“Her parents kicked me out,” Sam said, and he smiled for just a second, like people do when something’s real y not funny and they don’t want to be tel ing you but they don’t know what else to do. “Grace, uh, got sick and they, uh, found us together, and they kicked me out.”
“Tonight?”
He nodded, very broken and honest, and I couldn’t quite look at him. “Yeah. I got here a little before you did.”
The fierce glow of every light in the house suddenly seemed more significant. I wasn’t sure if I admired him for feeling everything so hard and fiercely, or if I was contemptuous of him for having so much emotion that he had to spil it out every window of the house. I didn’t know how I felt.
“But, um…” Sam said, and in just those two words, I heard him getting himself back together, like a horse assembling its legs beneath itself before standing up. “Anyway. Tel me about Cole. How did you end up with him?”
I looked at him sharply until I realized he meant How did you end up here with him? “Long story, wolfboy,” I said, and crashed down on the sofa. “I couldn’t sleep, and I heard him outside the house. It was pretty obvious what he was, and pretty obvious that he wasn’t going to change back. I didn’t want my parents to find out and freak, so, the end.”
Sam’s mouth did something unreadable. “That’s awful y nice of you.”
I smiled thinly. “It happens.”
“Does it?” Sam asked. “I think most people would’ve left a naked stranger outside.”
“I didn’t want to step in a pile of his fingers tomorrow on my way to the car,” I said. I felt like Sam was probing me to say something else, like he’d somehow guessed that this was the second time that we’d met and that the first time had involved my tongue introducing itself to Cole’s, and vice versa. I used the topic of Cole’s fingers to redirect the conversation.
“Speaking of which, I wonder how he’s getting along in there.” I looked down the hal way toward the bathroom. Sam hesitated. For some reason, I remembered that the light in the bathroom had been the only light not turned on. Final y, Sam said, “Why don’t you go knock on the door and find out? I’m going to go upstairs to get a room ready for him. I just—I need a minute to think.”
“Okay, whatever,” I said.
He nodded, and just as he turned to go upstairs, I caught a glimpse of some private emotion on his face that made me think he wasn’t as much of an open book as I’d thought. It made me want to stop him and ask him to fil in the blanks of our conversation—how Grace was sick, why the bathroom light wasn’t on, what he was going to do now—but it was way too late, and, anyway, I wasn’t that girl yet.
• COLE •
The worst of the pain was already over, and I was just lying in the water, floating my hands on top of the bathwater and imagining fal ing asleep in it, when I heard a knock on the bathroom door.
Isabel’s voice fol owed the knock, the force of which opened the unlatched door an inch. “Have you drowned?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Mind if I come in?” But she didn’t wait for my answer; she just let herself in, sitting on the toilet beside the tub. The fluffy, fur-lined hood of her jacket made her look like she had a hunchback. Her hair was jagged on her cheek. She looked like an ad for something.
For
toilets.
For
jackets.
For
antidepressants. Whatever it was for, I’d buy it. She looked down at me.
“I’m naked,” I said.
“So am I,” Isabel replied. “Under my clothing.”
I cracked a grin. Had to give credit where credit was due.
“Are your feet going to fal off?” she asked.
Because of the size of the bathtub, I had to lift and straighten my leg to look at my toes. They were a little red, but I could wiggle them and feel al of them except for my pinkie toe, which was stil mostly numb. “Not today, I don’t think.”
“Are you going to stay in there forever?”
“Probably.” I sank my shoulders farther into the water to show my commitment to the plan. I glanced up at her. “Care to join me?”
She raised a knowing eyebrow. “Looks a little smal in there.”
I closed my eyes with another smile. “Zing.” With my eyes shut, I felt warm and floaty and invisible. They should invent a drug that made you feel like this. “I miss my Mustang,” I said, mostly because it was the sort of statement that would make her react.
“Lying naked in a bathtub made you think of your car?”
“It had a rockin’ heater. You could real y cook the hel out of yourself in there,” I said. It was a lot easier to talk to her with my eyes closed, too. Not so much of a pissing contest. “I wish I’d had it earlier tonight.”
“Where is it?”
“Home.”
I heard her take her coat off; it shushed on the bathroom counter. The toilet creaked as she sat back down. “Where’s home?”
“New York.”
“City?”
“State.” I thought about the Mustang. Black, shiny, soupedup, sitting in my parents’ garage because I was never home to drive it. It had been the first thing that I’d bought when my first big check came in, and, in the irony of the century, I’d been on tour too much to ever drive it.
“I thought you came from Canada.”
“I was on”—I stopped just short of saying tour. I was liking my anonymity too much—“vacation.” I opened my eyes and saw in her hard expression that she’d heard the lie. I was beginning to realize that she didn’t miss much.
“Some vacation,” she replied. “Must’ve sucked for you to choose this.” She was looking now at the trackmark scars on my arms, but not in the way that I expected her to. Not like judging. More like hungry. Between that and the fact that she was wearing only a camisole beneath her coat, I was having a hard time focusing.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “How about you? How do you know about the wolves?”
Isabel’s eyes betrayed something for just a second, so fast that I couldn’t tel what it was. In between that and her makeupless face, young and soft-looking, I felt bad for asking.
