by Sarah M. Awa
Would exorcism work? Gavin had tried holy water, but he hadn’t said anything about exorcism—and, unlike wolfsbane, it wouldn’t kill her if it failed to work.
Did she believe in the power of exorcism?
“I believe in werewolves,” Melanie muttered, and made a mental note to come back to the idea.
“Exhaustion?” she exclaimed in disgust, sometime later. “Wearing out the were? Seriously? Nobody’d be one after their first transformation.”
Perusing a different web page, she shuddered as she read its suggestion to pierce a werewolf’s hands with nails. She instinctively clutched her hands, thumbs rubbing the opposite palms as if trying to wipe away the pressure of cold iron. Further down that page it said, “Rub opium in the werewolf’s nostrils before bed.”
Nothing but gruesome, illegal, and ridiculous ideas.
But it might still be better than—
Even if I had to try all of them—
But maybe try the safe ones first.
Melanie let out a heavy sigh. What does the internet know, anyway?
Practically nobody believed in werewolves these days. All the websites she’d checked out treated them as legendary. She needed to find a site created by people who did believe and who knew what they were talking about. Other werewolves have to be out there, and some of them might have web pages.
Typing “werewolves are real” into the search box, Mel began looking at another set of results. She became so absorbed in her research that she failed to hear the doorknob jiggling and a key turning in it. She jumped as the door creaked open and Pam’s voice said, “You are here. Why’d you lock the door, roomie?”
Melanie quickly closed the browser window and swiveled in her chair. “Hi. Um, sorry—I must’ve locked it out of habit.”
“Oh. That’s cool.” Pam smiled and plopped down onto her bed. She was soon chattering about Aaron, who’d smiled at her a lot tonight, and the girl talk made Melanie grin and relax.
Later, when they were climbing into bed, Pam said, “I heard you talking in your sleep last night. Sounded like you were having a nightmare, but you also said ‘Gavin.’ Were you dreaming about Gavin Rossdale, or the Gavin from the volleyball game?”
Mel’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t mentioned him to Pam, had she? Don’t think so. “H-how’d you know about him?”
“Jos told me.”
Of course.
“She also said he’s pretty cute.” Pam gave Mel a mischievous, knowing wink.
Melanie sighed. “Yeah,” she said at last, “I think he did pop up in one of my dreams. I forget what it was about, though.”
“So what’d you guys talk about? At the game, I mean.”
“I dunno. Just stuff. How hot it was in the gym—boring things like that. You know I’m socially inept, especially with guys.”
Raising an eyebrow, Pam said, “C’mon, Mel, I still think you’re holding out on me. You’re not that bad at talking to guys. If you’re dreaming about him, he must’ve made some impression on you.”
Argh, you and Jos are incorrigible! But maybe their prying could work to Mel’s advantage. If her friends ever spotted Gavin picking her up at full moons, they’d think nothing of it except that he and Mel were dating—might as well establish that impression now. “All right,” she said. “He might have asked for my phone number.”
“I knew it!” crowed Pam, bolting upright and bouncing in her bed. Its aged springs creaked in protest. “Mel, why didn’t you tell me earlier? This is exciting! Has he called you yet?”
“No.”
“Aww. Well, I bet he will soon.”
It was Melanie’s turn to shrug, although she knew he would—but not for the reason Pam was thinking.
Closing her eyes, Mel tried to fall asleep, but her mind took forever to settle down. Pam’s words had inspired tantalizing thoughts of Gavin and then of her future in general—marriage, kids, being happy together and free of her curse. A warm, golden glow tinged these imaginings. Then doubt cropped up. What if we never find a cure? Kids—can I even have them now? Wouldn’t my transformations squeeze them to death, wrap the umbilical cord around the baby’s throat, or cause the cord to break loose? Even if a baby survived, it might inherit this cursed condition.
Becoming a mother had never topped Mel’s unwritten list of life goals, but feeling her ability to have children slipping away was unpleasant. Even if she adopted, she wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby at certain times. If she was ever going to be a parent, she would have to get rid of her stupid curse first, and that only increased her determination to find a cure.
