Silver Moon (Silver Moon, #1)

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  Beth laughs. “You’ve never had coffee before, have you?”

  I wince. “No, not really. I thought it’d sound more grown-up if I said I had.”

  “Cream and sugar are by the pot,” Beth says, pointing to the powdered add-ons in glass canisters.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, reaching for both.

  “I’m closing up the bookstore and we’re going to visit Magena—the one I told you about last night.”

  My face scrunches. “What kind of name is that?”

  Beth’s shoulders drop like she’s really hurt by my comment. “She’s a really good friend, Candra. You’ll like her, I’m sure.”

  “I was teasing,” I say. “Why are we going to see her?”

  “She knows a lot more than I do about our ancestors. I thought you might have a few more questions in you about the powers and where they come from,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.

  I pretend I’m in deep thought. “Maybe.”

  She grins. “That’s what I thought. I told her we’d be there around noon, for lunch.”

  I nod, dumping the pathetic excuse for a cup of coffee down the drain. I make it to the doorway when Beth stops me. One minute she’s behind me, sitting at the table, the next she appears before me.

  “How’d you—”

  “I wanted to say that I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” she says, ignoring how frightened I’ve become. “I know everything must be hard for you to grasp right now.”

  “Actually, it clears a few things up for me,” I say, hesitating with my words, “if that makes any sense.”

  Beth nods and rubs my arms. “I really hope you like it here. We don’t want to scare you off.”

  “Oh, you won’t scare me off. I’ve been through some tough shit, so even if you do tell me to pack my bags and go home, it won’t hurt my feelings.” The corner of my mouth twitches.

  Beth stares at me, like she’s considering what to say. She takes my hands in hers. “Well, we’re not going to send you home just yet. I think when you turn eighteen you should be the one to decide where you go and what life you choose to live.”

  I purse my lips. “Thanks,” I murmur.

  She steps aside and lets me pass.

  Upstairs, I prepare to wash the night sweats from my body. Steam floats up my nostrils, filling up my lungs with moisture. My body is overloaded from mental exhaustion. I’ve replayed every word of the conversation between Randy, Beth and me. I’m still waiting for one of them to say it’s a really, really early April Fool’s joke.

  Deep down, I know it’s not.

  My wet hair clings to my upper back. I squeeze the excess water out. Grabbing a towel, I pat myself dry, and slip into a clean shirt and jeans. Lunch is a couple of hours away and I’m not sure what to do until then. Beth will be getting ready, and she’ll quite possibly consume the full two hours to do so. I’ve seen her in the mornings getting ready for work. She works at a bookstore for Pete’s sake, yet she gets all dolled up like she’s going to a four-star restaurant.

  I nosedive onto my bed, squealing when I bounce. For the longest time, I stare at my window, wondering if the eyes are out there.

  I know what you are now, I think. They frightened me at first, but not so much anymore. After today, I’ll learn about my past, present and, hopefully, future. The strange part about all of it is that I don’t feel different. I feel like the same me, not some overgrown beast. For now. Give me a few more months, and I might have a different opinion about the situation.

  One minute I’m lying in bed, the next—I find myself at the window, not really sure how I got there. The eyes hover directly in front of me, beckoning me to pursue them. It’s only the eyes, though—no body is connected.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” I say, but I see every action performed from a distance, like I’m dead and having an out-of-body experience. My eyes are glazed over. My words are robotic, lifeless.

  Where am I going?

  My physical body turns and runs out the door.

  My spirit form, however, looks toward the window. The eyes still float, but they turn and watch me. They can see me. Abruptly, a body grows around the eyes, and leaps through the window. Glass shatters into a million tiny pieces across the floor.

  “You have to leave,” says the werewolf. His eyes drop, like he’s sad. Though I can’t place it, the voice sounds familiar. I’ve heard it somewhere…and recently.

