“You’re still a Dud,” Judy said, then deliberately turned her back on Chloe.
Chloe wanted to grab her shoulder and make Judy turn around, but she gritted her teeth and turned away. Instead of putting her backpack into the locker beside Judy’s, Chloe pushed through the wooden doors into the Girl’s washroom.
She had the place to herself.
She hammered one of the metal stall doors with the heel of her hand. It made a satisfyingly loud noise, rattling on its hinges, so she hit it again.
And dented it.
This wasn’t helping. She took deep breaths and leaned her forehead against the cool metal, trying to calm down.
She wasn’t mad at Judy—okay, that was a lie, but she wasn’t only mad at Judy—she was mad at herself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Once again her instincts had steered her wrong. She might not be a Recessive, but until she Changed, Pack Law slotted her at the bottom of the pecking order. She needed to get used to it.
Easier said than done.
New goal: get through the rest of the day without losing her temper. Prove that she was tough-skinned enough to be part of the Pack.
The door opened, and one of the townie girls came in. Ilona Novaskaya. She fluffed her hair at one of the mirrors.
Chloe moved away from the stall, hoping Ilona wouldn’t notice the dent, and began to splash cold water on her hot face.
Ilona shot her a sidelong glance. “So why do they call you a dud?”
Chloe did not want to explain herself to the skinny, blonde girl. She lied. “I messed up at track and field practice yesterday. They’re just being jerks.”
“A teenage boy’s one true skill,” Ilona deadpanned.
Chloe smirked back, then busied herself getting some paper towels to dry her face. Ilona was all right, but she wasn’t Pack. They could never truly be friends.
And the Pack kids would scorn Chloe even more if she started hanging around with a townie. She picked up her backpack and left the washroom.
Ilona didn’t take the hint. She followed, keeping pace with Chloe in the hallway. “Speaking of boys … what do you think of Dean?”
“Besides that he’s a jerk?”
“So jumping on his back isn’t some kind of strange rural dating ritual?”
Chloe barked out a laugh. “No!”
“Rumour has it you two used to go out.” Ilona leaned forward, grey-blue eyes intent.
“Nah,” Chloe said. One make-out session behind the gym didn’t count.
Ilona sighed. “He may be a bit of a jerk, but he’s hot.” The words sounded funny in Ilona’s Russian accent.
Once upon a time, Chloe would have agreed. Dean was tall and muscular, with a devilish grin that had made her heart thump. She scowled, remembering her stupid dreams of marrying Dean and being the next Alpha pair. Last year Dean had thought she was pretty cool, too.
Ilona persisted. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”
“I wouldn’t take Dean Stravinsky served on a plate,” Chloe said flatly. And wasn’t that going to surprise him when she did Change? She pictured him groveling, begging her to go out with him. But he was dead to her now. Kyle and Brian, too. Not that Kyle, who was a year younger than Chloe, had ever really been in the running. She’d never date anyone who’d sneered at her and called her a Dud.
Maybe she’d meet someone at university like her parents had.
Thinking about university aggravated her anxiety. She’d been looking forward to campus life—taking courses that she chose, partying, being independent—but she’d always planned to return to Pine Hollow. If she was a Recessive, she’d be kicked out of the Pack after high school graduation. Forced to leave home, leave the Preserve, and live a mandated distance away from all werewolf packs, probably in some crowded city full of bad smells and strangers.
No. Not going to happen. Chloe fought to control the hitch in her breathing as she and Ilona entered the classroom. Chloe grabbed a seat in the middle, and Ilona sat adjacent to her.
“Well, if you’re not into Dean, maybe I’ll let him catch me,” Ilona said.
Dean and a townie? Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. She supposed Ilona was pretty, but she wasn’t Pack, and she reeked of horses. Ilona’s mom raised horses and peddled crystals and New Age kitsch.
Horses hated werewolves. The scent drove them mad. Her dad had to douse himself in cologne whenever he got a call to tend a sick horse. Cows and sheep were too dumb to understand the danger; pigs were smart enough to know her dad wasn’t actually a wolf. Dogs could be dominated, and cats bribed, but horses weren’t fooled, and their hooves could shatter bones.
