by Peter Moore
“Five days.”
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Pretty.”
She nods. “Well, if you die, can I have your brown leather jacket?”
“Sure. Enjoy Gunther Hoering’s artwork on the back.”
“Oh, right. Forget it. There’s nothing else of yours that I want. So you might as well live.”
“Thank you. But please try to rein in your sentimentality. It’s embarrassing.” I look out the window. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to go to another school.”
“That sucks in a really big way.”
I nod. I wipe the condensation off my glass of SynHeme and put my hand flat on my paper napkin. I touch my wulftag. I can see the abstract werewulf-head emblem under the surface, but that’s only because I know it’s there. I was always happy about the fact that it wasn’t immediately obvious to people that I was part-wulf. But now, after that rally, after talking to Claire, I’m ashamed. I almost feel like I should get the tattoo repunched so it would be visible. But I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to. The vamp part of me would reject it.
I look up. Claire has been watching me. I put my left hand over my right.
She smiles and shakes her head. “Hey. It is what it is.”
It is what it is.
You are what you are.
Simple.
We are wulves and we’ve got pride….
I wonder how many times you have to say it before you start feeling it. Because as much as I want to, I sure don’t feel a whole lot of pride right now.
We’re making progress downstairs. Kevin’s been running the job sites while Dad works here day and night. I take two days off school to help him. The basement’s nearly done. Drywall covers almost the entire cement wall we built, and Dad was right: it’s impossible to tell that the basement is smaller now.
The only obvious sign is the steel door that we mounted yesterday, but that’ll be covered up by a removable panel of drywall and a bookshelf. There’s a big slot in it so they can pass food and water through to me.
There’s a small hole in the chamber’s ceiling where we’re going to mount a video camera and microphone so Mom and Dr. Mellin (who she hired to be around in case of a medical emergency) can monitor me when I’m down there.
We’re attaching paneling to the walls and ceiling. It’s soft enough that I can’t bash my brains out, but coated with something I won’t be able to claw to pieces. Dad said it’s also good for soundproofing.
About an hour ago, Troy was trying to help us, but the guy could barely figure out which was the business end of a hammer. I had to keep redoing his stuff so it lined up the right way. Dad noticed and caught my eye. I shrugged.
Finally, Troy said, “Hey, Danneroo, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re following me, fixing all my work.”
“I’m just making little adjustments.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know I’m not great at this. Is my helping making more work for you guys, Ted?”
“Well, we appreciate the effort….”
“But it might be better if I just let you boys do it?”
“Maybe.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be upstairs. Give a shout if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thanks, Troy.”
He went to the stairway, then stopped. “I almost forgot.” He came back to where we were working. “I’ve been talking with that fellow who runs the private school. You’re in. It’s called Talbot Prep, by the way.”
“When do I have to start?”
“Maybe after this full moon,” Troy said.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Troy puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. I know you’re not happy about having to switch schools, but we agreed that there isn’t much of a choice. Right?”
I shrug. “Unfortunately not, I guess.”
“Thanks, Troy,” Dad says. “That’s a lifesaver. Literally.”
Once Troy leaves, we move much faster and start making headway. I’m almost done with a panel when I lose my grip on the nail gun, drop it, then catch it in midair. The bad part is that I catch it by the handle just as the front part hits my leg and accidentally shoot a nail into my thigh. I yelp.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asks.
“I nailed myself.” He comes to look. The nail is sticking about half an inch out of my jeans. He takes hold of the nail head and yanks it out.
“How’d you manage to do that?” he asks.
“My hands. I dropped the nail gun.”
He checks my knuckles. They’re all swollen. “Okay, you’re done,” he says.
“What should I do with the nail gun?”
“Just leave it with that stuff by the boiler room door. Get the camera and the cables. We’ll take care of that as soon as I finish up with the panels.”
I get a tube of Factor Fourteen from my pocket, but the bleeding stops before I can even get the cap off. Weird. Then I remember that Dr. Mellin mentioned that I might not bleed like a vampyre. The little blood that did come out has left a small round circle on the knee of my jeans. It’s exactly the size the red-moon tattoo around my wulftag would be.
“Dad. What’s the deal with the red moon?”
“The deal?”
“Why does the moon look red when we Change?”
He shrugs. “It’s just something that happens. It has to do with the rods—or cones, I always get them confused—in your eye. The full moon affects your night vision, and the moon looks red.”
“But not everything that’s white looks red?”
“Just the moon. Nobody knows why.”
“And even though you forget most of what happens when you’re Changed, you remember the red moon?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nods his head slowly a few times. “That, you remember. It’s like the image of it gets burned into your mind.”
I must have a worried look on my face, because he smiles and pats me solidly on the shoulder. “But you’ll be in here,” he says. “You won’t even see it.”
