by Kristy Tate
Elizabeth looked pleased with Lizbet’s answer. Josie much less so.
Declan leaned over and whispered in Lizbet’s ear, “I want to go to Nicole’s.”
“What? Now?”
He nodded. “Your aunt gave me an idea.”
DECLAN LOOKED AT HIS shoes as they walked to the barn. “I know it sounds weird, but I want to smell her room.” He couldn’t explain his newly heightened senses to Lizbet because it wasn’t something he completely understood himself. “Besides, I can’t think of a connection between Courtney and Jason other than Nicole.”
“Poor Nicole. It must be devastating to lose a friend and your boyfriend in less than a week.”
Declan tried to remember Courtney and Nicole ever being chummy, but he failed. “They played on the same team, but that doesn’t mean they were friends.”
“No?”
“I don’t think they were. They’re different. Courtney was more of a jock.” He caught himself. “I mean, she is. Not she was.”
Lizbet, as if sensing his sadness, looped her arm through his and began talking of the treatment she’d served Tickles to cure his wolfism. Declan only half-listened. The other half of him worried about the night, the full moon, and if anyone else would die.
Inside the barn, Lizbet retrieved the helmets, swung onto her bike, and turned the key in the ignition. Declan climbed on behind her and secured his helmet. Lizbet felt warm and solid as he slipped his arms around her waist and held tight. Somehow, she’d become his salvation. Without her, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go on. Even with her, if he was in any way responsible for Jason’s death or Courtney’s disappearance, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself.
They rumbled down the street, passing the quiet houses, disturbing a few restless dogs. As they drew closer to town, the yards grew smaller and the houses closer together. Lizbet turned down Nicole’s street and cut the engine. Declan climbed off the bike, peeling away from her warmth.
“It doesn’t look like they’re home,” Lizbet said.
Declan rocked back onto his heels. “That’s right! They’re gone! At the party, Nicole said her family was going boating on Lake Chelan.”
“So she couldn’t have had anything to do with Courtney’s disappearance or Jason’s death?”
“I guess not.” He scratched his head. “I still want to smell her room.”
She slid him a glance. “You know how weird that sounds, right?”
“What can I say? My olfactory senses need satisfaction.”
She nudged him. “Still weird...”
“Almost as weird as having a werewolf boyfriend?”
“That’s weird, too,” she said. “Do you think you can satisfy your olfactory senses if we just stand under her window?” Lizbet’s face tightened as she stared at the house.
He elbowed her. “Ready?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding young. “She might have a security alarm or a dog...”
“I’m sure you could win over the dog, if she had one—which she doesn’t, by the way. I just want to smell her room.”
“Right,” Lizbet said, straightening her shoulders. “That shouldn’t take long.”
Declan nodded and stepped away from the sheltering hedge. His shoe landed on a twig, snapping it.
Somewhere down the street, a dog began to bark.
“Come on,” Lizbet said, heading across the lawn.
Declan tried to follow her silently, but even his breathing sounded amplified. They dashed to the side of the house. Declan peeked in the first window, trying to remember the house’s layout. “Dining room,” he whispered. They jogged to the next window and found the kitchen. At the third window, the posters on the wall and the clothes strewn across the floor told him the room belonged to a teenage girl. He gasped when Nicole’s smell wafted through the window, punching him in the gut.
“Why would the police mistake Nicole’s jacket for Courtney’s?” he asked. “Especially since Nicole isn’t even in town.”
“It was probably her parents who made the mistake, right? Nicole left her jacket...” Lizbet stopped herself. “Wait. The only thing telling us that coat belonged to Nicole is your nose, and I know you have a lot of confidence in your olfactory senses, but...”
Declan had stopped listening as his gaze fastened on a pile of shredded rags poking out from the bottom of Nicole’s closet. “I’m going in.”
“Are you crazy?” Lizbet gasped.
He pointed at the strips of fabric lying on the floor. Leaning over Lizbet, he reached for the window sash.
“Wait!” Lizbet gripped his wrist. “You said yourself that there might be an alarm. Let me try it. You go and wait by the bike.”
“So not happening. I didn’t come here to watch you break into Nicole’s room.”
Lizbet tightened her lips.
“No! Not happening!”
She reached past him and pulled on the sash. It opened easily.
They waited for several seconds, listening for a wailing alarm or a howling dog. When they heard nothing more startling than a call from a bird in the neighboring tree, Declan pulled the window all the way open and climbed inside. Lizbet followed.
Posters of rock stars lined the walls. Shelves holding a mishmash of novels, textbooks and framed photos of family and friends dominated one wall, while a large desk stacked with notebooks and papers took up another. A twinge of guilt hit him, but he reminded himself of the gurney and Jason’s bloody body and the guilt died. The smell of the room, identical to the smell of the letterman jacket, engulfed Declan. He crossed the room in three long strides, dropped to his knees before the open closet and studied the torn rags on the floor.
He flashed back to his own shredded clothing. “She has to be a werewolf.”
“That night in the woods when you were playing Sardines...is it possible she was bitten by Tickles?” Lizbet whispered.
