by Sarah M. Awa
Wait. She stopped. Is Wellsboro the connection?
What if one of her fellow students was a member of the Organization, or had ties to it?
Nah, that’s crazy.
Was it, though? It would explain how quickly the cop had discovered her.
Mel shuddered and picked up her pace, her mind outdistancing her feet. So far, it seemed the only people to take note of her disappearances were Pam and Jos. And Timmy. Anyone else? What about faculty? Mel’s professors hadn’t commented on her absences from class, but their attendance charts would show a monthly pattern.
This is nuts. I can’t go suspecting and mistrusting everyone. She’d been living in fear, and it was exhausting. She didn’t want to crank it up to total paranoia.
Taking deep breaths, she admonished herself to mellow out and keep a rational mindset. Analyze. Reason. Who could know about her, and how? Go back to the beginning. Back to Pine Groves. Who had been around during that awful weekend? Pam, Timmy, and Luis. The rest of the group of guys, too, but they weren’t as close to the situation.
Pam. Timmy. Luis.
There was no way the traitor was Pam. She obviously hadn’t a clue about Mel’s secret, and she was Mel’s best friend—she wouldn’t betray her.
What about Luis? He was a kind, honest, respectable guy, as far as Mel was aware. She doubted the rat could be him—didn’t want it to be—but she wasn’t well enough acquainted with him to say for sure. She put him on the back burner.
That brought her to the final member of her mental lineup—an obnoxious, contrary, favored contender for culprit. Timmy.
He didn’t see the beast chasing us, but he heard its howls. He could’ve realized the moon was full and figured things out. I’ve been absent from Sentinel meetings, and distracted during them. Dawn has noticed a change in my behavior. Timmy also has motive—he’s never liked me—and he’s no model citizen.
Right now, Timmy seemed the most likely spy. He wasn’t a werewolf, but the Organization had human accomplices.
Melanie clenched her fists and seethed. If he is the one who betrayed me, I’m gonna pulverize him. Eviscerate him. A low growl escaped her throat.
But how could she find out for sure?
The next afternoon, December 2
“Psst.” Thunk.
A moment later: “Psssst.” Thunk, thunk.
Melanie grunted softly, then jerked awake. Crap. She’d nodded off in history class. Someone behind her had roused her, kicking her chair and hissing. She checked and saw, to her distaste, that it was Timmy.
“What’s got you so tired, Melody?” he taunted in a low voice she could barely hear over the professor’s lecture. “Or should I call you Moody?”
Posture stiffening, Mel ignored him and resumed scribbling notes. How much did I miss? Dr. Ayers had been talking about Stalin, last she remembered, but now he was on to Mussolini.
When Timmy kicked her chair again, fury rose within Mel. She shot him a death glare that dared him to try it again. He smirked back.
Several minutes passed, more or less peacefully—although Melanie’s mind was anything but peaceful these days. But then: Thunk!
Mel whirled and growled, “Stop!”
A wave of giggles passed over her classmates. Dr. Ayers paused his lecture and raised a stern eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Blushing deeply, Melanie said, “No, sir. I’m so sorry.” But she gathered her books and moved three rows up.
Next period, she arrived at the Sentinel office and found just Dawn, fortunately not Timmy. The editor-in-chief greeted Mel and rose from the computer she’d been sitting at. “Come talk with me on the couch, Caldwell.”
Uh-oh. Mel didn’t like the seriousness in her tone, not one bit. Gingerly, she sat on the opposite end of the creaky old sofa from Dawn. Mel’s palms felt clammy as her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap.
“I’ve been hearing rumors,” Dawn began. “You and Timmy are having some problems, huh?”
“His fault,” Melanie muttered, feeling childish but, in her exhaustion, starting not to care.
Dawn frowned and said, “I trust you’ll work those out and not let them affect your work. Frankly, I expected more from your last op-ed assignment, Melanie. I thought you’d take a much more creative approach to that topic. And I found a couple of blatant errors you missed in other articles.”
Mel hung her head. Anxiety churned in her gut, but anger toward Dawn grew as well. She gritted her teeth. If she had any idea what kind of crap I’m going through . . .
