Grandmother stands next to Uncle Daig who helps me out of a jacket that’s toast.
“There,” she says. “You look human again.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Uncle Daig lightly taps my foot outer bone. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
He turns my ankle slowly. “Does that hurt?”
“Ow! Yes!” I breathe deep through my nose and exhale from my mouth.
Grandmother almost frowns. If you saw her on the street you would never know that she’d been married for thirty-five years and had twenty grandchildren. Her skin is wrinkle-free. The long, dark mane cascading past her shoulders is thick and luxurious enough to land her in a hair commercial any day of the week. I’ve shown her picture to the occasional friend over the years and asked them to guess Grandmother’s age. The answer is always the same—thirty-five at most.
Maybe it’s magic that keeps her looking like my father’s sister or maybe it’s just really good genetics.
“I think it’s just a sprain. Should heal in no time.” Uncle Daig pulls a bandage from his bag and wraps my foot. “Take it easy tonight and ice it for a few minutes at a time. I have every confidence that you’ll be feeling much better by tomorrow.”
“Really? Because I’ve sprained my ankle before and it felt nothing like this,” I say.
He avoids my eyes, as does my grandmother who goes to the stove on the other side of the room and checks the large pot sitting on a back burner.
“It’s not just my ankle. My foot really hurts. How about I skip dinner and go to the ER for a quick x-ray? My dad always says better safe than sorry.”
Grandmother stiffens at the mention of going to the hospital but continues to stir the pot without turning around.
“Well, it’s possible there’s a small tear in the ligament, but like I said—stay off it tonight and I’m sure all will be well tomorrow.” Uncle Daig tosses his medical supplies back into his bag. “I’m going to check on the kids.” Uncle Daig, tall, thin, and always kind of nervous, hurries from the kitchen.
The door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone with my grandmother. Something feels off. She’s even more distant tonight than normally.
Grandmother covers the pot, turning to face me. “It’s not a very good start to such an important birthday.”
I shrug. “It’s just another year without ...” My eyes find a spot on the wall. Grandmother doesn’t like me to mention my mother.
Grandmother wrings her hands. “Sixteen is a very important birthday. Some might say it marks the rite of passage into the most important time of your life.”
Her eyes are on me, willing me to understand some message between the words. But I’m not sure what she’s getting at.
“Well, Dad did say I could get my license.” I glance around. “I didn’t get a chance to make the soda bread. Maybe we could get Aunt Claire to pick some up from the bakery in town? She’s not here yet, right?” I say.
The kitchen door swings open and my cousin Jasper walks in. “She’s not really our aunt. Why do we call her aunt if she’s just a distant cousin?” he says. Pulling out a piece of rubber that smells of chocolate from his pant pocket, he chews on it.
My grandmother takes a breath. “She’s a McGregor and an orphan. We had to take her in.”
“But she’s not our aunt.” Jasper, tall and lanky with blond spiky hair, paces the kitchen. “No, she’s not.”
“Then it doesn’t make sense. I don’t like things that don’t make sense.” He puts the chew in his pocket, pulling on the front strands of his hair.
“Hey, Jas. What book are you reading right now?” I say, sliding across the counter toward him.
“I’m working on the Irish immigration patterns into North America around the turn of the century.” His eyes dart around the room as he frowns. “There’s too much noise out there. Aaron and his twin keep poking me and telling me to recite useless facts. I wanted to go into Grandpa’s study, but he said not to do it when he’s not around. Where is he?”
Grandmother smiles. Grandpa is the only person who can truly make Maureen McGregor happy enough to show her teeth. “Your grandfather had to go to Viewpoint for a new carburetor.”
“For which car?” Jasper asks.
“Oh, you know how bad I am with those things. I can’t tell an exhaust pipe from an engine,” she replies. Grandmother moves to the window above the kitchen sink, glancing up at the moon. She frowns. “We should gather everyone for dinner before the food gets cold.”
“What about the bread?” I ask.
“I froze some after last month’s dinner. It’s in the oven warming.” Grandmother grabs mitts and opens the oven. A round loaf sits on the center rack. It’s not enough to feed an army, but I don’t want to argue.
“What can I do to help?” I hop off the counter, lightly stepping on my foot. I cringe in anticipation of sharp pain, but there’s only a dull ache. “That does feel better.”
“You should stay off that foot, dear. Jasper and I will take things into the dining room,” Grandmother says.
The kitchen door swings open and Magnus, my youngest uncle, walks in. “Did someone say food?”
He has pale Irish skin that doesn’t tan so much as it freckles. We never call him uncle. With only a five-year age difference between him and us, it would be too weird. Magnus smiles and runs a hand through his overgrown red hair. He’s dressed in jeans, a wrinkled button-up shirt, and a suit jacket that’s one size too small.
“You’re just in time,” Grandmother says, kissing her son’s cheek.
“Well, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here at all.” Magnus says in a low voice.
“We’ve talked about this,” Grandmother says.
“I know. I don’t need another lecture, Mother.”