A horse kicking Dean in the ribs. Oooh, up side. “Go for it,” Chloe said. “But, fair warning, his dad hates townies.”
Ilona frowned. “I live on a ranch, not in town.”
“Doesn’t matter. Anyone who doesn’t live in the Preserve is a townie to Dean’s dad.” Ilona had only lived in town for a year or she would have known all the unwritten rules. Dating townies, non-Pack, wasn’t forbidden, but the Alphas discouraged it. Some parents were more hard-line about it than others. For Chloe, it was a moot point. Boys who weren’t werewolves always looked soft to her.
“What does he have against townies? Is it because of the logging deal?” Ilona asked.
“There is no deal,” Chloe said sharply. “The Preserve is private property. They can’t log it without our permission. The end.” Her voice attracted attention and glares from the other townies—all seven of them, with the exception of one First Nations girl who refused to take sides.
The town of Pine Hollow was dwindling, its population falling below five hundred people, which was why the townies were so desperate for an infusion of jobs and money. Chloe sympathized, she did, but it wasn’t going to happen.
She wasn’t even against logging in general. If harvested and replanted properly, trees were a renewable resource. She just didn’t want it to happen here, in their Preserve. Especially not clear-cutting, which was what was being proposed.
“Really?” Ilona asked. “I thought that was just a negotiating position. Judy’s folks would really let the town die?”
Grrr. Chloe tried one more time to explain. “A logging deal won’t save the town. Everyone talks as if opening the Preserve to logging will guarantee a sawmill getting built, but Pine Hollow is only one possible location that Diversified Forest Products is considering for the site. They’re probably going to pick Delpin. It’s bigger and more centrally located.”
“Yeah, well we have no chance at all, thanks to you tree-hugging hippie freaks and your private commune,” a townie boy said.
“Butt out.” Chloe gave him a flat stare. He dropped his gaze and pretended an interest in his notebook.
“So are you hippies living on a commune?” Ilona asked. “You don’t dress like it.”
Pine Hollow had always had trouble classifying the Pack. Hippie commune was just one of the rumours swirling around. They’d also been accused of being a religious sect and of being witches who held orgies. The type of rumour changed with the decades, but being half-resented outsiders stayed the same.
Chloe shrugged. “You could call us conservationists if you want.” That was what her dad said when hunters asked permission to go on their land. “But the bottom line is the Preserve belongs to us, and nobody but nobody is taking it away.”
“Still,” Ilona said, “it’s going to suck for you guys, too, if the town doesn’t survive.”
The Pack would still be here long after Pine Hollow withered up and blew away. They’d owned this land since the werewolves first left Europe and came over to North America. (The Lore said they’d fled from famine caused by witches; her dad insisted over-crowding and deforestation was the true reason.) They’d gone West during the time of the fur traders, hoping for a place to settle, but found it already occupied. The Pack had bargained with the Dunne-za, a First Nations people, and with some sasquatches living nearby, then later filed for a government deed
. The Pack owned the land jointly with Lady Sasquatch.
Chloe shrugged. “Yes, losing the town will suck. But we’ll deal.” Her dad would have to move his vet practice to Delpin and commute. The Pack kids would either have to bus in or be homeschooled. The Pine Hollow school population was already so small that grades eleven and twelve were in a split class and shared the same classroom. Even that meant a class of only twelve. Second bell rang. Dean, Brian, and Judy sauntered in, laughing. Although they looked nothing alike—Dean was pale and freckled and wore his russet hair in a crew-cut, while Brian, who was half-Chinese, had stylishly messy ink-black hair that flopped over his eyes—the boys were both over six feet with wide shoulders and had the same Pack swagger. They towered over tiny five-foot-two Judy, who looked pixie-cute in tight jeans and a purple tee, her light brown hair up in a ponytail.
Chloe tensed, but they ignored her, sitting together in a cluster beside Kyle.
Being ignored stung worse than being heckled. Chloe had to bite her lip to keep from saying something, anything, to make them notice her.
