by Sarah M. Awa
“I see. I won’t tell anyone if you crash on the couch tonight. You’re already on the verge of zonking out. No blankets around here, though, and it’s gonna get cold.”
Melanie figured the chill would wake her up after a couple of hours and she’d sneak back into her dorm once she was sure Pam had gone to sleep. She lay back and got comfortable, crossing her arms over her chest vampire style.
Bright light glowed through her eyelids, rousing her. What—it was morning and she was still here on the couch? Crap.
“Uugghh.” Mel’s limbs complained as she sat up and stretched. Her hair felt matted, and a trail of drool had dried on her cheek. She licked a finger and rubbed the crusted saliva off.
The clock said 7:00. Nobody came in here that early. Thank God. She grabbed her backpack and hurried out of the office. Dammit, she thought on her hike back up to Hartman. I missed the entire window of time that Pam was sleeping. I’m an idiot!
She’d have to face the music major.
Pam was in the shower when she arrived, which Melanie counted as a blessing. She considered hiding in the tiny hall closet while Pam transitioned back to their bedroom, then darting into the bathroom and hoping Pam would think she was Shari or Jocelyn.
You’d only be postponing the inevitable.
Before she could make up her mind, Jos poked her curly head through the doorway. “You’re back. Were you gone all night?”
“Uh . . .” The running water stopped with a loud squeak, and Melanie scuffed her toe on the carpet. “Accidentally fell asleep at the Sentinel office,” she confessed, then wondered why she’d done it. Well, unlike some people, Jos can keep secrets.
Jocelyn gave a small “Hmm.” Her eyebrows knit together, and she opened her mouth as if to say more but shut it instead. She disappeared, leaving Mel to speculate nervously about what wheels were turning in her mind.
A minute later, a floral scent filled the air, and Pam walked in, her hair up in a towel. She stopped short when she saw Melanie. The two stared awkwardly at each other for a few seconds before looking away. “Hi,” Pam said in a timid, strained voice.
“Hey,” Mel replied shortly, her eyes fixed on the toiletries and fresh clothes she was gathering up.
She tried to leave the room, but Pam caught her arm and said, “I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry, Mel! Please forgive me! I’ll never gossip about you again. It was a huge mistake.” Her pleading gray eyes showed earnest sincerity.
Nevertheless, Melanie wanted to scream in her face: How could you in the first place?! She set her jaw and leveled a steely gaze at Pam. Her roommate’s hand fell away, and her lower lip trembled.
Phrases like “Too little, too late” and “You cut me too deeply” floated through Mel’s head. Resentment tightened like a fist around her heart. But then she recalled how kindly Pam had cared for her after the Pine Groves fiasco—taking her to the nurse and the hospital for a rabies shot, helping her up the stairs, leaving food for her in the fridge.
Mel’s posture relaxed and her features softened. She let out a long sigh. “All right. I forgive you.”
Her friend’s face lit up, and she bounced on her toes and hugged Mel. “You’re the best!”
A grin slid onto Melanie’s face. “I know.”
But as she stood under the hot shower water shortly later, she thought, I’m still not telling you my secret.
Pam wasn’t earning her complete trust back any time soon.
14
Consequences
November 18, Waning Gibbous Moon
Friday evening, the diner was packed and noisy. Erickson didn’t care; he sat tucked away in a corner, blending into the background, and no one bothered him. It was easy to be alone in a crowd. His mind was far away from here, anyway.
These days, his thoughts frequently wandered back to Chandra.
Her unscratched room. Her strength and energy on post-transformation mornings. What could they mean?
Erickson had asked her, but in typical fashion, Chandra had teased him. “I’ll tell you if you come to a meeting. There’s one next Monday at seven.”
Sticking to his part in the routine, he’d balked and said he’d answer later.
Most of a week had gone by, and he was still mulling. And trying to work out the mystery surrounding Chandra.
One theory that floated through his head tonight was: Maybe she isn’t actually a werewolf.
