by SM Reine
“No. This is a talk. Nothing more. Can we do that?” He stayed seated. When she didn’t move, he went on. “Do you remember a woman named Rita Patterson?”
How could she forget? When Rylie tried to tell her aunt about the werewolf thing, Gwyn took her to a hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. Rita was the woman who analyzed her. She’d worn a silver star around her neck, too, and told her not to tell anyone else she was a werewolf.
Suddenly, she remembered where she had heard Scott Whyte’s name before. “Rita tried to refer me to you. She said you were an expert in… my type of problems. But I didn’t have a way to visit California. I didn’t realize you’re a…”
“I’m not a werewolf. I’m a priest in a large Wiccan coven based in Long Beach. Do you know what Wiccans are?” She shook her head. “You could call us ‘witches’ if you like. We don’t have a church, but if we did, ‘coven’ would be the word for our congregation. You might think of me as a youth pastor. I specialize in young witches and werewolves. In fact, I have a pair of teens living with me that you should know by now.”
“Levi and Bekah are your kids. I’ve been to your house.”
“My wife and I adopted them. Their parents couldn’t handle their… special needs.”
Rylie felt dizzy and hot. She wished Seth was there. “What do you want from me?”
“Rita said a teen werewolf fell into her hospital, and she thought you needed our guidance. We’ve traveled all this way to help you, Rylie.”
“And to kill people?”
“No,” Scott said. “Absolutely not. Bekah and Levi have had problems, but they’re good people. More importantly, they’re in control.” He leaned forward on the desk. “I can help you learn that kind of control.”
She faltered. Her hand slipped off the doorknob. “You mean, you’re the one that taught them to change on command?”
“They learned that on their own. I helped give them coping tools—and a few spells. You notice they wear silver? I enchanted their jewelry. It subdues the spirit of the wolf so they can control themselves.”
The full implications of what he said sunk in. She felt light-headed.
“I can learn to change on command?”
“They still change on full and new moons, but they don’t lose themselves like most werewolves.”
“Does it hurt?” Rylie asked.
Scott steepled his fingers as he considered the question. “Most of the time… no. You’ve seen how good Bekah is at changing between moons—that’s her unique talent. Levi struggles. But it doesn’t hurt.”
“What about on the moons?”
His expression was gentle. “That’s a different situation.”
Her budding hope was immediately crushed. It will always hurt. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard it bled, but it held back her tears. “What do I have to do to learn what they know?” Her voice shook despite herself.
“You have to come with me. My coven can help you.”
“Let me talk to Seth,” Rylie said. “He’s a—um, he’s my boyfriend. He’s helping me now.”
Scott pushed back his chair to stand. “That’s something we need to discuss. Those brothers—those hunters—they’re dangerous. Yes, I know what they are,” he said upon seeing her shocked expression. “This invitation only extends to you. We need to get you out of here before they realize you’re gone.”
Leave Seth?
“No,” Rylie whispered.
“It’s okay,” Scott said, stepping around his desk. “I’m here to help you.”
A growl ripped from her throat. “Don’t come near me!”
He froze.
Fury gripped her. Seth’s voice filled her mind. Deep breaths. Think about something nice. But it was hard to focus on something nice when all she could do was focus on the pulsing vein in Scott’s throat.
Rylie grabbed the doorknob. He moved to stop her, but she ignored him.
She made it halfway down the street before he called to her.
“Rylie!”
She kept running. If she had to smell Bekah on him one more time, she would completely lose it.
Levi was dating her best friend. Her new psychologist was some kind of witch. Those people were taking over her life when all Rylie wanted to do was survive.
Why couldn’t they leave her alone?
She ran to Seth and Abel’s apartment. The Chevelle was parked outside, but she shoved her way inside without knocking.
“Seth!”
But he wasn’t there. Abel was polishing the parts of a gun while sitting on his futon. He didn’t look surprised to see her. “What do you want?”
She stopped short, staring around at the walls.
The apartment had changed since her last visit. Newspaper articles were pinned to every wall. A giant map of the area, printed on multiple sheets of plain paper, hung over Seth’s bed with color-coded pins stuck around town. A few banker’s boxes were scattered around the floor, too.
Rylie realized she was gaping and shut her mouth. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s ‘the process,’” Abel said, snorting. “My little man’s more like our mom than he thinks.”
“The process?”
“It’s how we hunt.” He gestured at the map with the muzzle of the pistol. “Those werewolf kids live at the house under the blue pin. Last I heard, he’s trying to figure out where they den up during the moons.”
A chill rolled down Rylie’s spine. “They’re living with a witch guy in a house outside town.”
“Yeah. We know.”
“You know?” she asked, eyes widening. “If you already knew, why didn’t you tell me?”
Abel set down an oil rag, peered closely at the barrel of his gun, and grabbed a thin rod. “We don’t have to tell you everything. Or anything at all. We were hunting a long time before you came around, and we’ll do it after you’re gone, too. We’ve seen witches before.”
“I thought you only hunted werewolves.”
He shrugged. “I’ll hunt anything dangerous. It’s fun.”