Then I wondered why I bothered to feel bad for this girl I hardly knew.
“I’m friends with Sam’s girlfriend,” Isabel said. I’d done enough lying, or at least tel ing of partial truths, to know what it sounded like. But since she hadn’t cal ed me out on my own partial truth, I returned the favor.
“Right. Sam,” I echoed. “Tel me more about him.”
“I already told you that he’s like Beck’s son and he’s basical y taking over for him. What more do you want to know? It’s not like I’m his girlfriend.” But her voice was admiring; she liked him. I didn’t know what I thought of him yet.
I said the thing that had been bugging me since I’d met him. “It’s cold. He’s human.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Wel , Beck led me to believe that was a pretty hard thing to accomplish, if not impossible.”
Isabel seemed to be contemplating something—I
saw a tiny, silent battle waging in her eyes—and final y she shrugged and said, “He’s cured. He gave himself a high fever and it cured him.” This was a clue of some kind. To Isabel. Something in her voice wasn’t quite right when she said it, but I wasn’t sure how it fit into the overal picture.
“I thought Beck wanted us—the new ones—to take care of the pack because there aren’t many left who turn human for long enough,” I said. Truthful y, I was relieved. I didn’t want responsibility; I wanted to slide into the darkness of a wolf’s skin for as much time as possible. “Why didn’t he just cure everybody?
“He didn’t know Sam was cured. If he’d known, he would’ve never made more wolves. And the cure doesn’t work for everybody.” Now Isabel’s voice was out-and-out hard, and I felt like I was somehow no longer a part of the conversation I’d started.
“Good thing I don’t want to be cured, then,” I
said lightly.
She looked at me, and her voice was
contemptuous. “Good thing.”
Suddenly I felt sort of done. Like in the end, she was going to see the truth about me no matter what I said, because that was what she did. She was going to see that when you took away NARKOTIKA, I was just Cole St. Clair, and inside me was absolutely nothing.
I felt the familiar hol ow hunger inside, like my soul was rotting.
I wanted a fix. I needed to find a needle to slide under my skin or a pil to dissolve under my tongue. No. What I needed was to be a wolf again.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Isabel asked, suddenly, and I opened my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d shut them. Her gaze was intense.
“Of what?”
“Of losing yourself?”
I told her the truth: “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
• ISABEL •
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I didn’t expect him to be honest with me. I wasn’t sure where we could go from here, because I wasn’t prepared to return the favor.
He lifted a dripping hand from the water, his fingertips a little wrinkled.
“You want to see if my fingers are done?” he asked.
Something in my stomach turned over as I took his wet hand and ran my fingers from his palm to his fingertips. His eyes were half-closed, and when I was through, he took his hand back and sat up, making the water slosh and crest around him. He leaned his hands on the edge of the bathtub, putting his face at my eye level. I knew we were going to kiss again and I knew that we shouldn’t, because he was already at rock bottom and I was getting there, too, but I couldn’t help myself. I was starving for him.
His mouth tasted like wolf and salt, and when he put his hand at the base of my neck to pul me closer, lukewarm water trailed down my col arbone into my shirt and between my breasts.
“Ow,” he said into my mouth, and I pul ed back. But he didn’t appear particularly concerned as he looked down at his shoulder, where my nails had broken the skin. I was stil aching from kissing him, and this time, at least, he seemed to feel it, too, because when he dragged his stil slightly damp hand flat down my neck to my breastbone, stopping just short of broaching the line of my camisole, I felt the wanting in the pressure of his fingertips.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Find a bed,” he said.
“I’m not sleeping with you.” The high of the kiss was starting to wear off, and it was like the first time I’d met him al over again. Why did I let him get to me?
What was wrong with me? I stood up, got my coat off the counter, and put it back on. Suddenly, I was horribly afraid that Sam would know that we’d kissed.
“And again I’m left feeling like I must be a bad kisser,” Cole said.
“I need to go home,” I told him. “I have school tomorrow—today. I have to be home before my dad leaves for work.”
“A real y bad kisser.”
“Just say thanks for your fingers and toes.” I had my hand on the doorknob. “And let’s leave it at that.”
Cole should’ve been looking at me like I was crazy, but he was just looking at me. Like he didn’t seem to get that this was a rejection.
“Thanks for my fingers and toes,” he said.
I shut the bathroom door behind me and left the house without finding Sam. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I remembered how Cole had told me that he was hoping to lose himself. It made me feel better to think that he was broken.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
• COLE •
I woke up human, though the sheets were twisted and smel ed of wolf.
After Isabel left the night before, Sam had led me past a pile of linens that had clearly just been torn from a bed, and set me up in a downstairs bedroom. The entire room was so yel ow that it looked like the sun had thrown up on the wal s and wiped its mouth afterward on the dresser and curtains. But it had a freshly made bed in the middle of the room, and that was al that mattered.
“Good night,” Sam said, voice cool but not hostile. I didn’t reply. I was already under the covers, dead to the world, dreaming of nothing.