No matter what it takes, she thought before drifting off, I will find one.
November 7, First-Quarter Moon
The knock on his door tonight wasn’t unexpected. Nervously, Erickson ran a hand through his graying hair before opening the door and greeting Chandra. He apologized for the neighbors’ loud bickering as he stepped aside for her to enter. A sweet cloud of lilac perfume accompanied her in. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He’d also picked up a cherry pie from the local diner he frequented, and Chandra accepted a small slice. “Sorry I don’t have ice cream,” he said. He hadn’t been thinking of à la mode until just now.
“That’s all right.” Chandra gave him a reassuring smile, which set his stomach aflutter.
After dessert and the obligatory small talk, Erickson cleared the plates and refilled the mugs. “So,” he said, resuming his seat, “you said you know a good place for me to use next full moon?”
Chandra nodded. “The Organization has a couple of different safe houses—a main one and a smaller one.” She must have seen the hesitation on his face, for she continued, “If you’re not ready to take that step yet, there’s another place I used to use before joining up with them.”
“Where is it?”
She pulled out her phone and showed him on the map app. “Not too far from here, actually. Secluded. I can take you there, say, tomorrow, if you want to check it out in advance.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Erickson, fiddling with his mug and studying the table’s wood grain.
Truth be told, he hadn’t had much luck finding a new hideout on his own. Maybe that’s another sign I should move on.
Later, when Chandra was gone, he lay in bed unable to sleep. It wasn’t the full-moon restlessness yet, but his mind and heart were torn.
Forget all this nonsense. Run while you can. Any attachments you make are bound to complicate things. What kind of tangled web might he find himself in, getting involved with a group of werewolves? Or any people in general? There were always the politics, the hierarchies, the façades put up, the sycophants, the power plays, the insincerity. . . .
On the other hand, these people could prove to be good companions. Provide support, protection, and help stave off loneliness. It might be nice to see the same faces around on a regular basis. To get to know someone again. He realized he didn’t really know anyone anymore. Maybe not even myself.
He certainly wasn’t the young, naïve, ambitious businessman from a decade and a half ago.
Was there any of that man left inside, or had he been completely devoured by the monster?
November 10, Waxing Gibbous Moon
Melanie couldn’t believe how time had flown. Like an eye blinking languidly, the moon had squinted, shut, and then reopened, swelling larger and larger in the sky. Mel’s restlessness had grown with it. She sat in her afternoon class, tapping her toes under her desk and trying to take careful notes on Beowulf, but her obsession over finding a cure kept intruding, the contradictory, useless advice circling round and round, the tens of hours she’s spent online and in the library branded into her vision. And whenever she banished them, mental images of a lush forest intruded, along with the urge to run through it. The room was full of so many noises and smells—Blasted fly, I’m gonna rip you . . . Does that guy have beef jerky in his pocket?—competing for her attention.
Focus, Melanie, focus.
Her periods of concentration never lasted long.
Two days from now, she’d have to disappear again—which, of course, Pam wasn’t going to be happy about. But there was no choice in the matter. Mel sighed inwardly. I will find a cure. I will!
The professor’s lecture turned to the sacrificial death of the Anglo-Saxon hero, and that lured Melanie’s attention back. Fighting the dragon to save his people had cost Beowulf his life and the faithfulness of most of his friends.
Death. Abandonment. A bloody, warlike existence. Those concepts swirled around in Melanie’s head. They didn’t seem so remote or unrelated to her anymore. Deep inside her lurked a beast that craved violence and blood, and she could feel it pacing around its prison, yearning for its approaching release.
Kill the wolf that bit you. How many times had she read that suggestion for a cure? More death, more bloodshed.
Let me out. Let me kill, said the wolf.
No! I could never do that! She couldn’t strike down whomever had inflicted the cursed bite upon her.
