Waxing Moon

by Sarah E Stevens

  “Where did the Salamanders go?” asked Eliza.

  “Don’t know. They left in a car parked down the street. I found the Were’s scent all over the neighborhood—he may have watched the house for quite a while. Weeks.”

  News to me. I frowned at Tim.

  “When the Were ran, he crossed the road several times and I lost his scent. He might have gotten into the car with the Salamanders.”

  Eliza continued debriefing Tim then turned to me with pointed questions. I told the story from the beginning, then halted at several points—including a full description of the water in Carson’s room—before she was satisfied she’d caught up with all the known information. Which didn’t seem like much, frankly.

  By this time, it was nearly nine o’clock at night. Carson had been asleep for a full two hours, probably a response to the prior sleepless night, and I felt like propping my eyelids open with toothpicks. However, when Eliza said she wanted to go to the house right then, in lieu of waiting for the next day when the scent trail would be colder, I sat up straight and said I wanted to go, too.

  Sheila frowned. “If you go, I’m coming. Gotta keep you out of trouble, Jules.”

  “Actually, I’d rather you stay here with Tim and watch Carson. I don’t think he’ll wake up, but if he does, you could give him a bit of rice cereal.” I stopped short. “Oh shit,” I said.

  “What?” asked Sheila.

  “I was supposed to work today. I didn’t even call them,” I said. A month ago, I returned to my job at the Jacksonville branch library. Carson spent his time at a daycare center near our house.

  Eliza looked dubious. “I’m sure they’ll understand. Can you take a few weeks of vacation until we sort out all this?”

  “No. I used up all my vacation for maternity leave.” I rubbed my forehead, focusing on my right temple where it felt like someone was stabbing me with a long, thin needle.

  “Leave without pay, then,” said Sheila in a decided voice. “You can’t go back to work—at least this week.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued. “Jules, don’t be an idiot. Think about it; do you want to leave Carson at daycare? Do you want the library burned down around you? We have to figure out who’s responsible for this and you can’t do that while sitting behind the research desk.”

  “You mean, I can’t just Google ‘murdering Salamanders’ and ‘rogue Weres’ and find the answer that way?” I essayed the weak joke and received an approving smile from my best friend.

  “Just leave it to me, Jules,” Sheila drawled and gave me a wink. “I’ll call them in the morning and arrange some time off.”

  Unsure whether to feel patronized or relieved Sheila would take care of it, I opted for the latter. “Okay.” Decided, I turned to Eliza. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  The first few minutes of our drive were quiet, as I engaged in some deep breaths to ease my tension. Eliza watched me out of the corner of her eye while she drove the rental car up Highway 99 toward Jacksonville. It was one of those beautiful evenings at the end of the summer, with the air crisping into autumn. Darkness flooded the valley floor with the waxing moon occasionally sending light through the cloud cover and onto the slopes of the Cascades.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Julie.” Eliza let out a slow breath.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I should have been here. If I’d been here, I could have protected you.”

  I shrugged. “Well, you’ve got a pack and a life back in Greybull. You can’t move to southern Oregon.”

  “I know. But we can’t protect you while you’re here all alone.”

  I frowned at her pointed tone.

  Eliza hit the brakes slightly when she saw the drive-through coffee kiosk approaching. “Do you want a coffee or something?”

  I smiled in spite of everything. “No, it’s too late.”

  “What? There’s a time and a place when Julie Hall doesn’t want a coffee?” Eliza grinned at me. “How about a chai? A decaf latte?”

  “Very funny.” The decaf latte actually sounded kind of tempting, but I made a face at her anyway.

  “Mother moon, Julie. How do we get ourselves into these scrapes? You really could have been killed last night.” She shook her head. “Goddamn firebugs. Why are they after you? And a Were allied with them?”

  Passing headlights illustrated the frown on Eliza’s face as she continued. “It’s nearly impossible to outwit a called fire. You were lucky, really lucky. Thank the moon Carson called water. He really is strong. What a Were he’s going to grow up to be…”

  After a moment and another sidelong glance, Eliza said, “You know, you don’t need to worry about your job here. The Full’s promised you pack support and a position in Greybull. You could just quit your job at the library.”