She backed toward the door. “Maybe I should…” Rylie caught something red out the corner of her eye. She turned to see a bulletin board covered in photographs. Her brain pieced together the stark shapes—a foot, a garbage bag, a Dumpster.
Rylie clapped a hand over her mouth.
“It’s worse in the pictures,” Abel said from right behind her. She whirled. He was only inches away.
The wolf reacted to his presence with excitement. Anticipation. It wanted to hunt again. “Their dad insisted that Bekah and Levi didn’t do it,” she said, backing up until she hit the wall.
“He’s lying. When did you talk to him?”
“A few minutes ago. My therapist is out of town, and he filled in for her.”
“That’s a heck of a coincidence,” Abel said.
“No… it’s not.” She took a deep breath. “He offered to teach me control.”
His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, and there was nowhere else for Rylie to escape. “You don’t need control,” he said. “You need release.”
The wolf loved the sound of that. A little too much, in fact.
She edged toward the door.
He didn’t follow. He sat on the futon and picked up the oil rag again. “You better get home. Your aunt says you’re not allowed to hang out here.”
“What? She told you that?”
Abel looked like he had eaten something sour. Apparently, the idea of acting like a grown up didn’t sit well with him. “She’s right. Go away. I’ll tell Seth you were here.”
Twelve
Super Healing
Rylie tried not to think about witches, leaving Seth, or hunting as she drove home. She turned up the radio extra loud and focused on the slick road.
But nothing could push away the strange feeling that had settled over her since speaking to Scott.
It’s always going to hurt.
She took a long, shuddering breath. “That’s it,�
� she announced to her reflection in the rearview mirror. “No more. Self-pity doesn’t help anything.”
Unsurprisingly, that didn’t fix anything.
Gwyn wasn’t in the house when she got home, which meant she was probably working with the cattle. Since Christmas was only three days away, Rylie took the chance to wrap gifts as a distraction. She hadn’t bought much. She got Seth books to help him study for his exams and nice new boots for Gwyn. The big box was fun to wrap.
Once she finished, the house felt too empty. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
Rylie dressed in warm clothes and headed out to the stable to find Butch. His stall was empty. Gwyn must have taken him instead of her normal horse.
She walked out to the pasture behind the barn. The cows had already worked their way through most of the hay Seth had put out with the tractor, so it looked like Gwyn was preparing to give them more to lead them back to the barn before it snowed heavily again.
The tractor sat in the middle of the field with a bale of hay in its prongs. Nobody was in the driver’s seat.
A horse wandered up to Rylie, and she knew it had to be Butch before she could make out his face markings. The other horses were too scared of her wolf smell. But Butch was so old and slow that he wouldn’t have run from a tiger if it jumped out of the bushes.
She caught his bridle and rubbed his nose.
“What are you doing out here saddled up and alone?”
He tossed his head and danced on his hooves. Rylie reined him in, climbed onto his back, and turned to head back the way he had come.
The breeze wafted the odor of sickness to Rylie’s nose—a distinctive smell that was unpleasant to her as a human, and way too attractive for the wolf. It was touched with urine, too. But not a cow’s urine.
Rylie crested the rise and saw a crumpled figure in the snow. Her heart stopped beating.
“Gwyn!”
She jumped off, ran to her aunt, and rolled Gwyn over to find her face blue. Her breathing was slow. Her eyelids barely fluttered at Rylie’s touch.
“Jane?” Gwyn mumbled.
“I’m not Jane. I’m your niece,” Rylie said. Jane used to be Gwyn’s partner, but they had been separated for ten years. She bit back sudden tears. “Hey, don’t pass out again. You have to stay awake. What happened?”
She responded with incoherent mumbles.
Rylie lifted her, and she was so light that her bones might have been replaced with marshmallow.
She tried to put her aunt in Butch’s saddle, but Gwyn wouldn’t sit upright, so she had to lay her across his back instead. Her thick braids dangled toward the ground.
The way back to the house never seemed to take so long before. Gwyn didn’t wake up when she carried her into the house and removed her outerwear.
Her hat had fallen off somewhere. Rylie would need to find it. It was a really nice hat, and Gwyn wouldn’t want it destroyed, maybe she should have gone back for it—but why was she worrying about the hat anyway?
Rylie set her on the couch before calling for help. She sat beside her on the floor as the man on the emergency line asked questions she couldn’t answer.
What had Gwyn been doing when she collapsed? Was she coherent? Did she have any pain, or problems breathing?
“I don’t know,” she said, over and over again. “I don’t know.”
Time moved at a weird rate. She sat beside Gwyn for at least a hundred years. When the ambulance arrived, everything sped and blurred.
All of a sudden, she found herself in a chair in the hospital waiting room. She didn’t remember the ride into town or her aunt getting admitted. She tried not to cry too loudly while the nurses worked on Gwyn. She kept worrying about the stupid hat and wondering if her dad’s heart attack had been anything like this.
The hospital stunk of disinfectant and medication and sickness. She wished that she could turn off her sense of smell for a few minutes. Rylie didn’t want to know about the dead body being moved two halls down, or that someone had vomited in the room beside Gwyn’s.