Most likely, she’d never find out the person’s identity. Returning to Pine Groves and waiting near the cave entrance just before moonrise was far too dangerous. And the person might have moved on to a different hideout.
Did she want to know who had bitten her? Knowing wouldn’t reverse the past, wouldn’t fix her situation. Possibly, this faceless person had friends and family who’d grieve his or her loss. Or maybe he or she was tormented, miserable, and alone. Either way—
The bell rang so deafeningly that Melanie flinched. Grabbing her book and notes, she slid from her seat and hurried out of the building. She moved as if to flee her recent thoughts but slowed when she emerged onto the sunlit campus grounds. Shading her eyes, she thought, It’s awfully bright today. Are my sunglasses in my bag?
Dark sunglasses. The prowling policeman. She stopped in her tracks, and a chattering pair of girls had to swerve around her to avoid a collision. One of them wrinkled her nose and huffed, but Mel didn’t notice; she was busy glancing in every direction and preparing to duck for cover if she spotted a man wearing shades.
By the time she got back to her dorm, she’d relaxed. Nearly a month had passed since Gavin’s vision, and she hadn’t seen a single stranger on campus who fit the description he’d given her. Perhaps the cop was merely symbolic.
11
Tail
November 12, Full Moon (first night)
I owe you one, Aaron, thought Melanie as the front door clicked shut behind her roommate. Pam’s newest beau had asked her out this rainy Saturday, providing Melanie a perfect window for escape. Now she could sneak out without lying about where she was going or worrying that Pam would try to stop her—or to come along. It won’t be Pam.
Mel waited to let Aaron’s car get a decent distance away and then slung her packed bag over her shoulder. On her way out of the room, she placed a note on Pam’s desk: “I have to go again. Back on Tuesday. Please don’t worry. – M.” Then she made her way down to her car and drove off.
It was noon, but she was skipping lunch; her stomach had been twisting in knots since breakfast, like it had done right before the last full moon. Gavin was meeting her at a twenty-four-hour supermarket with a gigantic parking lot, where Melanie would leave her car for the next few days. She’d insisted on this arrangement because of the gossip factor. If people saw her leaving with a boy on Friday and returning on Sunday, they wouldn’t think too much of it—sure, they’d spread rumors about the pair shacking up, but they wouldn’t pry further. But Mel and Gavin were going to be gone on strange days—Saturday through Tuesday. What would her classmates make of that? Best not tempt them.
Mel had offered to drive Gavin to the cabin, but he had politely refused, and she’d thought with a wry grin, I bet he’s one of those guys who is so attached to his car, he has to drive himself everywhere. It didn’t matter. She’d give him some gas money.
Gavin had called her a couple of times, but she hadn’t seen him. The main purpose of his calls had been to make sure she was taking care to avoid the prowling cop. She’d promised him she was.
Reaching their rendezvous point, Melanie scanned the rows of cars for Gavin’s tan Ford, but she didn’t see it. She pulled her Honda into a spot some distance from the other vehicles, then sat watching fat droplets of rain splatter on her windshield.
I should’ve come to Wellsboro to check on her instead of only calling, Gavin thought as he drove. She said everything was okay and the coast was clear, but maybe she just didn’t see the guy. My visions have never been wrong. This one couldn’t be, could it?
Doubt filled him, but he tried to suppress it. It was pre-transformation jitters—that was all.
He saw that Melanie had beaten him to the meet-up location and parked alongside her. She smiled at him, climbed out of her car, and jumped into his front passenger seat, letting in a chilly, wet gust of air. “Whew,” she said, tossing her bag on the back seat and finger-combing her windblown hair. “Lovely weather we’re having, huh?”
Gavin chuckled. “Yeah.”
“Hi,” Melanie added. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” he said with a grin. Her presence had warmed the atmosphere in the car, and he could feel the tension easing from his shoulders and back.
Pulling the Ford out of the huge parking lot, he turned south onto the highway. “Did you have any trouble getting away from Pam?”
