Beauty and the Wolf

by Bridget Essex

  I glance sidelong at Lucile, and she doesn't help me up, only swears beneath her breath, frowning in disgust.

  Werewolf.

  That’s the word I’ve been searching for in my head. A word I’ve never had much cause to consider, except around Halloween when they show The Wolfman on Turner Classic Movies. I've certainly never imagined that such beings could be real.

  But what other explanation is there for what I've just witnessed?

  What else could she be?

  Grim is...

  She's a werewolf.

  Okay, the puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place now. I’m putting it all together—Rex's appetite, his “stalking” and his “carnivore” comment; how Grim was so insistent that she had to keep her secret, had to keep her family safe; how they had to move here suddenly because of a mysterious incident somewhere else.

  How Jordan's behavior could put them all at risk.

  Because Jordan must be a werewolf, too.

  And—oh, my God. When he was in the boy band, Jordan was found naked in Central Park, with no clothes in sight...

  I stare down at the pile of clothes that Grim left behind.

  It all makes sense.

  Horrible, horrible sense.

  I open my mouth—to speak, I guess, though I'm not sure what I intend to say—but then I snap it shut again.

  Because a thin, wavering sound slices through the air like a knife.

  It's a wolf’s howl.

  The hair rises on the back of my neck, and I feel as if the temperature just dropped by thirty degrees.

  Lucile looks toward the woods behind the diner and curses. “That was Jordan.”

  The gray wolf crouching before us—Grim—lifts her nose to the wind, and then, without warning, she takes off, her powerful legs darting between the trees. Lucile follows after her, leaving me alone.

  And, suddenly, I have a choice.

  I can stay here, or I can follow them into the dark.

  My body acts against its instinct: I stand up, and I run into the forest.

  There’s no moon, and the woods are thick, crowded. I pull my phone—fully charged, thanks to Grim—out of my purse and hold it high. The flashlight offers a stark white glow, and I can make out a deer trail, and there's Lucile, just ahead...

  I chase after her, following the path.

  Okay, I can’t think right now.

  Because if I think right now...

  Well, I might start to hyperventilate.

  I just watched my girlfriend transform into a wolf.

  And I can't think about my girlfriend transforming into a wolf.

  No good: I’m thinking about it, and my heart skips beats, and my lungs skip breaths—which is inconvenient, since I’m racing through the woods and could kind of use some oxygen. I stop, panting, putting a hand to the nearest tree and doubling over. I gulp down air, but it isn't enough. I start to hyperventilate, start to feel lightheaded, start to see spots...

  Calm down, Bella.

  Calm.

  Down.

  Calm.

  Down.

  I close my eyes tightly, and I think about Grim. Not about her transformation but about her laughter, her smile. And how hard it is to win both of those things from her, but once I’ve coaxed them out...it’s the greatest feeling in the universe. I think of her strong, sure hands, of the way her mouth feels against mine, of her fire-bright eyes...

  Her eyes, set in a wolf’s face.

  No, no, no.

  I think of the way she says my name; I think of the way she looks at Rex, with pure love and affection. I think of the way she cuts her eggs with a knife, in small precise motions that always made me smile; no one else cuts eggs like that.

  I think of the way she looks at me, as if I’m the only other person in the world.

  I think of her.

  I don’t think of the wolf.

  But the wolf...

  The wolf is also Grim.

  Wow, I’m confused. But at least I’ve stopped hyperventilating. I’ve distracted myself enough that I’m able to concentrate on breathing; I’m able to move on from the panic.

  So.

  Werewolves exist.

  What does that mean?

  How do I begin to cope with that?

  I don't know; it's too big. I can't contemplate it now. Now I have to catch up with Grim and Lucile, so I jog down the path, holding my cell phone aloft until I spot a clearing ahead.

  And hear the growls.

  I skid to a halt, stare at the scene before me, lit up with the light from my phone.

  There are three wolves in the clearing.

  Shaking, I hold my phone higher. My heart is thundering, the sound of blood rushing in my ears nearly loud enough to drown out the growling.