Last year, she would have been part of the group. Last year, she, Judy, and Abby would have sat together, and Chloe would’ve been the leader, the one planning movie marathons and skating parties. This year, Judy was queen, Chloe was a Dud, and Abby was dead.
Grief for her dead best friend rose in her throat and burned in the backs of her eyes. Chloe swallowed it down.
Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Presley, walked in. He took one look at the hostile atmosphere and sighed. He’d long since stopped trying to separate the grade eleven students from the grade twelve students and let Pack sit with Pack.
He’d just started taking attendance when a knock came at the door. The principal poked her grey-haired head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Judy.”
“Of course,” Mr. Presley said.
Judy’s face went milk-pale. She stood up, almost stumbling in her haste to reach the door. A surprising surge of protectiveness hit Chloe, an impulse to get up and provide support.
“What is it? Is my mom okay?” Judy asked, voice tight.
The closing door cut off most of the principal’s answer, but the word ‘hospital’ floated in.
The Pack kids exchanged grim looks, briefly united with worry over this new crisis.
“What’s going on?” Ilona whispered.
“Judy’s mom is sick. Cancer,” Chloe said briefly. Until they reached old age, werewolves were amazingly healthy. Alphas, especially, almost never got so much as a sniffle, much less a serious disease. But a year ago Judy’s mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She’d had chemotherapy and a lumpectomy. Everyone had believed she was better and her natural healing powers had returned, but at her sixth-month checkup the doctor discovered that the cancer had spread to her stomach.
And now she might be in the hospital.
The wrongness of an Alpha being ill raised Chloe’s hackles. The Alpha was strong. Had to be strong—or she wasn’t the Alpha.
Judy didn’t return to class, and when Chloe got home her mom’s first words were: “If you have homework, get it done right away. We’re going to have a light supper—soup and sandwiches—then go to the Alphas’ house.” Her mom wielded a potato peeler with quick, deft strokes.
“No homework.” Because she’d done it during her lonely noon hour. Chloe let her backpack slide to the floor. “I thought Judy’s mom was in the hospital.” Pine Hollow was too small for a hospital; patients had to travel a hundred kilometres to Delpin.
Her mom shook her head. “They sent her home.”
“So she’s better?” Chloe’s heart lightened.
“No.” Her mom grimaced. “The opposite. There’s nothing more that can be done for her at the hospital.” She paused and picked up a second potato. “They sent her home to die.”
Chloe let out a small grunt, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Poor Judy. “Die? I didn’t know the cancer was that bad.” She’d assumed werewolf health plus the extra strength of an Alpha would fight off the disease.
Her mom sighed. “No one knew it was this bad. The Alphas kept it from us.”
Alphas weren’t always married or even from the same generation, but Judy’s parents, Olivia and Nathan Frayne, were the Pine Hollow Pack’s male and female Alphas.
Chloe scowled. “That was dumb. They should’ve told us.”
Her mom shrugged and began peeling the second potato. “Alphas can be … touchy about appearing weak. They probably didn’t want to deal with Dominance issues on top of stress from the illness.”
Chloe rubbed her chin, then shook her head. “Dominance issues from whom? I mean, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? We don’t have a female Beta right now.” Because Abby’s mom, Karen Jennings, had been the Beta, and she, along with her husband and two children, had died in a small plane crash last year. “And if the Alpha dies—” Her throat closed. She swallowed, tried again. “There’s no one to step in, and Judy’s dad will be grieving. The Pack will be weakened, which could make us prey to other Packs.”
“You’ve been reading too much Pack lore,” her mother said firmly. “Modern Packs aren’t nearly as bloodthirsty, nor are they as vulnerable to drought and famine—things that used to force Packs to search for a new home. The Preserve may be on a coveted bit of land, but no one wants a war these days. We don’t want to attract attention from humans.” Then, without changing tone, “Can you grate some Swiss cheese for me? I’m making ham and potato casserole for the Fraynes.”
Chloe got out the cheese and the grater. Was her mom right or was she just trying to paint things in a better light so as not to worry Chloe? “But we’d still be better off if we had a Beta ready to step in.”