All those sick people. All that prey waiting to be picked off.
She smothered her tears in her hands.
“Rylie!”
The sound of Seth’s voice made Rylie go weak with relief. He hurried into the waiting room, and she somehow found the strength to stand up long enough to bury her face in his shoulder. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head and pressed his cheek to her hair. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I got home and I couldn’t find Gwyn, and the horse was wandering around on its own, and then—I found her. She had collapsed and fallen or something. Nobody told me what’s wrong. She just… collapsed.”
“It’s okay,” he said, squeezing tighter. “It’s okay.”
Waiting to hear about her aunt’s condition made Rylie not feel up to talking very much, but Seth waited with her anyway. She bit her fingernails until they bled, and then her hands warmed with her healing powers, and she started biting again.
After she destroyed her thumbnail three times in a row, Seth grabbed her fist.
“Don’t do that.”
She shook him off and paced the waiting room, stuffing her hands under her arms. “How long can it take to look at her? Why can’t we go inside? Someone needs to tell me something!”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He was staring at the TV. “Wait. Look at this.”
Seth reached up to increase the volume.
“…Maria Sharp left behind two kids and a husband, who say her love of baking and talented hand with a woodcarving knife will be sorely missed.” The news anchor had perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a perfectly sculpted sympathetic look. “Donations and gifts are being accepted at the Mill Street Baptist Church, where her family will be holding the memorial. In other news…”
“So what?” Rylie asked.
“You missed the headline,” he said, his brow drawn low to shadow his eyes. “She was killed in the animal attacks.”
She knew it was bad, very bad, and that there was something wrong about that news—beyond the fact someone had been killed—but she didn’t care enough to puzzle it out. Who cared about some dead woman anyway?
“Oh no,” she said flatly.
“I should have done something,” Seth muttered. It was quiet enough that Rylie wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear. “I should have been watching.”
But people were still going in and out of Gwyn’s door and she didn’t care what he had to say. Rylie wanted to grab the nurses and force them to tell her what was wrong. She angled herself to peer in her aunt’s door when it swung open again. The curtains were closed.
What was taking so long?
“Do you think Abel’s been acting weird?” Seth asked.
“What?” She stretched on her toes to see over a doctor when he slipped around the curtain, but a nurse obscured her view. Rylie caught up with the conversation a moment later. “Abel… weird?” She still hadn’t told Seth about their hunt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve found nothing that points to Levi and Bekah being killers,” Seth said, keeping his voice low and an eye on the hall. Nobody was close enough to hear their conversation. “In fact, people have been dying in these animal attacks for two months.”
“Does that mean it’s actually animals?” Rylie asked.
Tension radiated from his shoulders. He suddenly wouldn’t look at her. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t have any leads.”
His smell changed. Was he lying?
Gwyn’s door opened again, distracting her. A nurse wheeled a cart into the hall and disappeared around the corner.
“I can’t stand it,” she said. “I’m done waiting.”
Before she could push into Gwyn’s room, a doctor stepped out, stopping Rylie short. “What’s wrong?” she asked when he looked up from his chart. She felt breathless, like she had been running, even though she could have run for m
iles without becoming winded.
“Ms. Gresham is resting,” he said, glancing at his cell phone. “She fainted and hit her head, but she’s alert now.”
“Will she be okay?”
“That’s a tough question with a complicated answer.”
He checked his phone again. Rylie wanted to grab his shirt and shake him. How could anything be more important than her aunt? Only Seth’s steadying hand on her arm—where had he come from?—kept her from doing something stupid.
“Rylie?”
Hearing her aunt’s weak voice made every violent thought vanish. Rylie pushed the doctor aside and went inside.
Gwyn had a needle in her arm and a couple bags of fluid hanging over her head. Rylie’s heart fragmented into a hundred pieces to see it. She sank into the chair at her side.
“Still not dead, babe,” Gwyn said. Her words croaked, so she cleared her voice before speaking again. “So stop looking like you’re mourning.”
Rylie had promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore, but seeing her aunt looking so small and helpless in a hospital bed was too much. Her dad’s death was frighteningly sudden—one day, he kissed her goodbye, and the next, a counselor was giving her the bad news—and she wasn’t sure if it was worse losing a family member quickly or not.
Teardrops plopped on the backs of her hands. She sniffled hard and wiped them on her jeans. “You fell,” Rylie said. It was difficult to speak around the lump in her throat.
“Everybody falls.”
“Not everybody is sick, though. I knew you were getting worse!”
“I’ve been feeling fine,” she insisted. “But… I haven’t watched my t-cell counts as closely as I should, and I didn’t like how my medication made me feel. So I didn’t take a lot of it.” Anger burst in Rylie’s chest, but Gwyn touched her hand before she could speak. The IV was taped to her wrist. “Everybody falls. Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Mistakes like this could kill you,” Rylie said.
“Sometimes the treatment feels worse than the disease. You’ll understand someday—hopefully not anytime soon.” She sighed. “But you’re right. Now we’re both paying the price.”
Dread settled like a lead weight in Rylie’s stomach. “What’s happened?”