  There’s Grim—I recognize her already. At least...I think I do. Her coat is all gray. I remember that much. The biggest wolf is black, and there's a large gray wolf with black shot throughout its fur. Which one is Lucile? Which is Jordan?

  Oh, wait—I don’t have to wonder about Jordan. He must be the wolf who can hardly stand upright, swaying on all four paws. I mean, I’m assuming that’s him; he did just come from a bar.

  So the large, black one is Lucile?

  “Bella.”

  I whirl around, and there, standing at my elbow, her arms wrapped tightly around herself...is Lucile.

  Human Lucile.

  What? Then who—

  “Bella,” Lucile says again, her face as white as snow. “That wolf...” She points to the black one, and she shivers.

  “Who is it?” I ask, and then I nearly jump out of my skin as the three wolves, who were circling each other, growling, hackles raised...leap high into the air. Or—no, only one of them leapt up. The black one jumped at the gray one.

  It's going after Grim.

  “The big one’s Andrew,” Lucile says finally, gritting her teeth.

  The world goes crooked.

  I feel like one of those unfortunate cartoon characters who runs off a cliff and doesn't realize it for a moment, so their feet keep pumping in the air...

  Until they notice their surroundings—and fall.

  I'm in the falling stage right now.

  “We’ve known ever since we moved here,” Lucile goes on. “We always recognize our own kind.”

  “He's a...”

  “He’s a werewolf. Like us.”

  A strange whooshing sound is moving through my ears.

  I’ve known Andrew my whole life, and for my whole life, he’s been an asshole, a bully.

  But I never imagined—

  “Whoa, there! You look like you’re about to faint.” Lucile regards me with an unsympathetic frown. “I’m not catching you if you fall, so you’d better sit down.”

  I do sit down—or, rather, I crumple to the ground involuntarily.

  I may be having a bit of an existential crisis.

  But the thing about existential crises is...it’s preferable to have them when your physical body is safe. Mine is not, and as Andrew-the-wolf slams into Grim-the-wolf...they topple, end over end.

  And now they’re coming straight toward me.

  Jordan-the-wolf collapses onto the ground as I spring out of the way. Lucile simply sidesteps the two fighting wolves, as if they're rude pedestrians on a walkway, but I have to scrabble on my hands and knees, scraping my shin on a bush. I stand upright quickly, holding my phone up for light.

  Andrew is snarling and...

  Oh, no. Oh, my God.

  His jaws are closed around Grim’s front leg, and Grim doesn’t make a sound, but her teeth are bared, as if she's wincing; the bite must hurt terribly.

  I can't let him hurt her. I won't.

  Pretty sure Andrew wasn't expecting me to do anything. He's made a hobby out of underestimating me. So, without thinking, I dart forward, and I kick him—hard—in the stomach.

  It’s like kicking a wall. He doesn’t move, and an explosion of pain blossoms in my foot (which was onl
y wearing a ballet flat), but my weak attempt does succeed in persuading Andrew to step back from Grim, letting go of her leg...

  Because now he's set his sights on me.

  It's eerie. When I look at the wolf before me, I see him. Andrew. I see him in the cruel arch of the animal's head, in the way he holds himself—still haughty, self-important, even as a wolf.

  The wolf's eyes are just as cruel as those of his human counterpart. When Andrew looks at me now, unadulterated delight seems to tremble through his haunches. I shiver, taking a step backward as he prowls toward me. A bit of drool escapes his jaws, and he licks his lips, running a bloody tongue over his teeth.

  This is worse than any nightmare.

  Andrew advances, his hackles raised, his head down; he looks as if he's prepared to fly through the air and hinge his jaws around my neck, breaking my bones in a single instant.

  I stand there, small and human before him.

  But I'm not afraid.

  I'm furious.

  “You asshole,” I growl. All of my anger toward him boils over. Sure, this might just be thanks to adrenaline—I’m not really this brave—but I refuse to run, refuse to give ground, even though the only “weapon” at my disposal is my cell phone.

  The massive black wolf's snout is dripping with my girlfriend’s blood.