  I open my mouth to speak, but it’s as if I’ve caught laryngitis. Every word wheezes from my throat, hoarse and raspy. I try to pronounce syllables, but they won’t form.

  The werewolf bounds back through the broken window, where remains of glass protrude at impossible angles. I dart to see where he went, but he’s already gone. There’s only the other version of me, standing outside and walking around, like I’m in a fog.

  I call down to my body, wandering aimlessly in the open field beside Randy and Beth’s. She doesn’t speak. She looks up at me and giggles.

  What’s so funny?

  She points at me. I shake my head, confused. Her eyebrows lift and she grins. She points again, nodding once.

  In my peripheral vision, something stirs. I carefully turn around and see Cameron standing behind me. His hands are caked in blood; it trickles from his fingertips onto the carpet. Drip. He takes baby steps toward me. Drip. A scream hitches in my throat.

  “I’ve killed them,” he says, with a twist of his mouth.

  I shake my head, unable to respond. Who? I want to know.

  He doesn’t answer. One of his hands cracks. Bones break and grow, reforming into longer fingers. His nails extend, creating claws.

  I panic and turn around, prepared to fall to my death. But the window is intact, like none of this ever happened. Cameron springs at me. His deformed hand rises in the air and comes down at an inhuman speed—straight for my throat.

  I bolt up in bed. Perspiration beads up on my forehead. Tiny hairs on my arm prickle. I glance around my room. Of course it’s the way I left it. These stupid dreams have me constantly wondering what’s real and what’s imaginary.

  Swinging my legs around, I test how they perform on the floor. I’m a little shaky and don’t know if they’ll hold me up. But they do.

  I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of water. My throat is parched.

  Beth prances by the doorway. She halts and backs up. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine,” I reply, chugging more water.

  “Okay,” she says, totally unconvinced. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”

  I shoot her a confused look, and then glance at the clock on the stove. It’s almost 11:30.

  “Sorry. I lost track of time,” I tell her.

  “Oh, honey, were you asleep? Your hair is messed up,” says Beth, picking at a few pieces of hair that stick out in different directions. My hair’s frizzy from bed-head, like I stuck my finger in a light socket and electrocuted myself.

  “I have these crazy dreams.” They’re dreams, so why do they bother me so much? “It’s nothing, really,” I say, quickly changing my tone and waving off my words.

  “It sure doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me. You look awful. I mean, I hate to be the one to tell you.” She pauses, biting her lower lip. “Candra, if there’s anything you want to tell me—”

  “There’s not,” I interrupt her, turning away and sitting my cup in the sink. “It’s just dreams. Dreams aren’t real.”

  “Okay, well, if you change your mind, I’ll listen,” she says, patting me on the back. I nod, as she leads me into the living room. “Whenever you’re ready to do this, we’ll go.”

  “Let’s go then. I’ve been ready since this morning.”

  Outside, the air is as thick as concrete. Clouds lay low in the sky, creating a blanket of grey. We load up in Beth’s white Infiniti. She quickly turns a few knobs, trying to get the heat rolling, but the vents blow chilly air. My legs shake and I rub my hands t
ogether, since I’m not wearing gloves.

  “I think this weather is getting worse,” Beth says, glancing through the windshield.

  “I h-hate c-cold w-wea-weather,” I stutter.

  Beth frowns. “I’m sorry, Candra. The engine will be warm soon.”

  Heat circulates through the car by the time we reach the stop sign at the end of the street. I hold my hands in front of the vents, so they can defrost. Beth glances at me for a second, and then pays attention to the road.

  “So this Magena…” I begin. The heat starts to relax me, and I lean back against my seat.

  “Mmhmm?” Beth questions.

  “What’s she like? Is she one of us?”

  The crook of Beth’s mouth jerks. “She’s a lot older than Randy and I. She also doesn’t take sides. Ever. She doesn’t agree with the constant battle we’ve fought for decades. Be sure not to bring it up. We don’t want to upset her. There’s no telling what she might do,” she warns.