“We probably don’t have to whisper,” Declan answered, his voice barely audible. “No one is here.”
“Let’s go,” Lizbet said, her voice only slightly louder. “We saw what we came to see...and smell.”
“I HAVE TO EAT SILVER dust, raw hamburger, and sage?” Declan frowned at the silver dollar and hammer in his hands.
“Yep. It worked—maybe—for Tickles,” Lizbet said. She stood at the kitchen table at Godwin’s house, a package of raw hamburger on the counter in front of her. A wave of nausea washed through her as she unwrapped the meat. “But he’s a little dog and you’re not a small guy. I’m not sure it’ll work.” She crumbled up the sage and sprinkled it on top, filling the air with its sweet, tangy scent.
“What if it only partly works?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in my studies, I read about humans with dog heads.”
“What? There’s no such thing.”
Declan’s shoulders sagged. “If you can believe in werewolves, why not half-men and half-beasts? By the way, there’s no half-man half-dog women—only men.”
“I repeat, there’s no such thing.”
“You really need to be more open-minded,” he told her, nodding at his books on the counter. “You can look it up for yourself.” He took the silver dollar and hammer to the back porch. Seconds later, the sharp metallic sound of steel against silver filled the silence.
Lizbet flipped open a large book entitled Mythical Beasts, Monsters, and Minotaur.
The legends of dog-headed men (or according to Greek legend, cynoephali) are told all over the world. The Egyptian god Anubis, considered the god of death and the underworld, is perhaps the earliest recorded dog-headed creature. Paintings of him can be found throughout the Middle East.
In the fifth century, a Greek doctor wrote about a tribe of dog-headed men who lived in India. Later, a Greek explorer described the dog-headed men as savages who communicated by barking.
Marco Polo and Giovanni da Pian del Carpine both encountered barbaric dog-headed men during their travels in the Middle Ages.
High in the Scottish mountains near Edinburgh, King Arthur supposedly battled an army of dog-headed soldiers. There are also reports of dog-headed men in fifth-century China and regions of Africa.
But not all records are ancient. There have been claims of sightings of humans with dog heads in Michigan, Wisconsin, the Pacific Northwest, and the Shetland Islands.
Lizbet scanned the book for a more detailed account of the sighting in the Pacific Northwest. The word Stehekin caught her attention. An indescribable but powerful feeling swept through Lizbet. She set down the book.
Declan came into the room, carrying a handful of silver powder, and caught her expression.
“I want to go to Stehekin,” she told him.
“What?” He poured the silver dust on top of the meat.
“Stehekin,” she repeated. “It’s based on a Salishan word meaning ‘the way through.’" She cocked her head. “You’ve heard of it, right? It’s at the northern tip of Lake Chelan and is the gateway to the Northern Cascade National Park.”
“I don’t really think I’m up for a road trip,” Declan said. “The last thing I want to do is turn into a wolf while riding in a car with you.”
“I can’t explain it, but I’m certain that Stehekin has answers."
Declan laid the hammer down on the table and met her gaze. “Lizbet, we don’t even know the questions. How can we possibly find answers?”
“Even if this doesn’t work, by tomorrow, you won’t be a wolf for an entire month. We can go to Stehekin.” She locked her eyes with his. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll have to go alone.”
“Did you read about the dog-men?”
“It’s ridiculous,” she said, but even she heard the doubt in her voice.
“I have a theory.”
She waited for him to continue.
“What if the dog-men are werewolves who were only half successful in finding a cure for wolfism?”
“Do you not want to try this?” she asked.
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a dog’s head.”
She wanted to laugh, but she knew from the look on Declan’s face that he didn’t think any of this was funny. A glance outside the window at the setting sun told her she’d need to leave soon. Using a wooden spoon, she mixed the silver dust into the hamburger.
“What do you think the sage is for?” Declan asked.
She lifted a shoulder. “To make it more palatable?”
“Hmm, not working,” Declan said.
Lizbet dumped the concoction onto a paper plate and smiled at him. “Ready?”
He nodded.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’m sure.” After giving her a quick kiss, he took the plate from her and headed down the stairs. “See you tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” she whispered after he disappeared into the dark basement.
Rapscallion clambered out of the cupboard and greeted Lizbet with twitching whiskers.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumble of cheese. “You know what to do,” she said, offering the piece of Gouda to the mouse.
Language is the link of human relationships, and before they are anything else, fairy stories are the original family romances.
From Lizbet’s Studies
Chapter 6
Declan curled into a ball on the side of an unfamiliar hill. The hazy predawn light cast a grayish tint over the derelict cemetery. Dew and blades of grass clung to his bare skin. He sat up, self-conscious of his nudity. He could be arrested for this, although indecent exposure was a much lesser crime than murder. In his heart, he still found it hard to believe that he could have had anything to do with Jason’s death or Courtney’s disappearance, but he couldn’t be sure.
He was unsure about almost everything now.
There was a time not too long ago when he’d thought he understood the world and how it worked. He’d loved science and despised anything that couldn’t be explained.
He had become a thing he despised.