  He hurt her.

  He has hurt so many people.

  I think of all of the cruel things Andrew has done to me and to the people I care about.

  And I think about Grim. About how much she’s helped.

  Yes, they’re both beasts—technically speaking—Grim and Andrew. They’re both wolves.

  But one of them is beautiful.

  And it sure as hell isn’t the one I’m staring down right now.

  Andrew licks his lips again, placing his massive paws on the ground mere feet away from me. His body is tense, wound tight like a spring.

  He’s stalking me.

  Andrew has always had a thinly veiled contempt for me. Even in school, he picked on me; I just never put up with it.

  And I’m not going to put up with it now.

  I stand up a little straighter, even as Andrew lowers himself closer to the ground. He’s going to launch himself into the air. I glance past him. I can’t see Lucile, can’t turn my face away from Andrew, or he’s going to strike. And with my phone’s light centered on Andrew, Grim is in the shadows.

  Jordan’s lying on the ground as if he’s sleeping, his head nestled between his paws.

  In dire situations, your brain brings up strange memories. And suddenly, I'm thinking of the movie Jurassic Park. When a flare is held up to a dinosaur and moved around—back and forth, back and forth—the dinosaur gets a little mesmerized by the light.

  Well, I don’t have any other options, so I scowl at Andrew and hold my phone's flashlight a little higher, right in front of his menacing face.

  I can tell that he's blinded by the glare; his eyes start to blink rapidly. So when I move my phone to the left, his eyes—and head—follow it. And when I move my phone to the right, he follows the light again.

  I might get a few seconds' reprieve out of this, but at least I’ll know I died fighting. Sort of. I move my phone to the left and right again, slower this time, taking a step backward. Andrew’s lips are drawn up over his teeth, and he’s starting to growl.

  I move my phone again, back and forth, slowly, slowly, taking another step away.

  A twig breaks beneath my foot.

  Son of a biscuit.

  And when Andrew hears the sound, he snarls. He’s not waiting for me to move my phone again.

  He just...leaps.

  One moment, this big black wolf is crouching on the ground in front of me, every muscle of his body drawn taut, and the next moment, he’s in the air, flying toward me, his paws outstretched, his jaws open. In the light of my phone, his teeth are flashing, their tips streaked with blood. Time slows down, is suspended as I lift my arms, bracing myself for the pain of canine teeth tearing me apart.

  But he doesn’t touch me.

  Something moves fast, faster than lightning—and Andrew’s trajectory is interrupted; he’s flying in the opposite direction now, his side colliding with a tree.

  And Grim is on top of him.

  When they fall to the ground, Grim's teeth are at his throat, and both wolves remain still, their sides heaving. She could break his neck if she wanted to.

  Lucile steps out of the shadows, raising her hands to catch the wolves' attention. “I’m sure my sister doesn’t want to kill you, Andrew,” she calls, her voice strong, mocking. “Though I think she should. I’d transform now, if I were you.”

  For—probably—the first time in his life, Andrew heeds a woman's advice.

  I watch the black wolf shed its fur, watch it become lankier, pinker, smaller...

  And, whoo, that’s a whole lot of naked Andrew I never wanted to see.

  Grim transforms, too, becomes, once again, the woman who kissed me, carried me, held me last night... She sits back on her heels, just as naked as Andrew. They’re seated side by side on the ground, and they’re both still snarling—which looks awfully weird on a human face.

  “Dude, put some clothes on.” Lucile removes her jacket and tosses it at Andrew with a grimace. He doesn’t touch it, only squints up at Lucile with a frown.

  “Fuck off.”

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders, buddy,” she says helpfully, offering a too-bright smile. “My sister almost killed you. She should have killed you.”

  Grim has risen to her knees now, and in a single, graceful motion, she crouches back on her heels and returns Lucile’s gaze, one brow raised. But then she looks past her sister, searching for me, her golden eyes large with anxiety.

  I want to go to her, tell her that everything is all right. But I don't know if that's true. Jordan is still a wolf, conked out like an extremely large, exhausted puppy. Meanwhile, Grim, Andrew, and Lucile are glaring at one another with murder in their eyes.

