Waxing Moon

by Sarah E Stevens

  “All right.” He turned and addressed both Eliza and Newt. “Newt, see if you can recognize any of the Salamander scents. Then you and Eliza scout the area in a series of concentric circles. I want to know if any of the Salamanders or the Were have come back to the site, or if you locate any sign of their base of operations.

  “Julie, you can go along. But I want you to stay with one of them at all times and I don’t want you to feed this obsession with your burned down house. Okay?”

  “Of course,” I said, choosing the easiest response.

  “Eliza?”

  “Yes?” she said, shoulders visibly stiff.

  “Newt’s in charge. You listen to him, you report to him, you inform him before you take any action.” He leaned on the word “before,” just in case anyone in the room missed his meaning.

  Eliza opened her mouth to argue, but Tim stared her down. Finally, she just nodded.

  “Hey, Tim?” Newt interjected in an easy tone.

  Everyone except Eliza turned to him.

  “Just for the record, I might not be able to recognize Salamanders by scent at this point, especially with other strong odors around. My sense of smell is many times better than a human’s, but doesn’t approach a wolf’s.”

  “Right. Of course.” Tim mock-smacked himself in the forehead and gave his most genial smile. “So…”

  “If I’m close enough to another Salamander, I’ll smell it or sense it in other ways, either through its body heat—nearly two degrees higher than human average—or because of the way Salamanders disrupt the earth’s magnetic field. We’re very sensitive to magnetism, actually.” Newt broke out in another grin. “That also means we never get lost, so you can consider me your guide Salamander.”

  I smiled back, his grin and manner infectious.

  Chapter Six

  The drive to Jacksonville consisted of silence on the part of Eliza, punctuated by small talk between me and Newt. I learned he was originally from Colorado, he loved to ski—which other Salamanders found quite odd, since it went against the whole heat- and sun-loving thing—and his sister Sally lived in Florida. He was twenty-five, two years younger than me. This was the second time he’d been sent to help investigate Salamander wrong-doing.

  “Sent by?” When Newt cocked his head, I rephrased. “Do Salamanders have some sort of central authority, like the Werewolf pack council?”

  “Kind of. We’re not nearly as…hierarchical as Werewolves. But we do have an elected governing body.”

  “You’d have to. With all the rogue firebu—Salamanders causing problems. Burning houses down. Killing people.” Eliza contributed to the conversation for the first time.

  Newt was silent for a moment.

  “You know,” he said, slowly. “Not many Salamanders are arsonists. A lot of us are firefighters, devoted to saving lives by unobtrusively controlling fire, guiding wildfires away from buildings.”

  I saw Eliza’s gaze flick to the rearview mirror and then away, quickly, as a trace of flush crept across her face. She shifted her shoulders and studiously focused on driving.

  “So. Um. Not sure how to ask this and pardon me if I’m rude, but are you a strong Salamander?” I twisted around to look at Newt in the backseat.

  “Yep. But strength for us is more about practice and technique than innate ability. Not like dog—I mean, Werewolves.” Newt winked at me over his mock slip of the tongue. Eliza pretended to ignore it.

  Worried any further conversational gambits on my part might lead to more tension and wondering about Tim’s wisdom in sending these two to work together, I sank into silence and watched out the window as we drove past pear orchards and houses. As we came into the small town of Jacksonville—old-fashioned storefronts, meticulous flower boxes, everything poised to cater to the tourist and music festival crowd—I quelled my mounting tension with deep breaths. I breathed easier this time and my reactions were more under control as we turned off the main street, snaked around several blocks, and pulled up in front of what used to be my place.

  “Wow,” said Newt, as he hopped out to investigate the wreckage of the house. He unerringly trotted over to my former bedroom window. I followed him, and after a beat, so did Eliza.

  “They started it here.” He pointed. “And…hmmm.”

