Claire de Lune

by Christine Johnson

  Claire’s mouth fell open. Well, that’s a hell of a lot better than just being able to hunt in the off-season. “When can I learn them?”

  “Soon enough.” Zahlia stood up and brushed the dirt off her pants. “I’ve gotta go if I’m going to able to drag my butt out of bed tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh—sorry. I used up all your thinking time, huh?”

  Zahlia smiled at her. “Are you kidding? I’m happy I could help. I just wish I could stay longer, show you some more stuff. Really, Claire, the sooner you master all of this, the faster you’ll realize that your old life is nothing to mourn, that being human is boring.”

  “Maybe.” Claire shrugged. Most of the humans she knew had lives that seemed a hell of a lot simpler than hers did. There was something to be said for that.

  Zahlia laughed. “Give it a little time, New One. If you want, we can meet again next week, work on some things.”

  “That would be really great, actually. I’d like that.”

  “Good. You’ll have an easier time getting home if you stay in your true form. The scent trail will be easier to follow.” Zahlia jumped over the log where she’d been sitting and strode to the edge of the clearing. “See you next week.”

  “Yeah,” said Claire, heading for the faint path that had brought her through the woods. “Thanks.”

  Only a few yards into the forest, Claire started to get tired. With each tree she passed her fatigue grew, like she’d finished the hardest workout of her life and the adrenaline rush had finally faded. The sight of her practice spot sent a wave of relief through her, and she nearly lay down and slept on the spot.

  Instead, Claire forced herself to transform. She crept back across the lawn and into the house, took the quickest shower in history, and fell into bed with her hair still wet.

  The relentless clanging of pots and pans forced its way into her dream, waking Claire. She lay blinking at the clock on her bedside table. It was only eleven thirty, for crying out loud. Did Lisbeth really have to make that much noise in the kitchen?

  Still half-asleep, Claire stumbled into the bathroom and stared at the mass of snarled hair framing her face. That’s what she got for not drying it before bed.

  While she picked through the mess of tangles, Claire called Emily.

  “Hey,” Emily answered, her voice glum.

  “Hey, yourself. How’d things go with your parents last night?”

  “Ugh. I mean, ugh. They weren’t listening at all. And my mom wants to go shopping with me later—”

  “Well, that might be good, right? Some time to talk?” Claire interrupted.

  “You didn’t let me finish. She’s taking me shopping for luggage. Luggage! Like I’m going on some sort of old-lady cruise or something.”

  Claire winced. “Oh. Ouch. Maybe you won’t find anything you like?”

  “Ha. I don’t think that’s going to stop them, but nice try. How about you? Did you do anything fun yesterday?”

  “Actually, yeah, Matthew and I went to The Juice Junction.”

  “You did ? That’s awesome. How was it? What did you talk about? Did he kiss you?”

  “Um, you know … we just talked about random stuff.”

  Stuff I can’t really tell you about, that’s all. Emily would kill to hear the specifics of the conversation, but Claire had promised Matthew she wouldn’t say anything. And she’d meant it.

  “Fine, you talked,” Emily teased impatiently. “But what about the kissing? C’mon, you know I’m living vicariously through your love life right now.”

  “Yeah, we kissed,” Claire said, tingling with the memory of it. “And yeah, it was amazing. But that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll change the subject. So, um … anything else exciting happen yesterday?”

  An image of the trees flashing past her as she ran through the woods popped into Claire’s mind.

  “No, not really.” God, it was starting to feel like there wasn’t anything she could talk to Emily about. It was weird and uncomfortable and it made Claire want to get off the phone. “Listen, I’ve gotta get downstairs for lunch before Lisbeth gets ticked. Call me later?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Emily sighed. “I’ll tell you all about my fabulous matching suitcases.”

  After they’d hung up, Claire stared at the phone in her hand and let out a long, slow breath. Friends weren’t supposed to lie to each other, but what other choice did she have?