  “Eliza.”

  “Your house is gone and there’s no reason for you to rebuild here in Jacksonville. Take the insurance money and buy something in Greybull. The pack really does need someone to help with our archive—”

  “I keep telling you. You can’t call a room full of musty boxes an archive.” I tried to distract Eliza’s mini-rant, but she continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Exactly. You could sort through things, organize them. The records might even have information that would help us understand Carson, why he’s so strong, how he’s likely to develop, how to help him. No one’s been through that stuff for decades. If you moved, you wouldn’t have to worry about being alone with no protection. The pack would provide you with a salary, with housing, with training for Carson—”

  “Just stop it! Eliza, I’m not moving to Greybull!” Greybull: population eighteen hundred and some, home of a pack of Werewolves, all of whom would dote on Carson the uber-strong Werewolf and secretly pity me for being merely a dark moon wolf. At the same time, they’d caution me against wanting to be a Were, continually rubbing my face in the fact that I’d risk my life if I were bitten, if I tried to become a Were in truth. My whole life would revolve around the pack, as I dug into their history and their records. Carson would grow, gain even more abilities, and become central to the pack. Maybe even pack leader, someday, the Full. Heck, leader of the national council. There weren’t any other Werewolves as strong as Carson. And me? I’d be stuck socializing with Weres who pitied me or other humans in town from whom I’d have to keep this enormous secret.

  No way in hell would I move to Greybull. Carson and I would manage on our own. His uncle Ian would help, as would the rest of the MacGregor family, although Carson’s grandparents weren’t strong Weres. Tim—surely Tim could teach Carson what he needed to know. And Eliza, too, if she stopped harping on the need for me to move closer to her pack.

  “We’ve been over this time and again, Eliza.” I tried for a light tone. “I’m not the Wyoming type, okay? And I’m not part of your pack. You and Lily—” I consciously neglected to use her pack title, “can’t force me to move to Greybull.”

  I faced straight ahead. “I’ll be fine right here. I’ll rebuild my house. This is my home.”

  I would never, ever move to Greybull. Unless—but I stopped that thought before it fully formed. I couldn’t risk some Were biting me to turn me from a dark moon to a true Were. I couldn’t risk death.

  Eliza lifted her hands off the steering wheel in mock surrender. “Consider the subject dropped.” She didn’t need to add “for now.” I heard it anyway.

  I decided to switch gears. “What are you hoping to find at the house?”

  One shoulder shrugged. “I’d like to get a handle on the scents, that’s all. So I know them.”

  “Do, uh, Salamanders smell different than humans?”

  “Firebugs stink. Like strong sunlight or a struck match.”

  I glanced at her in surprise. “I’m not sure sunlight has a smell, but I like the smell of matches.” Or I did. Before. “So. I take it you’re not a Salamander fan, then?”

  “No self-respecting Were is. They…” One hand traced
a circle in the air as Eliza sought the words. “They feel compelled to flaunt their supposed superiority. Linked to the sun, not the moon. The moon only reflects the sun’s light; the sun is the real source.” Her voice mocked the sentiment. “They’re never…subtle. When firebugs are in the room, it’s like they need all the attention, all the light, all the focus on them. They suck the very oxygen from the air.”

  She shrugged again. “I can’t describe it.”

  I wisely chose to stay silent, instead of pointing out Eliza herself had a tendency to commandeer a situation, to bring roiling energy into a room and raise the hairs on the back of my neck, to occupy more space than even her admittedly tall figure necessitated. Not in a bad way—or, at least, not always—but I’d seen Eliza use her very presence to cow others. Tim, on the other hand, downplayed his strength, faded into the crowd, unless he needed to make a show of power.

  “Have you known a lot of Salamanders?”

  “I’ve run into them from time to time. Steered clear of them as much as possible, for obvious reasons.” Scorn filled her voice.

