Nocturne

by Christine Johnson

  "Hello?" Claire answered.

  "Claire! Hey! So, is it over? Did they win?"

  "Yep, and mostly thanks to Matthew." Claire heard the pride in her voice.

  "That's awesome. Tell him I said congrats." There was a pause—it was tiny, but it caught Claire's attention. "So, I know you're doing the team celebration stuff tonight, but I wondered if you wanted to come over after? If the thing at Louie's doesn't go crazy late. You could spend the night, even."

  Claire closed her eyes. She wanted to go to Emily's, but she really, really needed to get into the forest.

  "I wish I could, but I think that the celebration at the diner is going to go pretty long. . . ." It was hard to outright reject Emily. She hated saying no to her best friend. She missed her. But she needed to figure out how to create fire, without having to ask her mother.

  "No, it's okay. I knew it was a long shot." Emily's words were reassuring, but there was hurt in her voice, thin and bright and sharp as a needle. "Just call me tomorrow, okay? I want the dish. Something's bound to happen at Louie's. I just know it."

  Claire's laugh had a note of regret in it. "You know I'll tell you, first thing."

  "Okay, go do the whole jock's-girlfriend thing. I'll talk to you soon." Emily hung up.

  Claire sighed and tapped her phone against her leg. At the top of the bleachers, the UCLA scout stood up and stuffed his portfolio into a battered leather briefcase. The stands were mostly empty—a couple of people from school were huddled around someone's cell phone, and a few parents were clearly waiting to drive their kids home. One of the adults glancedover at her, and the expression that flashed across his face made Claire jump. He looked . . . he was looking at her. Almost like he was checking her out.

  His face was vaguely familiar. Sort of like one of the fullbacks'. Someone's dad, probably. Which was totally gross, but whatever. She was a werewolf. She could take him out without blinking if she needed to.

  She returned his stare, her shoulders thrown back and her hands curled into fists at her side. It was a dominant posture. Fearless. Claire watched his piggy little eyes widen in surprise, and he dropped his gaze, studying his battered tennis shoes like the winning lottery numbers were written on the laces.

  Satisfaction poured through her, hot and sweet. She couldn't fail at the ceremony. She couldn't stand to let anyone look at her the way that guy had—like she didn't count, like she could be used. She couldn't be some sort of incomplete wolf.

  But before she could ensure that didn't happen, she had a date to go on and a best friend to worry about.

  Chapter Three

  LOUIE'S WAS BUZZING with people, and most of them had come over to say hi to Matthew at one point or another during dinner. Claire stole the last of Matthew's fries while Doug Kingman grilled him about the recruiter who'd been watching the match.

  Doug shook his head. "Man, I'm just saying. If you get a full ride to UCLA, I will totally die of jealousy. I'd have the acceptance letter tattooed across my chest. Seriously. I'm already booking my plane ticket to visit you."

  Matthew shrugged. "It's a long way from being a done deal. And it wouldn't be so bad to end up here at the uni versity." He glanced over at Claire. "Closer to home is pretty good, you know."

  Claire swallowed hard. She was only a junior. She and Matthew hadn't talked much about next year—what it would mean for them if he got into UCLA. If he left. Just thinking about it made her miss him, even though he was still within touching distance.

  Doug slapped the table. "Well, you know you'd be a seriously big fish in a tiny-ass pond if you stayed. Everyone in this town practically worships your dad. Hell, maybe I should think about going into lycanthropy research."

  Matthew smiled, but it was tight, fake. "Yeah. It's a really great career."

  Claire stuffed a French fry in her mouth to keep herself from making a smart-ass comment. A suspicious smart-ass comment. She'd gotten a lot better at keeping her thoughts to herself over the last couple of months, but sometimes people were so ignorant that it made her want to scream. And anyone who thought that Dr. Engle was a good guy was definitely ignorant. The "cure" he'd developed for werewolves didn't really work. He'd only tested it on men, and since all werewolves were women, that meant he'd never actually tested it on a werewolf. The poor humans Dr. Engle experimented on were all in permanent comas. He'd used his clout in the scientific community to cover up his failures, to boot. How a man like that could have had a son like Matthew was beyond her.

  Doug looked over at the door, where Kate-Marie Brown stood, tapping her foot impatiently.

  "Whoops. The girlfriend awaits. If she's late for curfew, I'm pretty sure her dad will kill me. Which would make it really hard for me to take her to the Autumn Ball. Later, guys." He half-sprinted over to the door.

  Claire's mouth dropped open. "Doug is dating KateMarie?" She stared at the two of them wrapped around each other in the entryway of Louie's. Kate-Marie was as close to royalty as the senior class got. She was pretty, she could sing, and she was the one who decided who was in and who was out. If you cared about your social standing at Hanover Falls High School, you cared what Kate-Marie thought.

  Matthew glanced back over his shoulder. "Yep. It's only been a couple of weeks, though. He jumps every time she snaps her fingers."

  "Yeah, well, she is kind of hypnotizing, in a bitchy sort of way."