“The first time, when you didn’t finish proofreading articles, I let that slide. We all get too busy sometimes. But now I’m going to have to give you a second strike, which really surprises me. You’re the last one I thought I’d be having this conversation with. . . .
“Don’t make it to three, Melanie. I know Timmy’s a pest, but he’s not worth it. You have to learn how to deal, how to block him out. Think how badly he’ll bug you if you get suspended.”
Throat tightening, Mel nodded. “I—I understand,” she forced out, embarrassed at how choked her voice sounded.
“Good.” Dawn flashed a brief smile, then returned to her computer.
Later, as Melanie left the com building, she passed Timmy on his way in. “How’d Dawn feel about your latest article?” he said, giving her an infuriating grin.
Mel glowered and pushed past him. They jostled shoulders in the process. “Watch it,” she snapped, though it hadn’t been clearly Timmy’s fault.
“You watch it. You did that on purpose.”
“As if I’d want to touch you!”
“No—high-and-mighty Melanie never associates with lesser folk,” Timmy mocked. “Think you’re better than everyone else? Well, here’s some news for you—you’re not.”
Hands balling into fists, face flushing with anger, Melanie growled, “I never said I was!”
“Really? Spreading all those rumors about me after the camping trip. Laughing with your friends over how I got lost.”
“I didn’t spread any rumors—I’ve got better things to do, and there were a lot of other people on that trip. Did you forget about that?”
Timmy scowled. “There you go, acting all high and mighty again.” In a high-pitched voice, he mimicked her: “I’ve got better things to do.” He stuck his nose in the air and pretended like he was primping long hair.
Without thinking, Mel lunged forward and shoved him. Timmy staggered backward and then wobbled, arms flailing as he slipped on a patch of ice. He lost his balance completely and fell to the hard cement. “Augh,” he moaned, clutching at his backside.
Crap! Mel whirled around to see if anyone had witnessed the altercation. Nobody was in sight; she’d gone out the back door, which was closest to the Sentinel office. The office was four classrooms down from here, so Mel guessed that Dawn couldn’t see her and Timmy from the window.
Still, she high-tailed it back to Hartman and flopped onto her bed, heart hammering in her chest. It took several minutes for her to catch her breath and calm down.
Would Timmy tell Dawn what she’d done? Would Dawn believe him?
And right after she told me to learn how to block him out.
Mel’s anger turned inward. I have got to get control of myself!
Full moon wasn’t for another week and a half. This couldn’t be her wolf, could it?
December 9, Waxing Gibbous Moon
The Friday before exam week arrived with egregious speed. Melanie took her two early rescheduled tests and then headed back to her dorm, anxious about how she’d done. She’d studied copiously, but the empty classrooms had been hot and full of distracting scents and sounds, and concentrating had been difficult. Wiping her slick palms on her jeans, she mentally cursed the moon.
Please help me maintain my 3.9 GPA!
That didn’t seem too likely.
Her bedroom was locked, Pam undoubtedly off practicing at her second home, the music building. I should write my monthly note to her
now so I don’t forget last-minute. Mel scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper, which she tucked away in her purse.
With not much else to do before dinner, she studied—or tried to. She wriggled around in bed, her back against the headboard, legs drawn up in an easel shape to support a book. After a while, she switched to a cross-legged position, balancing a textbook on one knee and a notebook on the other. Soon she tired of that and flipped onto her stomach. Her feet tapped against the headboard, and she got more rhythm practice done than reading. Maybe I should go accompany Pam on the drums. Sighing, Mel slapped her book closed. This is pointless.
There was a knock at the door, and Jocelyn stuck her head in. “Hey, Mel, do you have any aspirin? I’m out, and I can feel a headache coming on.”
“Sure. It’s in my purse,” said Melanie without thinking. But as Jos strode to her dresser and grabbed her handbag off it, Mel remembered the note to Pam and blanched. “Wait, don’t—”
But Jos’s hands were already inside her bag, lifting its topmost item: the note. Please don’t read it, Mel prayed. She yearned to snatch it from her friend, but that would be suspicious, and maybe Jos wouldn’t pay attention to the words on the paper.
