As I worked in the flower beds around the dining hall later that morning, I watched for Austin to show up, but he never did. Meanwhile, Charles sweated away, hauling rocks and shoving them into place. A couple of times he shouted over to me, but I ignored him.
Later that afternoon, Ariel and I were on our way to the sand volleyball court. Cynthia had told the whole cabin to meet there for a bonding game, but so far we were the only ones headed that way. With all the weeding, I was missing out on camp sports. A friendly volleyball game would get my mind off stuff for a while.
“We’re going to pass by the infirmary,” Ariel said. “You know, if you decide you want to check on Austin.”
“What?” I tugged down the edges of my University of Wisconsin T-shirt. It was the pink one that always rode up on my belly, but I loved it so much I couldn’t bear to give it away.
“Well, Austin wasn’t at lunch, so I asked Price and he said Austin got sick this morning. Probably allergies or a stomachache or something.”
“Oh.” Was he really sick? I remembered he’d told me last night that he’d be feeling sick off his medicine at first. Well, apparently, he’d made that part of the lie come true. Still, if he was telling people he was a freaking werewolf, he was either a pathological liar or completely mental. I doubted the nurse had a cure for that.
“So, do you want to go in?” Ariel asked. “I mean, I know you like him—I saw you talking to him in the woods last night.”
I paused on the trail. For half a second I considered telling Ariel about Austin’s crazy lie, but I remembered promising not to tell anyone. And I always kept my word, even to people who made stuff up. “He’s got major issues,” I said.
“Oh, and you don’t?” Ariel gave me a questioning look as we approached the infirmary. “He’s probably in there. Maybe you should take a look. You know you want to…”
“I’m so not going in there,” I said. “What would I say?”
Ariel rolled her eyes. “Oh, forget it. Stay here.” She flung open the infirmary door and went in.
I wasn’t going to leave Ariel, so I sat down on the wooden bench out front. After only about a minute, Ariel came out holding an ice pack on her forehead.
“Oh, crap! What happened?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Start walking.” When we got farther away from the infirmary, she lowered the ice pack. “I told the nurse I bumped my head on a bunk bed.”
I gave her a doubtful look. “Um…you’re totally short.”
“Yeah, and apparently the nurse is totally dumb.”
I smiled at her triumphant grin. “So…was he in there?”
Ariel let out a huge sigh as we sat down on the grass beside the volleyball court. “Uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, but he was going through the nurse’s purse.”
Oh, great. Austin Bridges III was a kleptomaniac, too? I forced myself to forget all the other things I thought about him and focus on the facts.
“What was he looking for?” I said.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask him.”
“Well, how did he look?”
She shrugged and then gestured around at the volleyball court, which was starting to fill up. Humming, Cynthia Crumb marched past us with a net bag full of balls.
“He looked bad?” I whispered.
“He looked, um…scruffy. Like he needed a shave and a shower.”
“Well, he’s not exactly the type that’d follow a metrosexual skin regime,” I said.
“Moisturizer is for everyone, every day,” said Ariel with a bored smile. “At least that’s DeVoisier Inc.’s motto.”
“So what’s really wrong with him?”
“Stomachaches are easy to fake at camp. The nurses always believe you because the food is mostly slop.”
“Well, everyone knows his drugs are locked up with the contraband in Mr. Winters’s office,” I said, feeling a little Nancy Drew at the moment. “So what was in the nurse’s purse that he wanted? A cell phone?”
Ariel raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “His dad’s on safari. The manager hates him. Who else would he call?”
Ariel was right. I thought about Austin’s distant family, about how he really had no one reliable to fall back on. Neither of us did, in a way. Did that mean it was okay to steal stuff, to tell crazy lies, to say things like “trust me” to someone who might almost be your friend? No way. You didn’t treat your friends like that. And if that was the kind of person he was, then I needed to stay away from him.
But somehow I didn’t want to.
What is it with square dancing? Why do old people think that it’s even remotely fun? All that awkward hand-holding and twirling just made me dizzy and desperate for hand sanitizer.