  Matthew snorted and grabbed the bill off the end of the table. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

  Claire stood up and stretched, walking with Matthew toward the cash register. An itchy feeling crawled over her, her instincts telling her to be careful. She glanced around the diner, trying to find the source of the prickly sensation. Her gaze drifted to the far end of the counter, and she spotted the person who'd been watching them.

  * * *

  Amy was making her way toward Claire and Matthew, with a smile on her heart-shaped lips and a sparkle in her green eyes. Claire felt herself tense.

  Though Claire was hardly some sort of gigantic oaf, Amy was about five inches shorter than she was, and wispy as a cloud. Claire instantly felt awkward. Clunky. She hadn't really felt that way since she'd completed her transformation, and it startled her.

  "Hi, Matthew. Great game. That penalty you took totally clinched it!" Amy flashed him a blinding, orthodontist-white smile before turning her attention to Claire. "I didn't even see you until the end of the game, and you were way at the other end of the stands—I'm so bummed we didn't get to sit together! I was hoping we could hang out."

  Hang out? A quiver passed through Claire. Why was Amy paying so much attention to her?

  Claire gave her an apologetic shrug. "Maybe next time?"

  If next time was in a million years and Claire wasn't a werewolf.

  So, actually, maybe never, but there was no good reason to be bitchy. She gave herself a mental shake. Amy was Emily's friend. She was nice to people. She probably cried during ASPCA commercials.

  "Definitely next time," Amy grinned, looking like she'd won the lottery. "You two off to the after party?"

  "We haven't decided yet," Matthew said.

  Claire slipped her hand into Matthew's and gave Amy her best, Marie-inspired fake smile. She braced herself. "Are—are you?"

  Amy shook her head. "I'd love to, but I figure it's a team thing, and besides, I promised Emily I'd spend the night at her house."

  Claire's smile crumpled. She knew that she had bailed on Emily a lot lately. It wasn't that she wanted Emily to spend Saturday night home by herself, but she couldn't help feeling a little bit replaced.

  I'm the one who told Emily no. I can't be upset about this.

  "I wish we could stay and chat, but I'm whipped." Matthew squeezed Claire's hand, interrupting her racing thoughts and bringing her back down to earth. "I think we're heading out."

  "No problem. I'm leaving pretty soon myself. Talk to you guys on Monday!"

  Matthew pulled Claire toward the parking lot, but she couldn't resist a quick
glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, Amy was watching them go. Amy saw Claire looking at her and waved, and Claire waved back without thinking.

  All at once, they were through the door, and the chilly air wrapped its fingers around them, pinching Claire's wrists and tugging at her ears. The parking lot was dark, and the two of them wound their way carefully through the cars. "Are you sure you want to leave?" Claire asked. "I mean, we have a good forty minutes before you have to be home."

  Matthew grinned. "On a normal Saturday night, that might be true. Tonight I don't have a curfew."

  "I . . . oh. Wow. That's, um, . . . ," Clare stammered. She'd counted on being able to work on her fire lighting. Really, really counted on it.

  Disappointment crashed across Matthew's face. She made herself smile. She could give up one night of practicing. This was Matthew's shining moment—what sort of girlfriend would she be if she couldn't put him first for that?

  "That's great," she said. "So, where to? The after party?"

  Matthew made a noncommittal noise.

  Claire hit a button on Marie's key chain, and the car's headlights flashed.

  "Can I drive?" he asked.

  "The Mercedes? Are you kidding? My mom will smell you on the steering wheel, and I will never, ever get ahold of these keys again."

  She walked around to the driver's-side door. Matthew followed her, and she turned to face him.

  "Very cute, but you're still not driving."

  "I'm not trying to drive." Carefully, he edged her back until she was squeezed between him and the car. He wrapped his arms around her, cupping the back of her head with one hand to protect it from the metal.

  He leaned in close and smiled at her. "We may have seen everyone at Louie's, but I'm not quite finished celebrating," he whispered.

  He kissed her, his full mouth warming hers before he caught her lower lip gently between his teeth. Claire's knees wobbled, and she heard herself make an incoherent noise.

  "There is an after party, but I don't want to go." Matthew pulled her tighter against his chest. "I just want to be with you."

  The tingle in her middle headed lower, and she sighed happily, forgetting about everything except him. The next morning, Claire woke to the sound of pots and pans banging around in the kitchen.

  What the hell? Is mom actually trying to cook something?

  Claire stumbled out of bed and dragged herself downstairs to see what was going on. Lisbeth stood in the kitchen, dressed in lounge pants and an old T-shirt. She was halfway through cooking what looked like an omelet.

  "Uh, morning," Claire croaked.

  Lisbeth whipped around, her face a strange mix of happiness and irritation. "Oh, hi, Claire-bear."

  Claire frowned at the nickname. It was cute when she was younger, but now it was just irritating. "Um, what are you doing here? It's Sunday," Claire pointed out, sliding onto one of the high stools around the island. "I know. Your mother called me early this morning to see if I could come stay for a day or two. Apparently, her dinner last night went so well that they all decided to fly to New York for some editorial meetings. They left late last night." She flipped the eggs in the pan with more force than was really necessary. "She didn't think it would be a good idea for you to be alone for too many days, even if she did leave you with the car keys." Sarcasm hardened Lisbeth's usually mellow voice. "I just don't get why she didn't call me before she went. What if something had happened to you last night?" She shook her head, clearly frustrated with Marie.