Jos set the note aside, but then her eyes narrowed and she picked it back up to scan it. She leveled a stern gaze at Mel. “You’re taking off again. When?”
“None of your business!” Mel shot back, boiling mad. “What are you doing looking at my personal stuff?” She jumped from her bed and tried to seize the note, but Jos held it high and out of her reach. “Give it back!”
“Not until you’re willing to talk about this and tell me what’s going on!”
Mel took a lunging leap, swiping at the note, fingertips brushing a corner of it. At that moment, Jos moved her arm, and Mel’s nails caught Jos’s forearm, gouging four parallel red lines right through her sleeve. “Ow!” Jos shrieked, recoiling.
What the—? Melanie gasped when Jos rolled up her sleeve, revealing the damage her nails had done. Nails? More like claws: thick, yellowish, and curved. How had they grown that long and sharp so quickly? She’d made Jos bleed.
“I—I’m sorry!” Mel cried, panic seizing her. She stared at her hands as if they were someone else’s, or part of a Halloween costume. Go away! But the claws remained. Tucking them out of sight under her arms, she ran blindly from the room. Her feet pounded down the steps; her pulse pounded in her ears.
“Wait!” she heard, but didn’t stop. She grabbed at the front door handle, flung the door wide open—
—and smacked into a tall, lean, but well-muscled person standing on the front patio. Luis. “Whoa there!” he said, regaining his balance and steadying her. Mel took in his startled expression, the long-stemmed red rose in his hand. “Where you going in such a hurry, bella?”
“Sorry!” She plunged past him, toward the parking lot, toward her car.
She heard another cry to wait, this time in Luis’s deep baritone, but didn’t heed his plea either. What have I done? What an idiot! I hurt my friend! Why do I have claws? Did she see them? Mel glanced at them again in horror, not breaking stride.
Is it possible to infect someone by scratching them?
As Melanie jumped into her Honda and sped from the lot, Luis Vargas stood gaping, bewildered. Should he go after her? Before he could sprint to his car, he heard feet thumping down the stairs inside Hartman and Jocelyn Beaumont appeared, black curls askew. Her pale face was screwed up in frustration or pain, and her right sleeve was rolled up to her elbow. She held a washcloth to her bare forearm.
“Jocelyn, are you okay? What happened?” Luis asked. “Why was Melanie so upset?”
Leaning against the doorframe, Jocelyn pursed her lips. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“Is your arm all right?” A red circle was blooming in the blue washcloth.
“Oh, this? Nothing serious.” She pressed the cloth down more tightly.
“Are you sure? Let me drive you to the nurse’s office.”
“No, thanks. It’s not that deep. I’ll be fine.” Her eyes fell on the rose he held, and her expression softened. “Is that for Mel?”
“Yeah,” Luis admitted, blushing.
Jocelyn grinned wryly. “Your timing didn’t work out so well.”
“Story of my life.” He threw a glance in the direction Melanie had gone. “Do you know what’s been troubling her lately? She’s been acting strange. Different. Distant.”
With a frustrated sigh, Jocelyn said, “No, but I wish I did. I tried to ask her, and she . . . reacted badly and ran off.”
Reacted badly? The arm wound—could Mel have done that? No way. Luis shook his head in disbelief. She wasn’t a violent girl.
“I still think you should let the nurse take a look at that,” he told Jocelyn. “Could there be broken glass inside?”
“It’s not from glass.”
“Then what—”
“Look, Luis, just drop it. Please.” Jocelyn backed up a step and put her hand on the door as if to close it.
Luis felt an urge to smack the doorframe. He glared at her, nostrils flaring. “What’s with you girls being so secretive?”
“I don’t know why or what Mel’s hiding, but as for me, I’m not one for sharing details before I know what they mean—or if they mean anything.”
Huh? What the heck’s that supposed to mean? Luis opened his mouth to reply but turned and stalked away without a word. Passing the bushes that edged the cottage, he threw the rose into them. Mujeres locas.