  We trailed in his wake as he walked around the house and showed us several spots where the Salamanders initiated the fire: under my window, under Carson’s window, near the front door, on the roof. Newt explained Salamanders could control the fire’s behavior, how hot it burned, where and how quickly it spread. The degree of control differed with the skill of the Salamander. According to Newt, most Salamanders manifested the ability to call fire around puberty, just as most Weres began to change form and call on the moon at that time. The strongest Salamanders devoted lots of time to practicing their skills, calling various types of fires, working with heat energies, pushing themselves to call flames without a direct physical link to their targets. Apparently, some ’Manders needed to touch fire in order to control it, while some could direct the flames at varying distances.

  “Well, these Salamanders definitely meant to kill you,” Newt concluded, rocking back on his heels and surveying the site. Hands in his pockets, his cheerful tone contrasted with the stark reality of his words.

  Eliza stood with her back to us, studying the surrounding area. Hopefully, she paid more attention than last night, just in case there were other ’Manders around.

  “Can you tell anything about the other Salamanders?” I asked Newt.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t smell them over all the fire trace. Not even where the one burned that tree down yesterday. I can tell you they weren’t highly skilled. Otherwise, you never would have made it out of this.” His gesture took in the charred ruins. “Though any ’Mander can be dangerous, of course. Just like a Were.”

  Abruptly, Eliza let out a sound more suited to a wolf throat—part shout, part bark, with a deep growling note that made my heart accelerate. The next moment, she flickered into wolf form and raced away, body low to the ground, ears pressed against her head, hackles raised. She took a leaping bound across my yard, then jerked to a stop and smoothly morphed back into her human self.

  “I smell the Were nearby,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I’d like to go after him.”

  “Go. Don’t follow him too far; don’t endanger yourself,” Newt said. I glanced at him, surprised at how completely he assumed authority in that instant.

  Eliza growled assent and dropped back into the wolf. The muscles in her haunches bunched as she leapt out of sight around the corner of my neighbor’s house.

  Middle of a sunny day on a residential street. I looked around carefully, hardly believing Eliza changed out in the open where anyone might spot her, even if she did pull darkness while she did it. A giant buff-colored wolf racing through my neighbors’ yards was not exactly a low-key event in Jacksonville, Oregon. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, though, so I guessed it was okay.

  Newt continued to stare after Eliza.

  “She really doesn’t like me.”

  “I know.” We exchanged a rueful smile. “Can you sense the Were?”

  Newt’s face lost focus. “No,” he said after a minute. “I can’t sense anything right now, no Were, no ’Manders.”

  “I guess we just wait for her to come back, then.”

  Newt nodded and we walked around the building again, stopping to examine this or that bit of char.

  “Um.” I poked my toe into a pile of ash. Once sodden, the debris was nearly dry in the semi-arid climate. “Can you tell if the building is structurally sound? The walls and that part of the roof that’s left?”

  “Not really. No more than you can.”

  “Oh.” I’d been hoping for a different response, but plowed forward gamely. “Well, I’m going to look around and see if there’s anything…” I looked at my house. The thing formerly known as my house.

  Although I could have
easily crawled over the living room wall in its current state, I nonetheless picked my way through pieces of fallen roof to enter through the front door. Charred wood left black streaks on my new jeans as I brushed past, taking each step carefully. There really wasn’t much worth saving. Everything not burned was broken, blackened with soot, or warped with water. I stared in rue at my bookshelves. My treasured books lay waterlogged and puffy, those not buried under pieces of the roof. The kitchen was the worst: shards of plates and glasses, the oven door hanging open and askew. The fridge was utterly intact, but I didn’t dare open it lest the smell of food mingle with that of the cold ashes and increase my stress-induced nausea. I poked among the general wreckage with one sneakered toe.

  I gasped and sank down to the ground, cradling the treasure in my arms.

  “Julie?” Newt’s voice preceded him by a nano-second as he slid to a halt by my side.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Did you cut yourself?”

  “No. I found something.” I held it out for his inspection.

  Newt’s voice sounded dubious. “Is that a chicken?”