  Chapter Eight

  CLAIRE STARED AT the ringing phone, chewing the last bite of her toast while Matthew’s number flashed on the screen. Since his soccer practice schedule had picked up and Lisbeth still didn’t want her out after dark, it had been nearly a week since she’d seen him, though they talked almost every day. She swallowed, winced, and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Claire, hi!”

  “Hey, Matthew, what’s up?”

  “Not much, actually. Sore quads and memorizing plays, mostly, since practice is cancelled this afternoon.”

  “Really? That’s frustrating, huh?” Hope made Claire fluttery. He had an afternoon off ?

  “Not so much, since it gives me some time to see you … except …” He paused.

  “Except what?”

  “Well, see, here’s the thing—my dad has this rally scheduled this afternoon, and I have to go, but I really want to hang out with you.”

  Claire hesitated. She was dying to see Matthew, but at a rally for Dr. Engle?

  “Listen, it’s going to suck, but it would suck a lot less if you went with me. I know it’s not exactly dinner and a movie, but—,” he hesitated.

  “Well, why not? I’ve never been to a rally before,” she said. And it’s not like anyone will know that I’m a werewolf, right?

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at two thirty.”

  There were more people than Claire had expected. They’d set up folding chairs and tables with bakery cookies and damp bottles of water that glistened in the sun. Kids ran through the crowd, their T-shirts emblazoned with the outline of a howling wolf, partly hidden behind an enormous red X. Some of the people milling around the tables held signs with the same image, others had posters that said SUPPORT THE NEW P.A.C. The heat had left everyone flushed and sweating, anxious for the rally to begin in earnest.

  A beefy man sporting a sweat-stained ball cap clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “Hey! I seen your picture in the paper—you’re Dr. Engle’s son, right? You must be pretty proud of your pops, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Matthew stammered, blushing as several people turned to look at him curiously. “He’s been working real hard on all this.”

  Claire couldn’t stop the grin that inched across her face while Matthew squirmed under the attention of his father’s admirers.

  “Good man, Dr. Engle. We’re lucky to have him.” The man caught sight of someone behind Matthew. “Hey! Jim! You need a hand with the rest of those signs?”

  Matthew grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her to the back of the crowd. “Ugh, it never stops,” he complained. He dropped his voice. “It’s not like he ended world hunger, or anything. He’s only trying to get everyone fired up because he’s worried that Lycanthropy Researchers International is losing interest in the case. And if he doesn’t get into the LRI, he might not get to stay with the Federal Human Protection Agency.”

  Huh. So Dr. Engle doesn’t have everyone dazzled, after all.

  At the front of the crowd, a stage had been erected. Someone had draped it—crookedly, Claire noted—with red and blue bunting. There was a podium in the center with a microphone poking out of it. Behind the podium Dr. Engle stood, adjusting his hair, his wilting collar, and the microphone in quick succession. He tapped the mike and a stream of feedback squealed out of the speakers. A collective groan rose from the crowd, but they all stopped talking and turned to face the stage.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming out in the heat to support us today.” The sun glinted off his expensive-
looking teeth when he talked. “I know you’d all like to get back to the air-conditioning, so I’ll keep this brief. We here in Hanover Falls have been living for too long under the twin shadows of fear and uncertainty. The fine, upstanding citizens of our community do not deserve to have their activities cut short by the arrival of darkness—they do not deserve to have their nights plagued by the apprehension that something might be lurking outside their windows. It’s not fair, and I for one will not stand for it one more second.”

  Even from the back of the crowd, Claire could see Dr. Engle’s knuckles turning white as he squeezed the edges of the podium in his long hands. All around her, people strained forward like flowers leaning toward the sun.

  Because they want me dead. And he’s holding their hands and telling them that they’re absolutely right. The realization hit Claire like a slap. They don’t even care what the truth is. They’re scared, and they’re mad, and they want someone to pay for that.