“Well, yes,” her mother admitted. She started slicing the raw potatoes into a pot of boiling water. “The Pack is small enough that filling the spot didn’t seem important. Which is going to bite us in the butt now.”
Uncertainly, Chloe stopped grating and studied her mom. “Are you—?”
“Heavens, no,” her mom said with a short laugh. “Your Aunt Laurie is Dominant to me. But even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t want the job.”
But who else was there? As a single mom, Aunt Laurie had her hands full taking care of the twins. Plus, she was in a long-distance relationship with a woman from another Pack and was considering moving to Ontario. Aunt Laurie would shun the responsibility. Dean and Kyle’s mom had divorced their dad two years ago and moved to another Pack. Brian’s mom was, bluntly, a ditz. Dean’s sister, Heather, was twenty-one. Could they bring her home from college? Chloe tried to remember if Heather was particularly Dominant and couldn’t recall, which probably meant she wasn’t.
“Anyhow, we shouldn’t be talking about this. Nathan has forbidden any speculation over who will succeed Olivia. It’s disrespectful. The Alpha isn’t dead yet.”
So why are we bringing over a casserole like we do at funerals? Chloe didn’t ask, dropping the subject. It’s not like she wanted the Alpha to die—she liked Judy’s mom. Still, it seemed stupid not to prepare.
They were the last to arrive. Vehicles choked the Fraynes’ backyard and driveway, and werewolves crowded the house.
Chloe’s mom put her hand on Chloe’s shoulder, holding her back for a moment by the car. “Be kind to Judy tonight.”
“I doubt Judy wants to talk to me.”
Her mother sighed. “I know you and Judy have had a few ups and downs since Abby’s death, but you’ve been friends forever, and she needs someone.”
Abby’s death hadn’t driven the wedge into their friendship; Judy lording her ability to Change over Chloe and then calling her a Dud had done it. Though Chloe supposed if Abby were here she might have made Judy apologize.
Chloe made no promises.
Her mom patted Chloe’s shoulder, then handed her a still-warm casserole dish. Balancing two plastic-wrapped plates of crackers, cheese, and homemade moose sausage, she led the way into the house t
o the kitchen where she joined the other women. Chloe’s dad seated himself between Dean’s dad, Rick, and Coach Wharton in the living room where a football game played with the sound turned low.
After putting the casserole into the already stuffed freezer, Chloe automatically tramped down to the basement where the kids always hung out. At the bottom of the stairs her steps slowed and trepidation expanded in her stomach. It might be easier to keep her temper if she stuck with the adults … But, no. She refused to let them run her off.
Still, she avoided Dean, Kyle, and Brian, who were pigging out on chips and snickering over YouTube videos on Brian’s phone.
Aunt Laurie’s twins and Brian’s younger half-siblings were pestering Gail to let them have turns on the Xbox. Gail ignored them, grimly shooting aliens. She had earphones on and a dead expression on her face. There was nothing Chloe could say that would make Gail’s mother better so she patted Gail’s shoulder then took charge of the rugrats, organizing a game of hide-and-seek.
At first she was relieved that Judy wasn’t downstairs, but after forty-five minutes, Chloe gave in and asked Gail where her sister was.
“Dunno.” A shrug. “Probably still shut up in her room.”
Crying by herself?
Pity stirred. Chloe looked around. Was there anybody else she could send to comfort Judy? But the boys were useless at that sort of thing, and Abby was dead. It was Chloe or nobody.
Sighing, she trudged up the stairs. Her last hope, that Judy had joined the adults in the kitchen, proved false.
She knocked on Judy’s door. After a series of polite taps and no answer, she slipped inside the darkened room and leaned against the door.
Judy huddled on the bed, clutching a teddy bear. Tears made faintly luminous tracks down her face. “Go away.” Her voice was raw.
Chloe didn’t move. She forgot about the spiteful cat Judy had been lately and remembered the tagalong little girl she and Abby had played with on the swings. How many sleepovers had the three of them had? How many bowls of popcorn consumed, how many movies watched, how many secrets shared?
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