Magnus shoves his hands into his pockets. “What’s up with the foot, kid?”
“I’m five years younger than you,” I reply. “If I’m a kid, what’s that make you?”
He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a flask and brings it to his lips. “Legal.” He takes a long drink.
“Put that away. McGregors don’t drink from the bottle.” Grandmother places the bread into a basket.
“It’s a flask, not a bottle. They’re two very different things.” Magnus grins. “So what happened?” I lean on the counter to take the weight off my foot. It’s better but still hurts. “Harold died while driving us here. We crashed the limo in the woods and then got attacked by a bunch of wolves. They didn’t want Larkin, but they seemed pretty intent on making me dinner. Anyone know why?”
Somehow, Magnus turns a paler shade of white. Grandmother drops the basket in her hands, quickly recovering it before it hits the floor with reflexes so fast her hands blur.
“Grandmother?” I stare at her.
She hands the bread to Magnus. “I’m feeling clumsy. Take this to the dining room, please.”
“But Mother, we should tell her about—” Magnus takes the basket.
“No!” Her voice cuts through the tension in the room. Grandmother hands Magnus the bread. “Take the bread out and then get your brothers for dinner.”
“What about the little kids?” I ask.
“They just came to wish you happy birthday. I sent them home so it would just be you four, your uncles, and I. In honor of your sixteenth birthday, there are some things we need to discuss as a family.” Grandmother picks up the large pot from the stove.
“Where’s dad?” Magnus asks. “He’s always a fan of telling the truth.”
Grandmother shoots daggers at my uncle, who avoids eye contact. “Shopping,” she replies.
She’s lying. Wherever Grandpa is, it has nothing to do with shopping.
“Oh.” Magnus turns to me. “Does my favorite niece need a hand?”
“Don’t let Larkin hear you. She swears she’s everyone’s favorite,” I say, limping along.
Jasper comes to my side and offers his arm.
I take it. “Th
ank you.”
“Something is weird, Candy,” he whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back.
“Jasper, what did you say?” Grandmother takes the stew from the stove.
“Something’s not right. On the full moon, we eat early. Our mothers come. The little kids play games. Then we all go home and the uncles stay behind with you and Grandpa.” Jasper chews his fingers. “Grandpa isn’t here. Candy’s father is missing—”
“He’s not missing. He’s on a business trip,” I say.
“He’s always here on the full moon,” my cousin insists.
Grandmother sets the pot on a pad on the counter, wiping the back of her forehead with her hand.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sweat before.
“It’s Candy’s birthday tomorrow. We decided to make dinner a little later, so I could have time to prepare,” Grandmother says.
“That makes no sense. You have staff to help, and you sent them away.” Jasper’s legs twitch.
“Help Candy to the table, Jasper.” Grandmother’s brown eyes are dark, almost black, and her voice drops at least two octaves.
“But I still have questions!”
I grab Jasper’s arm, dragging him toward the door. “It’s okay, Jas, not everything has to make sense.”
“But it does! A world without order is chaos!”
“Take a deep breath and count to ten.” I push the double doors open, limping through them. Holding on to his arm, we make our way toward the dining room.
“Candy?”
“Yes, Jasper?”
“Strange things have been happening to me lately,” he says quietly.
“What kind of things?”
“Well, I’m sweating all the time and sometimes I just get really angry like Grandmother just did.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yeah, she did. I bug her just like I bug everyone.” Jasper rubs his eyes. “I don’t like being different.”
I want to pat his arm, but he only likes deep touches. A pat would only make him jump away. “We’re all different. I mean look around. Most of us don’t even look related.”
“I could handle all of it, but then—” Jasper wipes his nose with his free hand. A stream of blood trickles out of his nose. He grabs his head and moans in pain. He pales, turning alabaster white.
I check my pockets, but I’m all out of tissue.
“Ow!” Jasper says, his face twisting into a frown and turning purple. He sinks to the floor, resting against the wall.
“How long has this been going on?” I get on my knees, reaching for his head.
“About a week.”
About a week. My headaches started a month before my birthday. Jasper’s birthday is in three weeks. Is there a connection? Grandmother did say sixteen was a rite of passage. Was this what she meant?
Maybe there’s a genetic link between the headaches, nosebleeds, and our sixteenth birthdays.
“I think my head is going to explode. That will mean the end of my ability to think. Plus, my brains will probably splatter across Grandmother’s antique wallpaper. You know how she feels about keeping things nice.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a packet of tissues. I tear the plastic open and hand him a pile. Jasper holds them over his nose.
“I should get Uncle Daig,” I say, limping.
“No, it’ll go away. Besides, if my parents find out they’ll just have one more thing to worry about. Stay with me until the pain stops?”
I hop back to the wall and sit down next to him. “What can I do?”
“Tell the story.”
“Now is not the best time.”