For days, probably weeks, it’s felt like I had no control of my thoughts. No captain in the wheelhouse. And one of the more frequent ones is in my mind now. “Dad? Remember I told you a while back that there was a girl I liked?”
“You told me that night we got together again, right?”
“Yeah. Well, I forgot to tell you how things went. We’ve been going out for a while now.”
The nail gun makes a loud bang each time he fires it. “You never told her what’s going on, right?”
“No, no.”
“And how’d it go when you broke up with her?”
I don’t say anything. He stops nailing in the panel and turns to me. “You didn’t break up with her.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet? There are three days until the full moon. What exactly are you waiting for?”
“Well, see, she’s really great. And I know she would never, ever do anything to—”
He shakes his head. “You have to end it. You know that.”
“Here’s the thing. I was thinking about it. And I don’t like the idea of lying to her, but I think it’s possible for her not to find out.”
“You don’t think she’ll figure it out when you disappear every month during the full moon, then come back with cuts and wounds?”
“Right. But I’m going to that new school, so I won’t see her nearly as much. I could time things so I only see her when I look okay. And during the full moon I can make up excuses.”
“That doesn’t sound realistic.”
“But it could work. It’s possible.”
He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, then asks, “You love her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m telling you, she’s a good person. She would never do anything to hurt me.”
Dad shakes his head. “I can hear it in your voice already: you want to tell her. And the thing is, if and when you really do fall for her, you’re not going to be able to keep it a secret
. And at some point you and this girl will break up, and she’ll have really dangerous information.”
He sighs and sits next to me on the chamber floor. “There’s another thing to think about. If she knows and doesn’t report you to the LPCB, she could get in a lot of trouble. Do you want to put her in that position?”
“I know, I know.” What else would he say? “I was just hoping there was some way around it.”
He puts a hand on my knee. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what to do here.”
“I have to break up with her.”
“Sorry, pal. And you don’t have a lot of time.”
Dad has been worried that I’ve been spending too much time working on the chamber and not keeping up with school, so I’m doing homework in my room now, banished from the basement for the rest of the day.
But I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about Juliet.
I glance at the computer and see the little news window showing crowds throwing rocks and bottles at rows of green-uniformed cops. It says “Shanghai Wulf Riots” on the bottom of the screen. I maximize the window and turn up the sound.
At one thirty local time, protests in Shanghai’s Hongkou district turned violent when wulf demonstrators confronted squads of Peoples’ Army police.
Jessica comes into my room and shuts the door. “One of those stupid dogs got into my closet and tossed my shoes around. It’s a total mess now.”
“Shh. I’m watching this.” The image cuts to a female reporter standing safely around the corner from the riots.
“The demonstrators were protesting conditions at several Chinese wulf compounds, demanding that they be shut down. Police and two national guard units opened fire on the protesters. We have no report on the number of wulves injured or killed at this time. United States wulf-rights leader Huey Seele had this to say…” Cut to Huey Seele, in a badly fitting suit: “The members of the American Association for Wulf Rights and Advancement fully support and stand behind our brethren in Asia as they fight to have these deplorable compounds shut down.”
“Dream on,” Jessica says.
I mute the volume. “Did I ever tell you what a compassionate person you are?”
Jessica switches one of my window monitors to mirror mode and looks at herself. “Spare me.” She holds her hair up at the top of her head, then turns sideways, trying to decide if she likes it. “So you agree with Huey Seele? It would be good to just let werewulves run free every month? I get that it’s personal for you now, but look at the reality. Werewulves hunt. They would kill people, genius.”
“He’s not saying that wulves should be running free. He’s saying they shouldn’t be treated like criminals and kept in dangerous compounds.”
She lets her hair down and wanders away from the mirror. She doesn’t bother switching the view back. “So what’s the solution, Mr. Political Activist?”
“I don’t know. He says government should pay for more research into medical solutions, finding ways to give wulves more choices.”
“Sounds likely.”
“Someone has to come up with something better than the way it is now. At least he’s trying.”
“So, what’s next? Are you going to be shaving your head and wearing an I Heart Huey T-shirt? You’ll be with his crew, making bombs in basements.”
I shake my head and turn back to my math work.
“So?” She says it like I’m supposed to answer. I’m not sure what she’s asking.
“So what?”
She doesn’t say anything for a while, then lets out a long, long sigh. One of those pay-attention-to-me sighs. “This thing with you. Really sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, you did say I always grab the spotlight for myself. Looks like you have it now.”
“I didn’t want it. Definitely not for this.”
“I’m sure.” I swivel around in my chair and watch her think. She goes to my bureau and pretends that the loose change on top is fascinating. This way, her face is away from me when she says, “I know you supposedly can’t help this.”
“Supposedly?”
“Okay, fine. You can’t help what’s happening. I just hope you know what this is going to mean for me.”
“Maybe get in the way of your shopping trips?”