  She forced herself to look over at Matthew. His features didn’t hold the same slow-burning anger that shone on everyone else’s face. But he didn’t look disgusted by his dad’s rhetoric, either. He’s been listening to this for seventeen years, Claire reminded herself. He’s probably immune to it by now.

  Dr. Engle leaned into the microphone, his voice booming over the crowd. “It ends today. This is Day One of a new era. It gives me great pleasure to announce the formation of the P.A.C.—the Protective Action Council. This community-based group will work in conjunction with Federal Human Protection Agency and the local police. Your cooperation will allow us to take every measure available to us to capture the beast that lurks, unwelcome, in our midst.”

  Claire shivered, glad he didn’t know just how accurate his words were.

  “Anyone who would like to volunteer their services … and we need everyone, from those who can stuff envelopes to those of you who are skilled and experienced hunters”—Claire blanched—“can sign up before you leave here today. The time for action has come, and I am counting on each of you to answer the call. Thank you, and God bless.”

  The crowd erupted into cheers. They thrust their signs into the air, whistling and applauding. The table where the sign-up clipboards lay already had a line snaking around the parking lot. Claire stared, unable to pull her gaze away from the stream of people who, one after the other, signed up for the privilege of killing a werewolf.

  Matthew slid his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not thinking of joining, are you?” he asked.

  A strangled laugh slipped out of Claire’s mouth. “Uh, no.” Way to blend in, Claire. “But your dad’s a really good speaker. Everyone seems really excited.” I hate him, but yeah, he can fire up a group of morons, all right.

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “It sort of loses its oomph when you’ve heard him practicing in front of the bathroom mirror for two days. Come on, if we don’t get out of here soon, I’ll get stuck shaking hands for the next hour.” He steered Claire toward the cars. With trembling fingers, she opened the door, slid into the oven-hot car, and leaned her head back against the seat.

  This is the worst date I have ever been on.

  Matthew’s car couldn’t get cool fast enough for Claire—between the heat and the panic, she felt faint.

  “You look flushed.” Matthew’s voice was worried. “Why don’t we go get some ice cream? Cool off a little?”

  “Can I take a rain check?” She hated how shaky her voice sounded. “Right now I just want to go home and take a shower. And maybe lie down for a little while.” The urge to get home, to sort through what she’d just seen, was too strong to ignore.

  “I’m so sorry, Claire.”

  Matthew turned the air-conditioning vents on his side of the car toward her. Since they were still blowing hot air, it didn’t do much good, but it was still sweet of him.

  “I should never have dragged you out in this heat to stand around with a bunch of self-righteous morons.”

  She reached over and took his hand. “I liked being there with you.” The last two words made it true.

  Matthew pulled up in front of her house. “Do you want me to walk you inside?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for dropping me off.”

  He leaned over and kissed her, just a quick, light pressure of his mouth against hers. “Call me later and let me know how you’re doing.”

  “I will.” Claire slid out of the car and walked into the house.

  She dragged herself upstairs, worn out from the heat and the crash from the adrenaline high she’d been on at the rally. She pushed open the door to her room and cringed to see her mother sitting on her bed.

  “What are you doing in here?” Claire thought of the journal hidden under her mattress, and the shirt—the one she’d taken from her mother’s closet without permission—that lay in a stained lump in the bottom drawer of her dresser. There were secrets stashed all over her room. If she’s been snooping around in here, I’ll die.

  Claire’s mother pursed her lips. “I’m waiting for you, obviously.”

  “Couldn’t you just wait in the kitchen?” Claire complained. She edged into the room and sat down on the bench in front of her vanity.

  “No. I want to talk to you, and it is not a conversation that I want to have an audience for.” Her mother glanced pointedly at the door.

  Claire got up to close it, rolling her eyes once her back was to her mom. She sat back down on the bench and waited. Marie eyed Claire like an apple she suspected of having a worm.

  “Did you have fun at the rally?”

  Claire leaned against the vanity behind her. “I had fun with Matthew,” she said carefully.