  “Yes. My grandmother collected them. Chickens. She left them to me, all of them. Thirty-two of them. Not real chickens—ceramic and stuff, like this.” I took a second to regroup. “This was one of her favorites.”

  I looked down at the blown glass chicken, blue and purple swirling through the translucent body, brilliant red on the beak and comb.

  “Oh.”

  “I know.” I rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes. “Stupid, huh? Getting all excited about a glass chicken that probably cost all of ten dollars when she got it.”

  “Hey. No, not stupid.” Newt squeezed my shoulder. His hand was warm to the touch and sunlight caught his freckles, momentarily making them glitter like gold. I blinked.

  “Let’s look around. Maybe there are some more undamaged chickens.”

  I clutched the glass chicken tightly as we poked about in the wreckage, finding nothing else except a few isolated plates and cups that escaped the carnage. Even my cookware had warped or appeared stained with black residue. Cheap stuff to begin with, it didn’t merit saving. No more unbroken chickens. Looking at the shards of the few we found hit me as hard as if they’d been real animals, now mutilated.

  Newt and I made our way outside again. I placed my salvaged chicken gently in the car and leaned against its side, pushing my hair behind my ears. Newt looked this way and that, with a rather grim look on his usually sunny face, and I suddenly realized, “Eliza’s been gone for a while.”

  Newt nodded. “I know. Too long.”

  “Should we…go after her?” I asked, but answered my own question before he could respond. “We probably couldn’t find her. Shit.”

  “Let’s walk around and see if we notice anything else.”

  Newt in the lead, we trooped about my yard and the surrounding houses, especially near the black and skeletal cedar tree. Nothing but eerie silence. None of my neighbors were home to run out with greetings or condolences, no cars drove on the street. I wasn’t sure whether or not Newt gathered additional information about the Salamanders while we walked around, but I let myself believe we did something useful so I didn’t feel like we just killed time.

  Newt noticed Eliza’s return first, and pointed in the direction of the Sequoia in my neighbor’s yard. Sure enough, Eliza trotted from the shadows in the next minute, then did an about face, stepped back under the tree, and emerged in human form.

  “You found him! You reek of him. Even I can smell it.”

  I swung to Newt, then back to Eliza in time to catch a surprised lift of her eyebrows, which as quickly relaxed and shuttered her expression.

  “You found the Were? Did you fight? Are you okay?” I asked.

  Eliza said, “Yes, I found him. We tussled, but no one was hurt.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I scented the Were and took off after him. He led me through the woods back there—” Eliza gestured. “I chased him for a while, and caught up to him.”

  “No. Wait. You fought, but no one was hurt? That’s the part I don’t understand. I’ve seen you fight.”

  She met my gaze levelly. “He’s a full moon Were, very strong. Like me. I didn’t want to kill him, since his death would answer none of our questions. He focused on getting away, rather than hurting me.”

  “Did you recognize him?” Newt asked.

  “No. No, of course not. No. If I had further information for you, firebug, then I would share it.”

  Her voice made the hair on my neck rise, and I shook my head to dispel the effect of her Were power.

  Newt laughed; an abrupt chortle that rose out of him and sailed airily in the quiet day. “All right then, dog. Heel. We’re going back to report to Tim.”

  And just like that, without the slightest indication of concern, Newt turned his back on Eliza and started walking to the car. I stood frozen for a minute, watching Eliza. When I was sure she wouldn’t leap on our Salamander, I followed. After a moment, Eliza stalked after us, got in the car, and drove back to Sheila’s house without uttering a single word to either of us.

  Three times I started to ask her more about the Were she encountered. Three times a glare from Eliza stopped me before I’d gotten out a question.

  Some team we made.

  Newt seemed unmarked by the tension. He sat in the backseat, whistled something I didn’t recognize, and interrupted himself to ask me questions about things we passed. Newt thrilled to learn that Medford—the biggest town in southern Oregon, equidistant from where I lived in Jacksonville and Sheila’s house in Ashland—was the home of Harry & David’s, the renowned fruit and fine foods company. I gamely promised to take him to their store to buy some Moose Munch as soon as we had time. Which might be never, if we were attacked again. Or maybe this afternoon, since I, personally, ran out of leads to follow. Unless Eliza and Tim went back to the house, picked up the other Were’s tracks, and figured something out.