He pushed his hands through his hair, trying to remember last night’s events and how he had gotten to this unfamiliar place. Glancing around, he took in the small clearing, the sad collection of weather-worn tombstones that leaned at odd angles like graying teeth in need of orthodontia. Moss and lichen clung to the stones like mold. Time had taken a toll on the lettering, rendering most of it indecipherable, but one name stood out, repeating itself from stone to stone: Stehekin.
Stehekin. It was a who as well as a where. The knowledge rocked through him, leaving him shivery and cold. He had to tell Lizbet. But how was he to get home when he didn’t even know where he was? And what could he do for clothes?
LIZBET PADDED INTO the kitchen to find her mom stirring her bowl of cereal as if she were looking for something hidden among the bran flakes. Daugherty lifted her gaze to Lizbet and studied her.
“Something wrong?” Lizbet asked after saying good morning.
“Do you know where Declan is? John said he hasn’t been home for several nights.”
Lizbet blinked. “He’s living with Gloria now.”
“That’s exactly what John thought.” Daugherty went back to stirring her cereal. “But Gloria said he hasn’t been sleeping there for the past few days. She thought he was at John’s.” Gloria lifted a spoonful of cereal and pointed it at Lizbet. “And now they both think he’s been with you. Is there any reason for them to think that?”
“I’ve been here, with you, every night.”
“And you don’t know where Declan has been sleeping?”
Lizbet really hated lying to her mom—to anyone, really—but particularly to her mom. Besides, she understood why John and Gloria would be concerned. They should be. Especially if they knew the truth. She pulled a mug out of the cupboard and filled it with milk. “He hasn’t been with me.”
“And you don’t know where he’s been?”
Lizbet stirred chocolate into her milk before putting it into the microwave. Tired of dodging her mom’s questions, she leaned against the counter. “He’s been staying at Godwin’s house.”
“Godwin’s? Why?” Daugherty set down her spoon.
“He wants to confront his stepfather.”
“Good heavens, that’s craziness!”
“Craziness. Yes, that’s a good word for it.” Lizbet longed to tell her mom of all the craziness, but she couldn’t.
“He needs to let the police worry about Godwin.” Daugherty cocked her head at Lizbet. “What’s he thinking? You need to convince him he’s being a loon.”
Not a loon...a wolf, but she couldn’t tell her mom that either.
Elizabeth shuffled into the room carrying a newspaper and shaking her head. “So sad.” She put the paper down on the table and smoothed it out.
Daugherty let out a moan when she read the headline.
Lizbet pulled her cocoa from the microwave when it dinged before glancing over her mom and grandmother’s shoulders to read the paper’s headline.
LOCAL BOY ESCAPES FROM JAIL. ONE DEPUTY DEAD IN CONFLICT Malcolm Abbot, a suspect in the murder of Jason Norbit, escaped from his jail cell last night, leaving one deputy dead and another severely injured. The police are refusing to share clips from the security videos or photos of the condition of the cell, stating that the graphic images might incite undue alarm.
“Undue alarm? What could that mean?” Elizabeth wondered.
Lizbet and her mom exchanged glances, because Lizbet knew exactly what the police were trying to protect the public from.
Her phone buzzed and she took it and her cocoa outside to the back porch.
“Lizbet?”
“Declan, where are you?” she whispered.
“Harleson,” he said. “I’m at a pay phone. I didn’t even know they still had these.”
“Where’s Harleson?”
“Pretty much nowhere. Can you come and get me?”
“Sure.” Pressing her phone between her ear and shoulder, she moved back into the kitchen and settled into the chair in front of the computer. She typed Harleson into the search engine. “It’s seventy-five miles!”
“I know, but there’s something here I have to show you. Can you come?”
Lizbet felt her mom’s curious gaze on her back. “Yeah, but it will take me a while,” she whispered as she slipped out the back door to avoid her mom’s questions. If it would take her more than two hours to get there on her motorbike, she couldn’t even imagine how long it would have taken Declan to get there on foot...or paws.
BY THE TIME LIZBET rolled into the one-street town, her legs were shaky and her fingers stiff. She’d bought the bike from Matias a few months ago. It was rusty-red with a cracked leather seat and worn-out tires, but she loved it—mostly because it gave her freedom to go wherever she pleased. But she’d never had to ride her bike so far before.
When she spotted Declan sitting on a street corner wearing a pair of what looked like mechanic’s overalls, she burst out laughing despite her fatigue. She rolled up beside him, took off her helmet, and shook out her hair. “What are you wearing?”
He stood and pointed at the name embroidered in red lettering over his left breast. “Mike’s overalls. I hope he doesn’t want them back,” he pulled the too-short and too-wide outfit away so he could peek down the zipper, “because I’m wearing nothing underneath.”
“This could be a problem,” Lizbet said. “Does Mike know you’re wearing his suit?”
Declan shook his head. “We have to get out of here before he learns his truck was robbed.” He glanced up and down Main Street, before putting his hand into the pocket and pulling out a handful of coins. “Thankfully for me, these were in the pocket, or else I never would have been able to call you. This looks like the sort of place where everyone knows each other and their wardrobes really well.”