But she had to be one. She’d smelled like one. His wolf had been hyper aware of the pheromones she’d given off—it had clawed deep gouges into his door and the wall beside it, no doubt trying to get to her.
Could she reek of wolf but not be one?
Erickson tried to conjure up her sweet, slightly spicy scent. That was hard to do in a place saturated with greasy food and steaming coffee. What kind of perfume did she wear?
He caught a whiff of something floral, mingled with sweat. It was familiar, but it wasn’t right. Not Chandra. Reemerging from his reverie as if from deep underwater, he blinked up at his favorite waitress, Joelle.
The large, middle-aged woman stood beside his table, gesturing at his mug with a pot of decaf. “Another refill, honey?” she drawled in her pleasant, motherly voice.
“Yes, please.” Erickson smiled his thanks as she poured.
Joelle gave him her own gap-toothed grin, set her free hand on her ample hip, and said, “You look like you’s deeper in thought than old Socrates—like I could walk past you wearin’ nothin’ but an apron and you wouldn’t notice.”
Erickson could have done without that mental imagery, but his lips quirked, and he shrugged. “Just trying to figure out whether I can trust a certain person or not.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.”
“Young and pretty, or more like me?”
“What’s the difference?”
Joelle blushed, then waggled a scolding finger. “You’re just tryna get free dessert off me.”
“Is it working?”
She leaned forward conspiratorially, mirth in her protuberant dark eyes. “The pie or the brownie?”
“Brownie, please.”
A grin split Erickson’s face as Joelle ambled away across the black-and-white-checked tiles, her generous backside undulating like a waterbed.
When she returned with his dessert, he said, “She’s considerably younger than me, and very, very pretty.”
“Hmm.” A sly look crossed Joelle’s face. “Is this a datin’ type of situation?”
“No. It’s more than just her involved. I should’ve said I’m trying to figure out whether I can trust a certain group of people.”
Joelle pursed her lips. “Hard to say, not knowin’ ’em. I’m guessin’ they ain’t a charity organization or a local softball team?”
Erickson shook his head wryly.
Resting a hand on his shoulder, the waitress said, “Nick, you always here alone. You eat, you tip well, you’s polite, you leave quietly. I never seen you with family, friends, girlfriend, nothin’. You seem like you mus’ be a lonely man.” Compassion crinkled her eyes.
He looked away, down at his brownie, feeling the sad truth of her words sink in.
“Long ’s these folks ain’t a crime syndicate or nothin’, I say you go for it. Take a chance on ’em. Nobody wants to die alone. Nobody should live like that, neither.”
That night as he tried to fall asleep, Joelle’s words haunted him. Next door, the neighbors were at it again. He couldn’t remember their names (they usually called each other “Dumbass” and “Slut”) but he sure knew their voices. They’re always at each other’s throats, yet they’ve stayed together for who knows how long.
However turbid their relationship, they had one. That was more than he had.
Resolve crystalized inside him. He sat up and reached for his phone.
“What time is the meeting?” he texted Chandra.
November 21, Last-Quarter Moon
The Monday before Thanksgiving, Gavin called Melanie to
check up on her.
“All quiet on the northern front,” Mel joked. Stretched out on her bed, books and notebooks scattered around her, she shifted to a more comfortable position. Pam was in the music building and the door was shut, so Mel could talk freely as long as she kept her voice low. “How did your parents take the news about our new ‘friends’?”
He sighed. “They’re worried and scared. Jeff really wants to come guard the cabin next month, and he’s mad that I told him it’s not a good idea. I mean, he knows it’s not, but he hates that.”
“It does suck. But it’s nice that you have such a protective dad.”
“Yeah. My parents both are. They’d do anything for me. But I want to protect them, too.”
Mel smiled wistfully. Her envy of his family resurfaced, but not in a resentful way. Rather, she yearned to be a part of it.
She and Gavin talked about their home life growing up, and then about school and the upcoming holiday. Mel admitted she was staying on campus (despite Pam’s invitation to come with her to Virginia) and would most likely eat Thanksgiving dinner in the cafeteria.