Mel got halfway through town before she remembered she didn’t have her purse—or her driver’s license. Crap. Better drive carefully. Or stop driving. No one had pursued her.
She pulled into the busy lot of a Burger King and parked. It was dinnertime, evidenced by the long drive-thru line, and she’d grown quite hungry. The greasy smell of sizzling meat was tantalizing. But I don’t have my wallet. This sucks.
She contemplated going back for it and her coat, but her mind replayed the scene with Jos, and she cringed. I can’t go back there and face her yet. What if . . . ? Her forehead hit the cool, hard leather of the steering wheel. Tears tried to squeeze out through her closed eyelids. I didn’t turn her, did I?
Screaming as her skin split open—
Jocelyn screaming as her bones cracked and her joints twisted—
No! Don’t let it be Jocelyn!
Several tears, and one ragged sob, escaped.
Sniffling, Mel felt a large drop of liquid descend through her nose. Expecting only snot, she swiped at it with her hand and saw a trail of red. Another nosebleed? Stupid dry winter air!
She reached in her glove box and pulled out a wad of tissues. She stuffed one in her nostrils and tilted her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose.
A knock on her window startled her.
A woman, maybe in her late twenties, with copper skin and jet-black hair, had approached, unseen. She was attractive, well groomed, and well dressed, so Mel figured she hadn’t come to ask for money. Good, because I’ve got nothing right now. What’s this about? Do I have a flat tire?
Slowly, she cranked down the window, and frigid air rushed in. Mel could see the woman’s breath and her own breath. “Hello. I’m sorry to bother you,” said the woman. “I just wondered if you were all right.”
“Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah, I’b fide,” Mel said nasally, adding, “Thang you. My tire’s not flat or someding, is it?”
“No, no.” The woman gave a reassuring smile. “You just looked a bit . . . lost. Distressed.”
Religious nut come to show me the way? Mel’s stomach sank.
“Not trying to sell you any religion,” the woman said, as if reading her thoughts. “Just an ordinary citizen trying to do her random act of kindness for the day.” She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Chandra. Can I buy you dinner?”
17
Discovery
December 12, Full Moon (first night)
Over the weekend, Melanie watched Jocelyn carefully
. Jos didn’t exhibit any signs of illness, though Mel caught her rubbing her bandaged arm and wincing. Do people always get as sick as I did after they’re infected?
She called Gavin to ask, and he said yes—at least, in his personal experience. “But I don’t know if scratching someone is enough to turn them. I’ve punched guys and given them bruises and black eyes since becoming a werewolf, but I’ve never drawn blood.”
It was hard for Mel to imagine Gavin brawling or picking fights, and she said so.
“The other kids started them . . . usually,” he replied, meaning the kids at the home for troubled children where he’d lived before the Doyles had adopted him. “I wouldn’t worry about Jos. I seriously doubt you can pass the curse when you’re not in wolf form.”
Not completely reassured, Mel checked at least a dozen online sources as well. Most of them agreed with Gavin, which brought her some comfort.
Monday arrived hazy and gloomy, matching Mel’s mood. She muddled through her exam, then grabbed lunch and prepared to leave campus.
Jocelyn stopped her in the living room just before she left Hartman. Face pinched and pallid, she folded her arms—slowly, gingerly—and planted her feet. Her eyes were hard, glinting emeralds, boring into Mel’s.
Melanie bit her lip and looked away. Half-consciously, her thumb traced over her fingertips, checking the nails: normal. “Hey,” she began. “I—”
Jos cut her off. “Dialogue,” she said, voice rich with disappointment. “Tell me the truth, Mel. You’re not in any trouble or doing anything dangerous or illegal, are you?”
It would be dangerous to stay here, Melanie thought. “It’s nothing like that,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
But worry and doubt cropped up inside her. What if . . . ?
Maybe she should tell Jos everything. She could drag her along to the cabin, lock her up until after the moon rose. The internet had said Jos would be fine, but the internet hadn’t exactly been a reliable source before. Was there any other way she could be completely sure Jos hadn’t been turned? Some kind of quick test?