“Please?”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “A long while ago, there was a young maiden with fiery red hair and a gift for magic. She was a high priestess and the most powerful among her clan. One day, the British reached her village, which had long been protected by a spell. Somehow they broke the spell and attacked the villagers while the high priestess was gone, having married her one true love that day. When the high priestess returned, the young woman found her village slaughtered. Her little brother and sister had been taken. They were all she had left, and she had to save them.” I pause. This part of the story always makes me sad, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like this story happened to me. “So the high priestess came up with a plan. She would use magic and the power of love to save what was left of her family.”
“This is the best part,” Larkin whispers.
“The high priestess—”
“You never say her name,” Jasper says. “Are you ashamed of it?”
Yes, I am completely embarrassed to be named after a mythological witch with poor coping skills.
“No.” I rub my head. “Darby, the high priestess, gathered herbs and what was left of the family’s stores of meat. She went into the woods and built an altar under what happened to be the first full moon of that year. Using the meat, she lured a wolf from the woods. Drawing on the power of the full moon, the little Irish witch. ..”
It’s a slip. I don’t mean to call her that. I glance up to see my grandmother standing in front of us.
“We don’t use the word witch,” she says.
“Why not?” Larkin asks, appearing with Bennett. “I like the word.”
“Because the word ‘witch’ will get you burned in any culture,” Grandmother says. “Jasper, are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s just a nosebleed. It’s stopped already,” he says.
“Great! Then Candy can finish the story,” Larkin says with a smile.
Bennett gives me a nod to go ahead. I sigh. Why must I be the family storyteller?
“The young girl cast a spell to give her the speed and strength of the wolf so that she might rescue her family from the soldiers.” I take a deep breath. Telling the story always leaves me feeling drained. “But Darby miscalculated. She made a mistake. Instead of taking on the attributes of the wolf, she became the wolf. She shifted from human form into a beast that had only one desire: to kill. Darby was overtaken by blood lust. As a wolf, she raced to the shore where the British ship was docked. She slaughtered everyone on board save her little brother and sister. When the sun rose the next morning, Darby returned to human form. Walking among the dead, she cried as the guilt tore at her soul. She begged the Gods for forgiveness and tried desperately to undo the spell but. ..”
“But it was no use,” Grandmother says, with a faraway look on her face. “For once the wolf killed, Darby ceased to be a priestess. In that instance, the spell became a curse that forced her to become a wolf with every full moon.”
There’s misery in my grandmother’s eyes. But it’s just a story. How could family folklore bring such sorrow?
“Grandmother?” I reach for her arm.
She clears her throat. “Come along, children. Dinner is ready.” Grandmother turns around and heads back into the dining room.
“You guys okay?” Larkin asks.
“Yeah, we’ll be there in a second. You go ahead.” I wave them off.
When our cousins are out of sight, I turn to Jasper, who covers his eyes. “Your head still hurts, huh?”
“As if it could explode any second.”
Gently, I place a comforting hand on his arm. “One. Two. Three. Let this pain leave me,” I say quietly. “Now you try saying it.”
“Why?”
“To calm down. Once you’re calm, I’ll go find Uncle Daig.”
“Okay. One. Two. Three. Let this pain leave me,” he repeats.
The change is instant. His skin returns to its normal pinkish color.
“The pain is gone,” he whispers.
Slumping against the wall, fear pricks at my skin.
What’s happening to us?
CHAPTER FOUR
“Guys!” Bennett steps out into the hallway. He straightens the red tie around his neck.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything is fine,” I
say, turning to Jasper. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he says.
He stands up and helps me to my feet as Larkin walks down the hall toward us. We stand just outside the dining room door. There’s very little sound coming from there. The house is a completely different place when there aren’t ten little kids running around.
“Let’s leave,” Larkin says. “I can hot wire one of Grandpa’s cars, and we can get out of here.”
Bennett shakes his head. “He leaves the keys in the ignition. Must you be so dramatic?”
Larkin punches him in the shoulder. “I prefer passionate, and at least I’m not my father’s walking, talking clone.”
“I’m no one’s clone.”
“You’re right. Robot is a better term.”
Bennett opens his mouth, pointing a finger at Larkin.
“Come on! How about you two take just one night off from being at each other’s throats!” My voice is high and shrill. Jasper takes a step away from me while I lean on the wall for support though my foot barely hurts now.
Bennett straightens his navy blue blazer. “I was only going to say that we cannot steal Grandpa’s car.”
“No one is stealing a car. We’re going to family dinner,” I say, tugging on my dress. The fabric chafes my skin. Why didn’t I just wear leggings and a big shirt like Larkin? She’s always so comfortable.
“Speak for yourself,” she says. “I’m ready to leave.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling tired, cold and hot all at the same time. “How is tonight’s dinner any different from all the other ones we’ve all been attending for the last fifteen years of our lives?”
“I don’t know.” Larkin shifts from one foot to another. “This one feels different.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Even I feel it. There’s something in the air,” Bennett says. “I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s tension? I just remember the last time things felt this way was right before Magnus’s sixteenth birthday. Do you guys remember that dinner?”
First Full Moon Page 4