“No, you can’t do that—that’s awful,” said Gavin. “You have to come to my house.”
A warm tingle spread through Mel. Her mind raced with images of spending happy evenings with the Doyles, eating and chatting and laughing together, sitting on the sofa snuggled up against Gavin, his arm around her, her head leaning on his shoulder. . . .
“So, do you want to come?” he asked.
“Oh. I, um—yeah,” she blurted out. What am I doing? My homework will never get done! “Is it okay with Jeff and Cara, though?”
“Of course.”
“You asked them?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No. But they’ll say yes.”
“Can you please ask them officially and then get back to me?”
He snickered. “All right, but I already told you what they’re going to say.”
“Did you have a vision about it?”
More snickering. “I’ll call them and then call you right back.”
“Okay. ’Bye.” Mel hung up and waited, twirling a strand of her shoulder-length hair and staring into space, too distracted by daydreams to study.
Five minutes later, the phone rang again. She snatched it up and said a breathless “Hello?”
“Pick you up at eleven on Thursday,” said Gavin.
“Cool.” She kept her voice casual but squealed on the inside.
Great, she thought after they said goodbye for the second time. I’m definitely not going to finish this blasted homework.
And I can’t tell Pam about going to the Doyles’. She might be upset that I chose them over her.
November 24, Waning Crescent Moon
“Gavin—dinner’s almost ready! Get your brother out of that tree, would you?”
“Yes, Mom!” As fast as his little legs could carry him, he ran to the far end of their sprawling back yard, where his younger brother perched in the big crabapple tree. Gavin craned his neck and called up, “Mom says you gotta get down. It’s time to eat.”
“I don’t wanna!” the tiny boy protested.
Hands on hips, Gavin said, “You have to. Mom says so.”
“You’re not the boss of me! I want Daddy!”
Gavin’s face fell. He scuffed his foot in the grass, crumbling a dead leaf to smithereens. “Dad’s not back yet. But he will be soon.” I hope.
“Daddy has to come get me down,” his brother insisted.
Gavin said nothing but hoisted himself into the tree. I wish Dad wouldn’t work so much. If he doesn’t get home soon, he’ll miss Thanksgiving dinner, and Mom won’t be happy. Reaching his brother, he put his hand on the small boy’s arm. “I really wish Dad was here too. I hate how he always stays so late at the office and goes in on holidays. But Mom is here, and she’s been cooking all day for us. We need to help her have a good Thanksgiving. Can you come down so she’s not eating alone?”
His brother sighed, and then his lower lip quivered. Sniffling, he allowed Gavin to help him to the ground. Gavin slung an arm around his shoulders, and the two brothers trudged back to the house together.
Their father failed to show up until their mother was rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher.
Gavin realized his own lip was trembling, and he felt a stray tear course down his cheek. He slowed the car as he approached Wellsboro’s front gate. What’s with me, getting worked up over those ancient memories? That was a different lifetime.
It was gone now. His birth family.
Embarrassed, he wiped the tear away and composed himself. Melanie was standing at the curb outside the gate. He leaned over and popped the passenger door open, returning her smile as she climbed in. Her face was flushed prettily from the chill air. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he said.
“Nah, only a minute or so.” She grinned. “The guy in the guard shack offered me hot cocoa.”
“That was nice of him.” Gavin released the brake and started the car back down the road, a strange twist in his stomach.
“It’s nice of you to pick me up,” Melanie said. “And I’m making you take some gas money this time.” Pulling a twenty-dollar bill from her purse, she shoved it in his face.
“No, keep it,” he protested, swatting her hand away.
She laughed and tossed the bill in the back seat. “It’s yours now. I probably owe you more than that.” Her voice grew quiet. “I owe you a lot more than that.”
Gavin threw a sidelong glance at her. A shadow had passed over her face, but she soon brightened up again. “So, does your family have any unusual Thanksgiving traditions I should be prepared for?”