  “All right,” I said. “Weres don’t like Salamanders, check. But Tim said you usually get along okay? Live and let live and all of that? I mean, they don’t go around the countryside trying to burn down Were houses, right?”

  “Right. Probably because they know they’d lose in any honest fight.” Eliza glanced at me as if daring me to contradict her claim. I just nodded. “Although some of those firebugs…you never know what they’re going to burn.”

  “Are there lots of Salamanders?”

  “Define ‘lots.’ ”

  I huffed an exasperated breath, and Eliza flashed a grin before answering my question. “Probably about the same as Weres. Maybe eight thousand in the US. They don’t have a tendency to congregate the way we do, though.”

  “So no packs? Or, whatever a group of lizards would be called?”

  Eliza considered for a moment. “A school of Salamanders? A slime of Salamanders?”

  “I like it. A slime of Salamanders.”

  “Okay, then. No, they don’t have slimes.”

  I snorted.

  Eliza dropped her playful tone and her expression tightened. “We’re close. I want to focus.”

  I’d been so diverted by our conversation I hadn’t realized we were mere blocks from my house. I clenched my fists and hoped Eliza couldn’t hear the sudden jump in my heartbeat with her damned Were senses.

  Eliza cracked the window and slowed the car. We drove the last few minutes in silence, Eliza scenting the air, me trying to ignore the wisps of char in the breeze. We parked the car almost exactly where Tim had stopped earlier in the day. There weren’t any firefighters at the scene now, though the yellow tape still hung forlornly across my driveway. The fire must be solidly doused, then, no fear about smoldering ashes. This time of year, southern Oregon was like a tinderbox—full of dry grasses and evergreen needles—so I know the firefighters must have been concerned.

  I forced myself to look away from the burned shell even as it called to me. I wanted to run to the house, to feel the charred wood and broken bits under my hands, to roll in it, to taste it, to somehow understand. I could have stayed there forever, just staring. I heard the roar of the fire, glass shattering, my own voice screaming. I jumped and my hands flew to my throat when I saw flames in the road—then I realized the red glow was from taillights, just the lights of a car passing. I blinked furiously and finally pried my clenched jaw open to ask—in what I desperately hoped was a normal voice—if Eliza picked up any scents.

  She stood next to me, one hand extended, face locked in an expression I couldn’t read. Her eyes were black and fierce.

  She spoke in a murmur and I felt my throat loosen slightly.

  “Yes. This way.” She gestured toward the side of the house, near my bedroom.

  I tripped, following her, and cursed my lack of night vision. As we walked, I sensed energy rising, spilling off Eliza, and felt my skin tighten in response. I tucked my hair behind my ears, annoyed at the prickles, and shifted my shoulders to relax still-aching muscles. Eliza stopped and I nearly walked into her.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  She froze for a long minute, breathing shallowly, then spat out, “Stay here.” She sprang forward in two graceful steps and knelt down where Tim had shown me the paw print.

  Eliza turned, her face pale against the dark of the night. I took half a step backward—an involuntary reaction to the wildness in her eyes—then gasped as she pulled on shadow, tugging the nearby darkness into a thick shroud, and leapt out in wolf form. Her hackles raised, lips drawn away to reveal sharp teeth white in the moonlight, mouth half-open as she sniffed the ground once, twice, again, again. She raised her head, tension apparent in the muscles of her shoulders and haunches under the buff fur, ears drawn painfully alert.

  Without another look at me, she was gone. She sprang so quickly I jumped again then tensed in sudden alarm at the sharp crack of a branch breaking under her foot. The crack of fire, of wood buckling under flame. No. I fought the fear and surfaced. The wolf raced into the scrubby trees behind my house.

  Eliza left and I was alone. I crossed my arms in front of me, cursing the traitorous trembles, the anxiety snaking up my spine.

  I was alone. There were no Salamanders here. Eliza wouldn’t have left me if there were anything to fear. She just ran after his scent and she’d be back in no time at all. Just like Tim, she’d lose the rogue Were on the road and be right back for me.