  Claire shrugged. "Nothing did. It's fine, Lisbeth."

  The truth was, if something had happened during the night, they had fire alarms and working telephones, and if someone had somehow gotten into the house, Claire was more than capable of defending herself. The real reason her mom wanted Lisbeth around was so that there would be someone to report back on what Claire did. For all her mom's proclamations about trusting Claire, she couldn't stand not being in control. Even if it meant using Lisbeth as a stand-in.

  Claire rubbed her sleep-gritty eyes. It could be worse. She loved Lisbeth, and it would be nice to have some time together, just the two of them. Like old times. Besides, Lisbeth slept like the dead. Claire had snuck out plenty of times when Lisbeth lived at the house. She'd be able to get into the forest to practice without any trouble, and that's all that really counted. She glanced out the window and noticed for the first time that rain was splattering against the glass, filling the dip in the pool's off-season cover.

  Crap. There was no way she could practice in the rain. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  She ran a hand across her forehead. Matthew's stress was over. His goal had won the game, and if UCLA had any sense, they'd be sending him a scholarship offer as fast as they could type it up. He had to be feeling fantastic this morning, facing a day with no pressure, no stress.

  But Claire still couldn't light a fire, not the right way, and the new moon was barely more than a week away. The calendar weighed on her. The rain mocked her. And the worry about what it would mean if she failed burned through her veins, hot and achy and terrifying in its hugeness.

  Lisbeth slid the enormous, fluffy omelet in front of Claire, interrupting her descent into a full-blown panic attack.

  "I guess you probably want some of that vile coffee." She shuddered.

  "Yeah, but I can make it."

  "No." Lisbeth shooed her back into her seat."Eat that before it gets cold. It won't kill me to make you one pot of coffee." She pulled the grounds out of the pantry. Claire took a tiny bite of her breakfast. It was delicious. Perfect.

  But she'd completely lost her appetite.

  She sighed and pushed away the plate.

  * * *

  Hour after hour, the rain poured down. By late morning the constant tapping of the drops had made her restless and edgy. She knew that Matthew had to be exhausted, and she didn't want to call him and wake him up. She settled for sending him a "call me when you're up" text.

  She'd promised she'd give Emily any major gossip from Louie's, and the whole Kate-Marie Brown/Doug Kingman thing definitely counted. Claire picked up the phone and snuggled down into the couch, looking forward to a long session of rehashing the night before. The rain might be keeping her out of the forest, but it did have a bright side.

  Emily answered immediately.

  "Hey! You're alive! How was it?"

  "Good—I mean, the match was fantastic, and then Louie's was fun. But I'm calling because I have serious news about Kate-Marie Brown for you."

  "Oh, yesssss. Why don't you come over? We're having pancakes. Gossip is always better with maple syrup." Claire could practically hear Emily jumping up and down. And her mom's pancakes were legendary. Claire's appetite came roaring back. She had eaten those pancakes a hundred different times on a hundred different Sunday mornings, and the idea of something so familiar made her mouth water almost as much as the thought of the batter sizzling on the griddle.

  "I'll be there as soon as I can get Lisbeth in the car."

  Half an hour later, Claire waved good-bye to Lisbeth and ran up the front path to Emily's door, grimacing as the rain pelted her face and snatched at the hems of her yoga pants. She pushed open the front door, and the warm, sweet smell of breakfast washed over her.

  "Hello?" she called.

  "Up here!" Emily's voice sailed down from her bedroom.

  "Hi, Claire!" Mrs. Lucero shouted from the kitchen. "Pancakes are on the way. You want a cup of coffee?"

  "No, thanks," Claire said over her shoulder, already halfway up the stairs.

  At the door to Emily's room, she jerked to a halt. Emily sat on her bed, surrounded by Styrofoam leaves in varying sizes. She had a bottle of glue and a tiny brush in her hand. On the floor in front of the bed, Amy sat with a couple of huge bowls of glitter.

  Something inside Claire broke—like a cracked fishbowl, shiny and dripping. Every time it seemed like something was finally going to be the way it always had been, it changed. Why hadn't Emily told her that Amy was here?
The memory of Amy telling her the night before that she was spending the night at Emily's resurfaced. But it was nearly noon—why was Amy still here?

  "Hi, Claire!" Amy looked up from dipping a gluey piece of leaf-shaped foam into one of the bowls. Her curls were piled on top of her head, caught there with a pair of chopsticks. A few errant flecks of glitter sparkled across her cheekbones, making her look sickeningly adorable.

  "Uh, hi." Claire glanced down at her soggy running shoes. Imagined her sloppy ponytail.

  Emily grinned at her, a smudge of white glue marking her cheek. "We're making fall look fancy." She pointed to an army of glittered Styrofoam leaves drying in ranks on top of the Arts and Leisure section of the Sunday paper. "Wanna help?"