  “Andrew, you need to leave town,” Grim says, her voice hoarse but commanding.

  “Hell no,” he growls, baring his teeth, rising to his feet and looming over her. “This is my town. You need to leave. I built this place from the ground up. I’m king here.” His hands are fisted at his sides. “You’re just freaks without a home, drifters who came here and bought an old building. You don’t belong here.” He’s almost slobbering, he’s so angry. “Paris is my town.”

  I seethe, fury pulsing through my veins.

  “No, Andrew. This isn’t your town.” The words come faster than my thoughts. “This is our town. It doesn’t belong to you.” I stomp toward him. “You know, you’ve been bullying everyone here for so long, you've forgotten something important.”

  “Oh, and what's that, Bella the waitress?” he sneers.

  “You aren't invincible, Andrew.” I smile faintly at him. “Even kings can fall.” I raise my phone then, switching off the flashlight and bringing up the camera.

  Horror sweeps over his features. He starts to transform, but he isn't fast enough. I take a flash picture of him: naked in the woods. And I take another, of him transforming—half-man, half-wolf.

  “...Bella?”

  Pam.

  That was Pam’s voice, muffled in the dark.

  I turn the flashlight back on and point it at Andrew's wolf form, who’s blinking in its brightness.

  And Pam steps into the clearing.

  There’s a lot going on right now, so I’ll try to paint the picture—the same picture that Pam sees as she falls in step beside me.

  There’s Andrew, and he’s in the middle of transforming back from a wolf to a human. Fur vanishes, his bones reconfigure themselves, and then he’s sitting on the ground with a very stupid expression on his face. Jordan, in wolf form, is snoring on the edge of the clearing, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. And my girlfriend is naked, crouched on the ground. Lucile and I stand together, the only fully
dressed humans on the scene.

  So it all probably looks pretty surreal to a newcomer.

  “Hey, Pam,” I mumble, giving her a little wave.

  She stares at me, at Lucile, at Grim, at Andrew, at the wolf formerly known as Jordan—and she looks as if she's about to scream. Or faint. Or possibly do both, in sequential order.

  “This is how it starts.” Lucile throws her head back with a moan.

  “No,” says Grim. She’s standing now, her muscles and curves starkly outlined in the light of my phone. But she has no self-consciousness about her body; she regards us all with her hands on her hips, her chin held high. “This is how it ends. I’m tired of running.” Turning toward Lucile, she shakes her head. “Mom ran all of her life, and look what it got her. We’re here now. This is our home. And, Andrew—” Facing him now, her expression grows stormy. “You can either stay and coexist peacefully with us—or leave and never return.”

  Andrew, standing with Lucile's jacket shielding his private parts, is ignoring Grim, gaping in shock at Pam. “I-I can explain,” he tells her weakly.

  “What the hell? Did someone give me drugs?” Pam does, actually, look kind of stoned. Again, her gaze flits from face to face until, finally, she rests her eyes on me. “What's going on here, Bella?”

  “In short, your boyfriend is a werewolf,” I say simply. “And so is my girlfriend.” I gesture toward Grim. “And the two of them—as wolves, of course—were engaged in a kind of...fight to the death.”

  There.

  That sums it up nicely.

  “Werewolf.” Andrew mocks me, faking a laugh. “That's absurd. What did I tell you about her, Pam? You can't trust her. She's lost it. I mean, werewolves?!”

  Pam frowns at him for a long moment, her expression decidedly frosty. And then she turns back toward me.

  There’s a war going on inside of her. Loyalty versus her chance to leave town. I know she wants to go, wants to explore her options, see the world...

  But she lifts her chin, and she stabs a finger at Andrew. “Werewolf or not, you're definitely an asshole, Andrew,” she says, and when her eyes meet mine, they're soft, apologetic.

  I know she’s sorry.

  My best friend sided with me over Andrew. And though there are still wounds to tend between us, Pam chose to thumb her nose at the bully.