  I opened my mouth, shut it as Eliza’s expression quelled me once more then defiantly spoke anyway.

  “Do we need to worry about the Were tracking our car to Sheila’s house?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “No because it’s too hard to track a moving vehicle? Or no for a different reason?” I prodded again.

  Eliza let out a huffing breath. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, it’s too hard to track a moving vehicle. Besides, I don’t think he’ll follow us.”

  “Why not?” Newt’s completely reasonable question caused an extreme reaction from Eliza. She nearly snarled at him before relaxing her mouth. Her jaw appeared clenched with tension.

  After a minute of us staring at her, Eliza said, reluctantly, “I’m not convinced the Were is working with the Salamanders.” She raised a hand to cut off my sudden questions. “I didn’t smell Salamanders on him, okay? I don’t know what it means either.”

  “So we have two different enemies? Hunting us?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, hard. “God, I have a headache.”

  “Was this other Were stronger than you?” Newt asked, matter-of-factly, as if the question wouldn’t provoke Eliza.

  “No. And neither are you, Salamander.”

  Newt laughed again. “All right then, Were. Maybe we’ll just have to find out one of these days.”

  “Hey. Remind me to take that day off, okay?” I said, happy to see Eliza roll her eyes in response before she dropped into silence again.

  ****

  When we arrived at Sheila’s house, I bounded in the door first, impatient to see Carson even though I knew he was well taken care of—and protected—with Sheila and Tim. My boy bounced on Sheila’s knees as she played “The Grand Old Duke of York” with him. As soon as he saw me, he reached out his arms frantically toward me and I swooped him up.

  “Hey sweetie, did you have a good nap?” I crooned to him and continued to speak in a lilting tone while I sat down. Ca
rson made it perfectly clear what he’d missed about me by pulling on my shirt as I situated him to nurse. Preoccupied with getting him settled, I failed to notice the tension in the room until everyone fell silent.

  “Eliza.” Tim’s voice held a hint of anger. “Full report and now.”

  Eliza stood straight for a moment and used her height to pointedly look down on Tim then dropped to sit on the couch, poised in mock-relaxation.

  “I scented the Were in the woods behind Julie’s neighbor’s house. I changed form and gave pursuit, chased him for a few miles. He knew the terrain and tried to lose me in a small river.”

  “Might have been the Applegate river,” I interjected.

  Eliza nodded. “I caught up with him past the river on a wooded hillside. I tried to restrain him, or alternately, disable him. Didn’t fight for the kill. He’s strong. Ended up flinging me into a tree trunk and stunned me for a minute. When I gave pursuit, he took to the river again. I walked both banks for a half mile or so with no success. I was worried he’d somehow double back to Julie and the fir—the Salamander, so I returned and found them safe. The Were seemed more interested in escaping than fighting me.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Dark fur, nearly black. Large. Just like you said. A full moon of mid-strength, I’d estimate.”

  “Age?”

  “Hard to say in wolf form. Mature adult.”

  Tim strode around the room for a minute, his hands locked behind his back.

  “And? Tell them about him maybe not being in league with the Salamanders,” I prompted with some disregard for grammar.

  Eliza spoke slowly. “I scented no Salamander on him. But…we have every reason to suspect he’s a threat to Julie and Carson.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sheila said. “If he wasn’t with the Salamanders, why was he at the fire?”

  “You know,” I said, as an idea coalesced. “Maybe he woke me up on purpose with those barks. Maybe he helped. Another few minutes and I might not have woken up at all.”

  “No,” Eliza said. “If he was helping, why attack after you escaped the fire? Why did he run away from me? Why did he fight me? We must treat him as an enemy. He may or may not be allied with the Salamanders, but he’s still an enemy.”