“Do you have any idea how this is going to affect me? I mean, what are all my friends going to think, knowing I have a lunadog for a brother?”
Ah. Got it. I see a hint of a smile there. “An unregistered outlaw one, at that. A moonrunner,” I say.
She puts on a face of exasperation. “That’s what I’m saying. You think my friends would tolerate such a disgrace?”
“Hey. How do you think all my friends feel about me having the school’s biggest prima vampyreena for a sister?”
“Yeah. You don’t have friends. None that matter, anyway.”
“Oh. Hmmm. I guess that’s mostly true.” There’s a look on her face that’s different from the tone of all this play. I’m pretty sure it’s real worry.
I turn back to my math book. I might cry.
She doesn’t say anything. I hear her breathing. It sounds like she’s working to keep it steady. She grabs my ear and gives it a twist.
“Yeah. Well. You’ll live.” She goes to the door. “You’ll live.”
She closes the door behind her, and my tears come.
Walking near the pond I can hear every nocturnal animal: frogs, crickets, owls, the field mice. I can smell the damp earth, a dead animal decomposing somewhere nearby, algae, methane from the mud at the bottom of the pond. It all makes me feel like puking.
“You don’t look good,” Claire says.
“I feel a lot worse than I look.”
She pulls her beret lower on her forehead. “You want to stop and sit?”
“If I sit, my knees will lock and I won’t be able to get up. Let’s just keep going. We’re almost at school.”
“You have a headache?”
“Bad. Stomach, too.”
“Like you’re going to puke? Because if you are, I need to get away from you. Nothing makes me sick to my stomach like the smell of a big, steaming puddle of fresh vomit.”
My stomach churns. She had to say that. “You know what? Can we talk about something besides…barfing?”
“Really? I was enjoying the subject so much.”
“There’s something I do need to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking. I’m going to have to break up with Juliet.”
Claire nods. “I thought you were going to say that. No way around it, I guess.”
“In two days I’m going to turn into a werewulf. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hide it from her month after month. She’s kind of observant. I need to end it before the full moon. I just don’t know how.”
“You’re talking to the wrong girl. I’m the one who got dumped, remember? I don’t know the right way to do the deed.”
“I thought you might have some deep wisdom, some idea for me.”
“Well, all I can tell you is not to do it via text message.” Claire shakes her head. “You’re definitely going to that other school?”
“Yeah. It’s done. No way out of that, either.”
She crouches down and picks up a rock. She switches it for another, stands, and throws it into the woods. “We’ll hardly see each other.”
I pick up a rock, too, and throw in the same direction. She throws another. I start to speak, but the words catch with a little gulping sound. I clear my throat. “We’ll see each other all the time. Just not in school.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“No. But it’ll be okay.”
She picks up another rock, winds up to throw it, but stops.
She starts walking again, holding the rock. “We’re going to drift apart. You’ll see.”
I’m half a step behind her. “Never.”
“It’ll happen. We’ll have less day-to-day stuff in common, and we’ll start talking less, and it�
�ll get awkward, and…” She throws the rock into the woods. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’ll be a big relief to get you out of my life. It’s you I feel sorry for.”
“Being deprived of your charm and wisdom.”
“Exactly.” The moon hasn’t gotten high yet, but I can see clearly in the darkness. Just before Claire turns her head to look toward the woods, I catch sight of a tear on her cheek, shining in the moonlight.
The moon: my enemy in the sky.
Actually, it’s not the moon that’s my enemy. The moon is the instrument. The enemy is in every cell, in every twisted strand of DNA I have, in the blood running through my veins. My own body is my enemy.
I wasn’t lying this evening before school when I told Juliet that I had a crushing headache and couldn’t talk. She could probably see it in my face, and she let me suffer without any more talking after I assured her that I had a doctor appointment.
The first three periods at school are pure torture. I can’t even begin to concentrate on the work. Every noise—a cleared throat, a pen clicking, gum being chewed—sounds like it’s being broadcast right into my ear. My eyes burn. My stomach is churning. I’m hot inside. And this headache is killing me.
I raise my hand, and Mr. Wells calls on me. “Yes, Danny?”
“I need to get a drink. Is that okay?”
He sighs. “It’s fine, but you’ll miss this next problem. And there could be one just like it on the test, hint, hint, hint.”
Everyone in the class starts writing quickly in their notebooks.
“I’ll get it from someone,” I say.
I walk down the hall and find a water fountain. I can’t drink. Not SynHeme, not water. Nothing. I run the water from the fountain on my face, then sit on the floor with my back against the lockers. At least it’s quiet here in the hallway. I can close my eyes and try to cool down.
Relax.
Relax.
“Who left a pile of garbage in the hallway?”
My head hurts so much I can’t concentrate enough to place the voice.
“Oh, wait. That’s not garbage. That’s wulfboy. So, I guess it is garbage. Get up, vermin.”