The drive passed quickly with lighthearted talk. Just before noon, they arrived at the Doyle home, a large yellow Cape Cod with white trim and a wraparound porch. Flower boxes adorned the windows, although at this time of year, they were barren.
“It’s lovely,” said Melanie.
“They take good care of it,” Gavin said, pushing open the hunter-green front door, which was decorated with a festive autumn wreath. Tantalizing smells greeted the pair. “Hi, Mom! We’re here!”
Cara called a cheery welcome from the kitchen. Gavin led Melanie to the aromatic epicenter of the house, where his mom was checking on the turkey. Closing the oven, Cara straightened up, tucked a stray strand of blue-black hair behind her ear, and beamed. “Good to see you again, Melanie.” She wrapped the girl in a warm hug. “Can I take your coat?”
“I got it,” said Gavin, taking his turn embracing his mom while Melanie removed her teal pea coat. She handed it to him, and he noticed how nice she looked in her lavender blouse and dark brown dress pants. Her glossy hair was partially pulled back, her makeup understated but becoming.
There went his stomach again. What was its problem today? He paused in the hallway until the fluttering feeling subsided.
“Can I help with anything?” Melanie asked Cara.
“You can put the mashed potatoes in that bowl and set it on the table. Everything else is almost ready.”
“Where’s Dad?” said Gavin, rejoining the women.
“He should be back from the shelter any time now.”
Confusion crossed Melanie’s face, so Gavin explained, “He’s helping serve dinner at the local homeless shelter.”
“That’s awesome.” She smiled.
More flutters. Shyly, he turned his gaze away.
Fifteen minutes crawled by. Melanie and Cara chatted while Gavin paced the kitchen and the dining room. The cloud of sweet and savory scents filling his nose was driving him crazy, and his stomach struck up a yearning monologue. He nibbled on crescent rolls and olives and picked at the turkey until Cara playfully swatted his hand and shooed him away from the cooling feast. “What could be taking your father so long?” she said, frown lines appearing. “I’d better give him a call.”
Gavin could hear the rings on the other end. Three, four, five of them and no answer. Memories of his
birth father missing Thanksgiving dinner resurfaced, and the food he’d just eaten turned to lead. A swirl of unpleasant emotions kicked up, but he told himself, It’s not for the same reason. I’m sure he’s got a good one. He’s not at some bar. He’s probably talking with Pastor Bill or praying with somebody.
Cara left a message on Jeff’s voicemail. She tucked the turkey back into the oven and put the potatoes, green bean casserole, and other side dishes under a warmer. Time passed. Cara busily circumnavigated the dining room, straightening place settings and chairs and picture frames. Gavin caught a faint whiff of fear.
Cara called again and again, but no answer. Gavin parted the curtains of the front window. The street was filled with parked cars, but his dad’s was nowhere in sight. “Something’s not right,” he said.
Melanie joined him, forcing a smile. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. Maybe he’s caught in traffic and his phone died.”
“Even if that were the case, it’s been so long. . . . This isn’t like him. He knows we’re waiting, and he—”
Frenetic techno music cut off Gavin’s words. He snatched his phone from his pocket. Blocked call. “Hello?”
A deep, silky voice: “Gavin Doyle. We told you that we take our privacy seriously.”
The Organization. Had to be. They did bug the car. “Where’s my dad?” Gavin demanded, trying to keep his tone firm. “What’d you do to him?”
“Jeff is perfectly fine, for now. But you need to learn that there are consequences for disobeying us.”
Gavin gnashed his teeth, and his fingers twitched with anger. If he could get his hands around this man’s throat . . . Catching his eye, Melanie gave Gavin a worried, questioning look. She could probably hear the voice on the other end.
Cara had walked over to join them, eyes wide, hand fluttering to her heart. “Gavin, is that—?”
He held up a hand. The man on the phone was speaking again: “If you want to see him, there is a favor you can do for us.”
“Like what?” Gavin snarled.