Pretending I was tired, I sat out a dance, scanning the crowd that filled the barnlike gym that night. No Austin. He was a master at disappearing from things. I’d seen him briefly at dinner, but he hadn’t looked my way once. Maybe he was angry at me about last night, for calling him a liar. But where was he now?
As Cynthia, the square-dance caller, droned on, I slouched on the bench, watching the dancers and being bored out of my mind. Ariel seemed to be having fun with Price. As they do-si-doed, he shoved his free hand through his dark bangs, combing them out of his eyes. Unfortunately, doing that revealed a bright crop of acne on his forehead. Still, he seemed nice, and he was totally into Ariel.
Actually, he was on her. Standing on her foot, I mean.
“My toe, my toe!” she yelped, hopping around.
A crowd gathered around Ariel. Poor Price went as red as ketchup.
I rushed over to where Ariel was now writhing on the ground. “Are you all right?”
She stopped writhing. “Duh. This is your chance to quit moping around and go find Austin,” she whispered. “I think I broke my toes!” she whined to the crowd.
“You’ll be all right,” I said, helping her to a bench.
“Uh-oh,” said Sven, rolling down Ariel’s sock. “Lots of redness.”
“We need the nurse,” I said.
“It’s her night off,” Mr. Winters said in his booming voice. “We can do first aid. Don’t worry, kids, I’ve got my kit right here.”
“She needs ice,” I said.
Mr. Winters smiled at me, and it was such a genuine smile, I kinda felt bad. But this show was all for a good cause. I had to keep going. “She’s my friend, the least I can do is get her ice.”
Mr. Winters nodded. “Very kind of you, Shelby. I’ll trust you to go to the kitchen. Sweet Mrs. Neighbors, the cook, is probably about to close up for the night, so you’d better run. Just tell her I sent you.”
“This is just great,” Ariel said. “I’m the only camper in history to get hurt square dancing,” she said, with an annoyed look. “How geeky is that?”
“Time for a sing-along,” Cynthia Crumb called out as I left the gym. That was perfect. She’d be too wrapped up in the song to hunt me down for a little while. And by the time she did, hopefully I’d know what was up with Austin.
I wasn’t sure exactly why I felt drawn to him. Maybe it was some sort of protective thing, or maybe it was just that out of everyone at camp he was one of the two people I actually felt a connection with. And seriously, though telling someone you’re a werewolf is an obvious cry for help, he was entertaining and not bad to look at.
I decided to go find him along with the ice. At least that would get me away from the mindlessness of the square dancing, away from the kids who treated me like I was only cool because my dad was rich, and away from the adults who were trying to get me to open up.
As I headed out into the darkness, I told myself this was different from all the other times, that he was different from all the other boys. I just had no clue how right I was.
The path stretched out before me, gravel tinted pinkish by the fluorescent lights of the buildings ahead. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the clouds, crowning the evergreens along the path with silvery halos. Everything
was quiet except for the hum of the electricity powering the lights and the buzz of insects.
I didn’t have much time, so I ran to the infirmary first. I didn’t see anyone, and the building was locked and deserted. So was the office. I doubled back and headed toward the cabins, but when I reached Sapsucker, no Austin.
Time was ticking by, and I still needed the ice. I booked up to the dining hall, its darkened windows looking like the hollow eyes of a sad face. The doors were locked. I knocked, but nothing happened. I could see a faint light radiating from the back of the hall, so I figured maybe the cook was in the kitchen cleaning. The pans from the chili dinner were probably pretty awful, especially the ones from the burned-tasting cornbread. I was so glad I’d been on weed duty and not stuck with dishes.
I rounded the back of the building, where there was a sort of alley. Sheltered by a stand of leafy trees, Dumpsters lined the far end of the collection of deep potholes and small patches of grass I’d be stretching to call a road.
One weak floodlight spilled a yellowish glow down onto the entrance of the road where I stood, but beyond that, it was all dark except for a square of light cutting into the gloom. Wait. The square was probably the window in the kitchen door. If the lights were on, the cook was still there. Ice, coming right up.