  “But why doesn’t she pick sides, especially if she’s friends with you?” I ask, situating myself so that my body is turned toward the driver’s seat. The vent next to my window blows heat, feeling like it could scorch a hole in my jacket. I crack my window.

  Beth glances at me, but doesn’t say anything about the cool air rolling through the car. Instead, she says, “Nobody asks her that. I can’t tell you.” She shrugs. “I do know that she comes from a very old line of werewolves. They believe in peace between humans and our kind. She stays out of our problems, and doesn’t ask questions.”

  “Why don’t they ask her?” I stare out my window. The frigid air licks my forehead and makes my skin bristle.

  “Someone asked her once, and they were literally kicked out. She’s made it crystal clear that she wants nothing to do with our families going back and forth with each other.”

  “Okay,” I start, “no mentioning the Conways or anything having to do with people taking sides, and I’ll be good to go.”

  “Right,” Beth confirms with a nod.

  “What if she brings it up?” I glance out the window.

  Beth falters before saying, “I wouldn’t count on it. She can be a tricky one, and she’s been known to test people. I’m positive she expects me to advise you beforehand of what she stands for.”

  “Okay,” I say, pretending to zip my lips.

  Magena’s decrepit house is on the other side of town, surrounded by—surprisingly—a rainbow of flowers. Sure, the place is a bit creepy, but the flowers add color and life. Beth and I wait at the front door. I’m scared one of the wooden porch boards will snap underneath our weight.

  The front door creaks open.

  “Come in,” Magena says with a couple of waves of her left hand. Her right hand is occupied with a cane. Her hair is a mixture of salt and pepper, and puffs up like a blowfish.

  I sneak a quick glance toward Beth, but she ignores me.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Beth says once she’s inside. I’m close behind her.

  Maggie shuts the front door and says, “Is this her? Bill’s daughter?” Her voice is croaky and razor sharp, like she’s been smoking for one hundred years.

  “Yes, this is Candra.” Beth places her hand on my shoulder.

  No, I’m Mother Theresa in disguise.

  Maggie gives me one sweeping glance up and down, then grunts. “She’s a strong one. More than she knows.”

  I just stand there, convinced this woman is loony. Maggie hobbles toward the kitchen without saying another word. Beth turns to me and says, “She’s dealt with magic and she’s good at deciphering the core of people. If she says you’re strong, then you are, though you may not know it yet. C’mon,” she says, leading me into the kitchen.

  Maggie stirs a pot full of something that smells like a mixture of freshly cut grass and blood.

  I want to vomit.

  To redirect my attention, I take in the house. It’s cramped, and random stuff adorns the walls. The kitchen is a faded pink. Not quite Pepto-Bismol pink, but at some point in time it might’ve been. Dried herbs hang from the window and in the arched doorways. A doll made out of wicker dangles on the wall nearest the front door.

  The woman’s a freaking witch doctor.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Maggie wheezes. Even while standing in place and stirring her poisonous soup, her breathing comes out strong.

  “What are you making? It smells delicious,” Beth praises.

  I shoot Beth a crazy-eyed stare. She catches it and mouths, “What?” at me. I roll my eyes.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes, young lady,” Maggie says. I whip my head around and see that her back faces me. She’s still fixing dinner. Carefully, she turns, tapping her skull, and says, “I have eyes in the back of my head.”

  I’m flabbergasted. Does she really…

  Beth leans over and whispers, “Told you.”

  “How’d you do that?” I ask.

  “Years of experience, my dear. You have much to learn.” She places piping hot bowls of stew in front of Beth and me. She brings a loaf of sliced, dark bread on a platter and sets it in the middle of the table. “Rabbit soup. Eat up,” she roughly states.

  I tempt fate and try the food. Believe it or not, it’s actually better than I imagined. Before I realize what happened, I’m scraping the bottom of the bowl and using the bread to clean it dry.