  I walked back and forth in front of the ruins of my house. One of my neighbors had a light on and I debated the merits of knocking on her door, but I wasn’t sure I could handle her sympathy and the inevitable discussion about the fire. Or her questions about why I hung out here on the street. Eliza would return in just a minute, anyway—though it seemed like she’d been gone for a long time. I crossed to the car and leaned against its side. I took out my phone, thought about calling Sheila, but didn’t.

  “Where’s the baby?”

  I stifled a scream. My heart raced as I searched the shadows and found the figure under the cedar tree. He took three steps toward me and repeated, “Where is the baby?”

  “Who are you?” My voice didn’t shake and I stood up straight.

  He held out a hand and fire blossomed in his palm. “Does that answer your question?” He moved his mouth in a wicked smile that never reached his eyes. “Now answer mine. Where is the mutant Were baby?”

  The man—the Salamander—looked my age, late twenties, with long brown hair tied at the nape of his neck. His glasses reflected the flames still burning in his hand.

  “None of your goddamned business.” I spat the words as my fury mounted. “You burned down my house!”

  The flames on the man’s palms shot up. “Shame you didn’t stay to really enjoy the flames last night. For the last time, where’s your son?”

  “Shall I call 911?” I said, holding up my cell phone. “The police would be quite interested if I died in a fireball the night after someone burned down my house. You want to draw that sort of attention, Salamander?” I spoke loudly, half-hoping one of my neighbors would hear us.

  The Salamander’s eyes narrowed. “You think the police would be able to identify your remains after I’m done with them?”

  I fought the shudder that raced up my spine, swiped open my phone, and punched the three numbers, pausing before I hit send.

  “This isn’t over,” the man said.

  With a rushing whoosh, the cedar tree caught fire, sending orange flames into the air as branches popped and crackled, dry tinder in this heat. I jumped away, slammed my back into the car, and by the time I could focus on anything except breathing, the Salamander was gone.

  Flames surged up the tree and limned its branches, and I knew one of my neighbors must be calling in the fire right now—and I didn’t want to hang around for the slew of questions that would follow. Better that no one realized I’d been here to
night, that the investigators decided a mystery arsonist targeted the neighborhood, not me personally. Or my baby. I slipped into Eliza’s rental car and started the engine with fumbling fingers, using the keys she’d left in the ignition, hoping all the while no one would make note of me. The lights turned on automatically and I let them, since acting furtive seemed like a bad idea. I wouldn’t go far; Eliza could follow the scent and find me.

  I drove a couple of blocks and pulled over on a busier street. I locked the doors. Twice. And left the car idling, just in case.

  Where the fuck was Eliza?

  I called Sheila. “Hey. Eliza’s run into the woods. A Salamander appeared out of nowhere and demanded I tell him where my ‘mutant Were baby’ is and set fire to a tree before he fled.”

  “What?” Sheila said.

  After a muffled sound, Tim was on the phone. “Where did Eliza go?”

  “No clue. She changed and raced off without a word.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  I shook my head and looked at the dashboard clock. “Fifteen minutes? Twenty?”

  Tim cursed. “What happened with the Salamander?”

  “He wants Carson. I don’t know why. I threatened to call 911, he said he could burn me to death and leave no identifiable remains, then he set the cedar tree on fire and ran off.” I took a long breath.

  “Okay. If Eliza doesn’t come back in five minutes, come back here. If you see any more Salamanders, leave right away, go somewhere very public, and call us back.”

  “Right. Is…is Carson okay?”

  “He’s just fine, don’t worry.”

  “Okay.”

  I sat in the car and listened to fire engines scream to my block. Again.

  Three minutes later, Eliza ghosted around the corner and padded over to the car. Her dark wolf eyes appeared enormous. She wreathed herself in shadow and stepped forth, tapped on the car door until I unlocked it, and snapped at me, “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  “What the hell happened to you? Where did you go? How dare you just run off like that without telling me anything.”

  “Julie, I smelled a Salamander back there, near your house and there’s a tree on fire. Are you okay?”