But first I had to charge down the dark alley, the exact opposite of everything anyone ever teaches you about personal safety. A light breeze stirred the leaves on the trees at the end of the alley, making a rustling sound that skeeved me out a little, but I walked forward, focusing on the light ahead, until I reached the door.
I was going to knock, but when I pulled at the handle, it gave way easily. It’d been propped open. Quietly, I stepped into the kitchen. The yeasty-sweet aroma of tomorrow’s breakfast bread hung in the air. Mmm. The smell reminded me of my mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls.
“Hello?” I called out. I peeked around the corner of the giant mixer toward the bank of sinks, but I didn’t see the cook. Maybe she was off fixing her hairnet. “Um, I’m just here to get some—”
Slurrrggrrrfff!
A bizarre animal noise made me spin back toward the open kitchen door. I ran over and peered out into the alley. What the heck had made that sound? I took a few steps away from the door but noticed the floor seemed slippery all of a sudden.
I looked down.
Holy crap. Blood. A spattery blood trail I hadn’t noticed when I’d come in, distracted by the cinnamon yumminess. At least I thought it was blood. It sure didn’t look like ketchup.
The blood trail led to the kitchen, where I’d been before. What if it was the cook? Had something happened to that nice old lady? She could be hurt and I knew first aid. At the very least I’d assess the situation and then run and get Mr. Winters. I let out the breath I’d been holding and walked the edges of the blood-drop trail until it stopped at a giant silver door.
The walk-in refrigerator.
Uh-oh. I so didn’t even want to know, but I had to check it out. I mean, it was ridiculous the stories my brain was spinning! It was probably nothing but a mess the cook somehow forgot to clean up.
I threw open the door and stepped inside. The cool air hit me like a snowball in the face. Hugging my bare arms around my chest, I looked around. Thankfully, I didn’t see any hanging corpses stuck between slabs of beef.
In fact, there wasn’t any hanging meat at all. Plastic bins, produce boxes, and industrial-size tubs of imitation nacho cheese sauce and “krab” salad filled the metal shelves that lined the walls. On the bottom shelf near some ugly-looking carrots, I found a white tub of meat chunks. Not New York steaks or anything but maybe pot roast, like the housekeeper had made for Dad’s birthday this year.
Those meat chunks were bloody, all right, and there was a little pool of red in front of the tub, like someone had pulled a few pieces out of it. I sighed, relieved that at least I wasn’t going to find the cook hacked up or anything. That’s when I realized that the blood trail didn’t lead in. It led out. Out to where the noise came from. Gross! Had someone killed the cook and dragged her outside?
I darted out of the walk-in refrigerator and sneaked toward the door, careful not to step in the blood again. As I passed the counter, I noticed the trays of cinnamon rolls rising near the ovens. That made me feel better. So the cook would be back soon, from wherever she’d gone. Listening more carefully now to the sounds coming from the main dining room, I could make out the laugh track of a television sitcom. She was probably vegging in her office while she waited to bake the rolls for the morning. Thank goodness she was all right. But what was up with the blood?
Slurrrggrrrfff! I heard the weird noise again, so I slipped out the back door and slid up against the building wall, listening. And then I heard a worse noise than the creepy sounds—the click of the kitchen door shutting. The door that had been propped open and was now locked tight when I jiggled the handle.
Slurrrggrrrfff! The sound came from near the Dumpster. It was like a wild animal eating something. Yikes.
I eased down the alleyway, still hugging the wall so whatever it was wouldn’t see me going by. I would just sneak away and it wouldn’t even notice. Swallowing to clear my screaming muscles, I focused on staying calm, staying alert, staying invisible.
Slurrggrrrrrrr! The noise changed, going from a slurpy sound to a warning.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. My throat felt all cloggy. Would I be able to scream for help or not? My heartbeat must have been about a thousand beats per minute because I suddenly felt like I was going to faint or something.