  “I imagine his father delivered quite a speech.” Marie fiddled with the strap of her watch, straightening it against her wrist.

  “Yeah.” Claire shuddered. “I guess you could say that. He’s forming some sort of werewolf extermination squad. People couldn’t sign up fast enough. It was crazy.”

  Her mother let out a long breath. “I assumed it would be something like that. It’s good that you went. That you saw firsthand what people think of us, what they would do to any one of us if we were exposed.”

  “I know how to keep my mouth shut.” Claire huffed. “I don’t have a death wish and I’m not an idiot. God.”

  “Goddess,” her mother corrected.

  “Whatever. Fine.” Claire crossed her arms in front of her chest, unwilling to give her mom the satisfaction of hearing her say it.

  “I’m not trying to start an argument with you, Claire. Please. This is important, and I need you to listen.”

  Claire cocked her head to the side. “I’m listening.”

  “Very well. Most of us have a relationship with a human at some point that is about more than reproduction. It does not often last long. There is too much to hide, and too many lies are told. But it is allowed. The need for companionship is understandable.”

  Claire swallowed hard. I really don’t think I want to know where this is going.

  “Mom—”

  Her mother held up a hand, silencing her. “But. Matthew Engle is not just any human. His father is a danger to us. And you are at a very vulnerable time in your transition. It is a bad combination, a risky one. Because of this, I must forbid you from seeing him. You are welcome to find another boy to date, but from this point on, Matthew is off-limits.”

  Claire stared at her. “You have got to be joking.”

  Marie stood up and straightened her shirt. “I would not joke about this. I am your mother and you will do what I tell you.”

  The ice in her mother’s voice made Claire stiffen. Her mom headed for the door.

  “It smells like dinner is almost ready. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Claire stuck out her tongue at the closed door, crossed the room, and turned the little lock on the doorknob. She didn’t want her mother coming back in to make any additions to her new “rules.”

  Claire sighed and unlocked the door
.

  It’s not like a little twist lock is going to keep a werewolf out. The words turned in her mind, forming a new thought. It’s not like it can keep one in, either.

  Her mom didn’t trust Matthew because she didn’t know him. But Claire did. And since her mother was gone so much, she’d never know if Claire saw Matthew or not. At least, not as long as Claire was very, very careful.

  Claire was still asleep when Matthew called the next morning. She dug her cell phone out from under the pillow next to her and looked at the clock.

  “Hello?” She cleared her throat. God, I sound like an eighty-year-old with a Marlboro habit.

  “You’re still asleep?” Matthew teased.

  “So I’m not a morning person. Sue me,” Claire grumbled.

  “Lawsuits aren’t really my style. How ’bout I take you to lunch instead?”

  Claire bit her lip. Being with Matthew was the only time she felt really good anymore. But she’d have to make sure that she could get there—and back—without her mom knowing.

  Crap.

  “Hang on a second.” She stuck the phone under her pillow and walked to the door. “Mom?” she hollered down the stairs.

  “You missed her by an hour—she won’t be home until dinner,” Lisbeth called back. “Do you need something?”

  “Um, no.”

  Claire crawled back into bed with a smile on her face. With her mom gone, she just had to get around Lisbeth, which wouldn’t be too hard. She dug the phone out from under the pillow. “Yeah, lunch sounds good.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour, okay?”

  “Okay,” Claire agreed, struggling out of bed. She snapped the phone shut and headed for the shower.

  When she got downstairs, she told Lisbeth that she was going out to eat with some friends. Which wasn’t a lie.

  Lisbeth’s eyes lit up, which wasn’t the reaction Claire had expected. “If you don’t need me to make you lunch, then I’m going to go practice my forward bends for a while.”

  “Ooooh, thrilling,” Claire teased, trying to hide the fact that she was jumping up and down inside. This was easy. This was too easy. She hadn’t expected Lisbeth to be so excited to get rid of her.