“No, thank goodness,” Melanie said, and explained about Pam’s date. “How about you? You got a roommate to escape from every month?”
“No, I have my own apartment off campus.”
“Nice.”
Their conversation drifted from one topic to another as they sped along. The rain pounded on the roof and windshield, the wipers squeaked, the wind moaned, and the tires whizzed and whooshed on wet pavement. The world was a gray blur, the few other cars around them muted and ghostlike in the gathering mist.
Half an hour into the trip, the downpour finally tapered to a drizzle, and the fog dissipated somewhat—enough for Gavin to tell that they were alone on the highway. That wasn’t surprising, since they’d left the busy areas behind and entered open countryside. Glancing in his rearview mirror a minute later, though, Gavin caught movement. Two blurred lights.
For the next ten miles, every time his eye strayed up to the mirror, Gavin could see the two lights in the same position. No closer, no farther.
He’d put the car on cruise control, and they weren’t much behind schedule, so there was no need to speed up, but he accelerated anyway. Another couple of miles, another few glances in the mirror. The lights remained.
“Hey, Melanie, can you see the car behind us?” he asked casually.
She turned and looked. “No, but I see headlights. Why?”
He shrugged.
Fifteen more minutes passed, and the lights behind them failed to budge or vanish. They’d grown slightly larger, in fact. Gavin’s hand twitched on the steering wheel. He eased up on the gas to see if the lights would come closer, allowing him to glimpse the vehicle, but they stayed back. He could detect only a shadow, a smudge in the rain. Headlights and darkness.
Noticing the deceleration, Melanie joked, “Lead foot turn to feathers?”
The corner of Gavin’s mouth lifted, and he brought the car back up to seventy. “Sorry, I just . . . those lights following us . . .”
Melanie frowned and then unbuckled her seatbelt. She swiveled and knelt on her seat, squinting at the road behind them. “The rain’s making it hard to see.”
“There’s a gas station ahead. Let’s pull off and wait a few minutes for them to pass,” Gavin said. “Don’t worry; we’re nowhere near late.”
They approached an exit ramp and merged onto it. The fog was a bit thicker at the top, tattered ribbons of mist clinging like spider webs to the trees beyond the service station. They parked in the station’s empty lot, and Gavin turned the car off so its lights we
nt out. He kept an eye on the freeway below but saw no headlights pass through the murky strip of road. After five minutes, he said, “Well, guess we’re all right. Let’s not waste any more time.” He started up the Ford again, and they headed back down to the highway.
Nearly half their journey had passed, and the dashboard clock read 1:25. Two hours and thirty-five minutes till moonrise. That left them a spare hour. At 1:30, they came to the outskirts of a city, and traffic picked up. Dozens of lights appeared ahead and in the rearview mirror. Five minutes later, the lights had all dropped away . . . all except for one pair.
Something cold slithered in Gavin’s stomach. The two white lights had assumed the same position as the ones before. Automatically, his foot pressed harder on the gas. Three mile markers ticked past. Instead of fading away, the lights came closer, but still stayed far enough back that the vehicle remained nothing more than a dark spot in the rain.
Stupid weather. If only I could see better. He knew it would be pointless to slow down again, though—the other driver would, too. Gavin’s grip slipped on the steering wheel, his palms slick. Less than two-and-a-half hours to moonrise. He tried to swallow a growing lump in his throat. “M-Melanie,” he said as calmly as he could, cursing the slight stutter and the crack in his voice.
“Yeah?”
“We might have a problem.”
“What?” she asked, forehead creasing.
“I think the car behind us is tailing us. I think it’s the one we tried to let pass.”
For the third time, Melanie turned to peer at the lights. “How can you tell?”
He explained about the distance the vehicle was keeping and how it matched his speed. The concern on her face grew, and she said, “Why would anyone . . . What should we do?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure—wait.” Gavin stiffened in realization. “It’s him. It has to be,” he growled, fingers tightening on the wheel as if around someone’s throat.