Luckily, my subconscious is a total hardass. Wait, it said, remember what your dad told you about the woods—animals are usually more scared of you than you are of them. Suck it up and be brave. I jumped out from the wall and said, “Hold it right there! Drop the pot roast!”
Okay, so in retrospect it wasn’t the coolest thing to say. But the sound stopped. And a figure rose up behind the Dumpster. Everything was so dark at that end of the alley, I couldn’t see for sure what it was.
I took a step closer. “Shoo! Uh…whatever you are!” I called out.
Now I could see it was a person—a guy. The dude had his hands on the Dumpster’s lid now, like he was bracing himself. Totally creeped out, I started backing away.
“Stop,” he called out. Just then the clouds parted, sending down a pool of moonlight over top of us. And I found myself face-to-face with the meat thief.
Austin.
In the moonlight, blood shimmered dark around his lips. His chin, also stained, looked scruffier than it had earlier, like he needed a shave.
“Shelby.” He smiled, showing teeth whiter than I’d ever seen, way beyond the Zoom! teeth whitening Dad had let me get. And sharp, too, with pointy ends reflecting the pale light.
But they weren’t the only things gleaming. His skin, his neck, his shoulders, his bare chest. Wait. Bare chest? He was topless in an alley, snarfing down raw meat?
“What, um, are you doing?” I asked, forcing myself to say something, anything. The hair on the back of my neck was still at attention, with some kind of follicle-deep sense of danger. I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling an odd coldness.
He stepped out from around the Dumpster, and I instinctively moved back while trying not to stare at Austin’s toned chest muscles and abs. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, his voice taking on a soothing tone. “It’s only me.”
Probably thinking I was gawking at the blood on his face, he swiped at his chin with his bare arm. Then he pulled on a black T-shirt he’d grabbed from behind the Dumpster. Casually, he said, “You’ve no reason to be frightened.”
“Um…this is a little creepy.”
He took another step forward, maybe expecting me to back up again, but I tried to be brave. My hands shook anyway, and my head filled with Charles’s story about the girl who was attacked. Holy crap.
“So, I’m just going to mosey back to the square dance,” I said, while in my head I f
lipped through the self-defense techniques my gym teacher had taught me that spring. My basic plan was to give him a swift kick in the groin and then run like hell.
Austin held up a hand, which, I noticed with a shiver, was dark with blood. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “Graham will send me somewhere else, and the problem will only worsen. I need the serum in Mr. Winters’s office.”
I laughed nervously. “Right, the serum.”
“I told you.” He’d moved closer and was looking at me intently. His eyes flashed bluish silver, inhuman as they reflected the moonlight peeking through the clouds. “I’m Lycan.”
Crap. I took a few steps backward. “No way. You—you are, aren’t you?”
Austin Bridges III really is a werewolf! He wasn’t a druggie. He wasn’t mental. And he wasn’t a liar. The one boy in camp I cared about had different problems altogether.
“Don’t worry. The full moon’s not for three days. I won’t change against my will until then. You’re safe,” Austin said with a small laugh.
“Uh-huh.” I tried to smile. “So, I’ll just be going now.”
“I know it’s quite a lot to take in.”
I glanced up the alleyway, mentally counting the steps to the clearing. “Look, I’d love to stay and be all Dr. Phil and everything, but I’ve got to get some ice for Ariel’s fake broken toe before they send a search party after me. You might want to go in and clean up the blood trail you left in the kitchen.”
He looked embarrassed. “I must have forgotten my manners being so famished.”
“You better do it before the cook thinks there’s been a murder. Oh, but the door’s locked now.”
“I’ll boost myself through the window again,” he said, shrugging. “It’ll be quicker if you wait here and I fetch the ice for you.”
Yeah, right! I was supposed to wait in a dark alley for him? “Umm…”
“You can’t go back without it.”
“No,” I said begrudgingly. “I need the ice. But I’ll meet you around front…in the light.”
Never Cry Werewolf Page 8