  I’m shocked with myself, but scoot my chair back and take my dish to the sink.

  “Have a seat, Candra,” Maggie says, tapping my chair with her wooden cane. I oblige. “What is it you want to know?” Her eyebrows crease and her gaze might be considered menacing.

  “She wants to know—” Beth begins.

  Maggie interrupts. “I asked her, Elizabeth. Let the girl speak.”

  Beth folds her hands in her lap, giving a nod.

  “What about these powers I’ll get on my birthday?” I nervously ask.

  Maggie’s eyes glaze, as she stares off to somewhere I can’t see. “I’ll give you a rundown of the basics first. If, after that, you want to learn more, then I’ll be happy to tell you.”

  “Okay,” I say, prepared to listen intently.

  “We don’t know who the first werewolf was or how he came to have these powers. Even my ancestors whispered about who was first. Some say he’s still alive today. They say he’s wiser than anyone in history and that his powers are greater than all his descendants’ combined. We believe our powers now are fragments of his, broken and disbursed over time.” She says the words with great enthusiasm and great respect.

  “How can nobody know who he is? I mean, someone had to know him at some point.”

  “Only those in dire need of his help may utter his name,” she says, resting her chin and hands on top of her staff.

  “That’s crazy. How can they call him if they don’t know what he goes by?” I snort.

  “Don’t mock me, child. It is said by Ancients that you will know what to say at precisely the right time. Some say he speaks to you.”

  “So, you’ve never met him?” I squirm in the wooden chair, as the back rungs press into my spine.

  “I’ve never had a moment where I need him.” A deep, forced sigh escapes her lips. “Perhaps one day I’ll be honored enough to be in his presence.”

  I think of something quick to say to get her out of the loopy daydreams about someone who may or may not exist.

  “So it’s true that no one knows what their power will be until it happens?” I ask, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts. Beth remains eerily quiet.

  “Correct,” Maggie says, with a swift nod.

  “And I won’t necessarily get my powers as soon as I turn eighteen?”

  “Some acquire their power when midnight tolls. Others may be late bloomers.”

  “What if I don’t know what it is, even after it happens?”

  “You’ll know,” is all Maggie says. One eyebrow rises, as if she’s tempting me to second guess her answer. “Anything else?” she asks when I don’t test h
er.

  I shake my head.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve told you you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You just have to believe in yourself, believe in your family and friends.” Maggie nods for me to agree. When I do, she adds, “You have werewolf blood from both sides, not just one. You’ve also faced your enemies and stood tall, am I correct?” She lifts her eyebrows.

  I throw a bit of confusion at her. How does she know about the fight?

  Pushing it aside, I respond, “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about, child.” She pulls herself out of her chair with great effort, waddling to the sink with her bowl.

  “Beth, how does she know—” I whisper.

  Her eyes grow. “No,” she says in a hushed tone, warning me.

  I want to pursue this conversation further, but I don’t want us to get kicked out. I’m compelled to know answers. My mind reels with questions.

  “How do you know about that?” I blurt, twisting around in my chair to view Maggie.

  Beth makes an incoherent sound. I know I’ve probably screwed up.

  Maggie grumbles, and then says, “Word gets around. Not many people defeat a Conway, let alone one who isn’t yet a werewolf.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie isn’t as mean and intimidating as Beth makes her out to be, but she still leaves thoughts lingering in my head. Who’s the mysterious Ancient who doesn’t have a name and has powers greater than anyone alive? How does she know so much about this town, when she tries to keep her nose out of its happenings?

  After Beth and I get home, Jana picks me up.

  “I’ve had the craziest day,” I tell her as soon as I plop down in the passenger seat. “I met this witch doctor woman. She can see stuff without actually seeing it, and she claims there’s some old guy who might be alive, but only aids those who need his help.”

  “You’ve met Maggie.” She smiles at me.