lunch table, gossiping and laughing like nothing happened. Maybe to her nothing had. I felt a little annoyed that she could shrug off my kiss so easily, but mostly I was glad she was still speaking to me.

  Friday, I got to lunch a little late. Brittany was already at our table as I strode up with my tray. “Happy Leap Day.” Grinning, she slid a chocolate chip cookie in front of me.

  “Aww,” I said, “and all I got you was an apple.”

  “I like apples.” She took a bite. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, we aren’t getting anywhere with your uncle problem, so I thought we should put it on hold and focus on your other problem for a while.”

  I blinked at her, confused. She leaned forward. “Hello? You’re a werewolf. Remember?”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Anyway, maybe we need to come at it from a different direction. Shape changing is common in North American folklore, you know.”

  “You mean Indians?”

  “It’s practically a tradition.” She took a notebook from her purse. “I got this from the Web. The Mohawk word for skin walker is Limikkan. The Navajo had Yenaldooshi or Yee Naaldlooshii. Also Mai-Coh.”

  “Mai-Coh. That sounds familiar.”

  “The Hopi Indians had Ya Ya. In the Ya Ya ceremony, the members could change into any animal they wanted by using a hide belt. But they banned it after the tribe developed an eye disease.”

  “I don’t get the connection.”

  “Yeah, me neither. Let’s see. The Yaqui had Marea-Kame. Both the Algonquians and the Cree had Wendigo. The list goes on. The point is that shape shifting is part of the Native American heritage. We should talk to them.”

  “The only Indian I know is Howard. He can tell us about staging a garage sale. But shape shifting?” I shook my head.

  Brittany wasn’t daunted. “There’s a Seminole reservation down Alligator Alley. It’s called Big Cypress. We could be there in a couple hours.”

  “I don’t know, Brit. Isn’t that where the tourists go?” I quoted a commercial from television. “Home of Billy Swamp Safari.”

  “We wouldn’t be there for that. We could ask around and—”

  “Sure. Walk through the place yelling does anybody know about werewolves?” I stopped when I caught the look on her face. Way to go, big mouth. “It’s a good idea. I just don’t want to call attention to myself like that. If we go, we need a specific person to speak to.”

  She leaned back, tapping the table and avoiding my eyes. I shouldn’t have shot down her idea. How could I make it up to her?

  “Maybe Howard can help us after all,” I said. “He might know people from there.”

  “That’s right.” She brightened. “Let’s stop by his place after school. If he can give us a couple names, we can go to Big Cypress first thing in the morning.”

  * * * *

  We found Howard sitting in a lawn chair in his front yard surrounded by the wares of his perpetual garage sale. Two elderly women rummaged through a stack of sweatshirts.

  Brittany waved to them as we crossed the lawn. “Hello, Miss Morganstern.”

  “Oh, hello, dear,” said one of the women. “How is your grandfather these days?”

  “Pining for you,” Brittany said. “You should stop by for a visit.”

  “Maybe I will.” She chuckled. “Such a rascal.”

  We approached Howard. He looked as sour as the lemonade he sipped.

  I said, “Hi, Howard. What’s up?”

  “Taxes.” He glared at me.

  “Uh, right. We need some information.”

  “Information will cost you one pair of jeans.”

  I blinked. “You want my jeans?”

  He leaned forward. “No, I want you to buy some of mine.”

  “But I don’t need anything.” I thought about the box of rich-boy clothes in the back of my closet.

  “Oh, here,” said Brittany. “I’ll buy this.”

  I stared at her. “A plastic ukulele?”

  “Miley can play with it when she comes over.”

  “Twenty dollars,” Howard said.

  She cocked a brow. “I’ll give you two.”

  He drank from his sweating glass, making a face. “Well, since it’s for Miley.”

  “Fine.” She handed him money from her purse. “We were hoping you could hook us up with the right people at the Big Cypress Reservation. Do you have friends there?”

  “Apparently, I don’t have any friends anywhere.” He scowled. “Why do you ask?”

  “We want to talk to someone about Indian Folklore,” she said. “Shape changers in particular.”

  “For a school project,” I said.