Now, blinking in the late morning sunshine, I left the bed unmade and padded into the living room, which looked entirely different in the daylight. Al reds and tartans made bril iant by the sun pouring in the wal of windows behind me. It looked comfortable. Not at al like the stiff gothic perfection of Isabel’s house. In the kitchen, photos were stuck every which way on the cabinets, a mess of tape and pushpins and smiling faces. I immediately found Beck in dozens of them, and Sam, too, looking like a stop-motion video as he aged in each one. No Isabel.
The faces, for the most part, were al happy and grinning and comfortable, like they were making the best of a strange life. There were photos of gril ing and canoeing and playing guitars together, but it was pretty obvious that they al took place either in this house or in the immediate vicinity of Mercy Fal s. It was like there were two messages being given out by the cabinets of photos: We are a family, and You are a prisoner. You chose this, I reminded myself. The truth was, I hadn’t given much thought to the times in between being a wolf. I hadn’t real y given much thought to anything.
“How are your fingers?”
My muscles tensed for a second before I
recognized the voice as Sam’s. I turned toward it and found him standing in the wide doorway to the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hand, the light from behind haloing his shoulders. His eyes had a shadowed look that was equal parts sleep deprivation and uncertainty about me.
It was a weird and surprisingly freeing feeling, to have someone not take you at face value.
To answer his question, I lifted my hands beside my head and wiggled my fingers, a gesture with cavalier overtones that I hadn’t initial y intended. Sam’s unnervingly yel ow eyes—I never got used to them—kept looking, looking at me, waging a battle with himself. Final y he said in a flat voice, “There’s cereal and eggs and milk.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Sam’s shoulders had already ducked as he
started to retreat back into the hal , but my raised eyebrow stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them. “Okay, this.” He set his mug on the island between us and crossed his arms.
“This: Why are you here?”
The pugilistic tone made me like him slightly better. It offset his stupid floppy hair and sad, fakelooking eyes. Evidence of a spine was a good thing.
“To be a wolf,” I said, flippant. “Which, coincidentally, isn’t the reason you’re here, if rumors are true.”
Sam’s eyes flicked to the photos behind me, so many of them containing him, and then back to my face. “It doesn’t matter why I’m here. This is my home.”
“I see that,” I replied. I could’ve helped him out, but
“I see that,” I replied. I could’ve helped him out, but I didn’t see the point.
Sam considered for a moment. I could actual y see him mental y reviewing how much effort he wanted to put into the conversation. “Look. I’m not normal y a jerk. But I’m having a real y hard time understanding why someone would choose this life. If you could explain that to me, we’d be a lot closer to getting along.
”
I held out my hands as if I were presenting something. When I did that at shows, the audience went wild, because it meant I was about to sing something new. Victor would’ve gotten the reference and laughed. Sam didn’t have the context, so he just looked at my hands until I said, “To make a fresh start, Ringo. The same reason your man Beck did it.”
Sam’s expression went total y flat. “But you chose this. On purpose.”
Clearly Beck had given Sam a different story of his genesis than the one he’d given me; I wondered which one was real. I wasn’t about to get into a lengthy discussion with Sam, however, who was looking at me like he expected me to debunk Santa Claus next.
“Yeah, I did. Make of that what you wil . Now can I get
some breakfast, or what?”
Sam shook his head—not like he was angry, but
like he was shaking gnats away from his thoughts. He glanced at his watch. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ve got to get to work.” He stepped past me, not meeting my eyes, and then checked himself. He went back into the kitchen and jotted something on a Post-it note, which he then smacked onto the door of the fridge. “That’s my cel and my work. Cal me if you need me.”
It was clearly kil ing him to be nice to me, but stil , he was. An ingrained sense of politeness? Duty? What was it? I wasn’t real y a fan of nice people.
Sam started again to head out, but he stopped again, in the doorway, his car keys jingling. “You’l probably change back soon. When the sun goes down, anyway, or if you’re outside too long. So try to stick around here, okay? So no one wil see you shift?”
I smiled thinly at him. “Sure thing.”
Sam looked like he was going to say something else, but then he just pressed two fingers to his temple and grimaced. The gesture said al the things that Sam hadn’t: He had plenty of problems, and I was just another one of them.
I was enjoying being not-famous more than I’d expected.
• ISABEL •
When Grace wasn’t in school on Monday, I ducked into the girls’ bathroom and cal ed her during lunch. And got her mom. At least, I was pretty sure it was her mother.
“Hel o?” The voice that answered was obviously not Grace’s.
“Uh, hel o?” I tried not to sound too snarky, in case it real y was her mom. “I was cal ing for Grace.” Okay, so I couldn’t keep al the attitude out of my voice. But seriously.
The other voice was friendly. “Who is this?”
“Who is this?”
I heard Grace’s voice, final y. “Mom! Give me that!” There was a shuffling sound and then Grace said, “Sorry about that. I’m grounded, and apparently that means that people can screen my cal s without asking me.”
Color me impressed. Saint Grace got grounded?
“What did you do?”
I heard a door shut on her side of the phone. Not quite a slam, but more defiant than I would’ve expected from Grace. She said, “Got caught sleeping with Sam.”
Maggie Stiefvater - [Wolves of Mercy Falls 02] Page 10