  He looked me up and down. “Uh-huh.”

  “Who would we speak to about that?” Brittany asked.

  Howard stood suddenly, knocking his lightweight chair onto its side. “You’re a dollar short and a week late. You know darn well that the Big Cypress had its annual Seminole War re-enactment just last weekend. There would have been any number of people to talk to.”

  “Jana’s party was last weekend,” Brittany said.

  “That’s no excuse.” Howard raised his voice. “The festival was during the day. The party was at night. Besides, did either of you even go to that party?”

  “We planned to,” I lied, wanting to lend Brittany my support. “Brittany spent all day getting ready. But then… No, we didn’t go.”

  “Uh-huh.” Howard’s scowl deepened.

  Brittany said, “If you could give us a couple names—”

  “I can’t help you.” Howard set up his chair, and then sat with such force I thought it would collapse beneath him.

  His bad mood ticked me off. I remembered him saying he was in love with an Indian woman, and he stuck around to be near her. “What about the Miccosukee tribe? I’m sure you know people there.”

  He glared, and I stared back with the righteous air that said yes, if you don’t help me, I’ll tell everyone the woman you love dumped you.

  “Every tribe has a Story Keeper,” Howard murmured. “The Miccosukee Story Keeper is Chelsea Osceola.”

  “Where do we find her?” asked Brittany.

  “It just so happens that I’ve been summoned to the Alligator Alley Indian Village tomorrow morning. On a Saturday, no less.” He scowled as if tasting something bitter.

  “Is that where Chelsea lives?” I asked.

  “No one lives there,” he said as if I were crazy. “It’s a village they maintain in the Everglades to teach tourists Miccosukee traditions. Open daily from nine to five.”

  “Okay,” I said, although I didn’t understand how that could help us.

  “It’s a public place. Must be why she…” He ran his hand over his face. “I’ll be leaving at eight o’clock sharp. I’ll drive you down and introduce you if you want.”

  “That would be great,” said Brittany.

  I nodded. “See you tomorrow at eight.”

  * * * *

  The next morning dawned bright, blue, and breezy. I
had a moment to appreciate Floridian winters as I stood on the porch waiting for Brittany to pick me up. I wondered if Howard would be in a better mood, wondered what had him so unnerved. He tended to be serious, but not grumpy. It wasn’t like him to snap at anyone.

  Brittany arrived, and we drove to Howard’s house with the windows down and Lamb of God turned way up.

  I couldn’t have been happier. Not because we were going to the Indian Village. I didn’t expect the Story Keeper to give us any information we couldn’t find on the Internet. I was just glad to be alive and to spend the day with my girl. If the opportunity arose, would I have the nerve to kiss her again? I leaned my head back, grinning.

  Howard came out of his house as we drove up. We piled into his rust-colored pickup. He said nothing in greeting, just turned on News Radio. But his silence didn’t make me uncomfortable. The wind was cool and filled with scents, and Brittany leaned her head on my shoulder as we rode.

  An hour later, we pulled into the lot of the Miccosukee Indian Village. We parked beside five other cars next to a bright yellow gift shop. A sign stated the museum hours, although I didn’t notice a museum. All I saw was tall, yellow grass and a ramp.

  I helped Brittany down from the truck. She smiled, snagging my hand, and we walked together up the ramp to an elevated wood-planked walkway. Our footsteps scuffed the weathered wood. I liked the sound. Ahead, I saw platforms and huts.

  The village had no walls. The buildings consisted of thick posts and thatched roofs. Inside, workers were setting up displays. Women sat on the floors weaving baskets or making necklaces out of beads.

  A man approached. Most of his head was shaved, and he wore bits of fur and feathers in his topknot. “Howdy, Howard. What brings you to these parts?”

  “Looking for Chelsea.”

  “She’s here,” he said. “Might try out by the cooking chickee.”

  Howard nodded. “Shonabish.”

  I took that to mean thank you. We continued clomping down the wooden bridges. Saw grass rasped in the breeze. Black water shone in patches. The wetlands were deep enough to support airboats. A sign pointed toward the docks—Airboat Tours $10.