Cold air hit me in the face. It was like walking into a refrigerator. The shop held a tang of old paper and dust. The girl at the front desk nodded at us. She wore a jacket.
Brittany walked slowly down the aisles, me in tow. I’d never seen such an assortment of old books. The leather bindings were faded, and the gold lettering was tarnished and worn. There were sections on the occult, sections on psychic abilities and ESP. No Shakespeare here.
We stopped at the area about shape shifting. Brittany pulled several books off the shelves and carried them to a table. She patted the chair next to her. “Let’s get started.”
I thumbed through a book, reading at random. “How to become a werewolf,” I said in a hushed voice. I felt like I was in a library. “One, rub a magic ointment over your flesh and then, two, place a girdle of wolf skin about your waist and, three, drink beer mixed with blood. Ugh. Sounds like something out of a college frat house.”
“I’ve heard of the wolf skin belt before,” she said. “It’s supposed to be magical.”
“I don’t need to know how to become a wolf.”
“We need to understand the process in order to reverse it.” She put her book down and opened another. “Here’s a different way to transform. In a deep forest, draw two concentric circles on the ground, one six feet in diameter and the other fourteen feet. Build a fire in the center of the smaller circle and bring a gallon of water to boil in an iron pot. Throw in a handful of aloe, hemlock, poppy seed, and nightshade.”
“My mom’s recipe for Christmas punch.” I grinned.
“You stir the ingredients counter clockwise, all the while calling to the spirits of satyrs and werewolves. Then you sit outside the edge of the larger circle and smear your body with fat from a fresh kill mixed with anise, camphor, and opium. Opium, hmm. That would do it.” She chuckled, then read, “But woe be to the wolf who treads upon the fourteen foot circle for he shall be trapped.”
“How could a circle drawn on the ground trap a wolf?”
“You never heard of magic circles?” Brittany asked, her eyes sparkling. “If they can hold a demon, they can hold a wolf.”
I sighed. At least, she didn’t think I was a demon. “How do you know,” I murmured, “I didn’t kill those women?”
“You wouldn’t hurt anyone as a human, and you never tried to hurt me as a wolf.”
I waited, expecting her to ask flat out if I did it, but apparently, she trusted me. A smile crossed my face.
We browsed a few more books, the stack of rejects growing.
“Here’s something,” Brittany said. “It says here that those born on Christmas Eve are in danger of being werewolves because their birth is an act of blasphemy. To be rid of the curse, they must prove themselves pious beyond reproach.”
“Pious? You mean like a monk?”
“When were you born?”
“October thirtieth.” I frowned. “Wait a minute. I was a preemie. My mother said I was due around Christmastime.”
“Maybe you were supposed to be born on December twenty-fourth.”
“It was Christmas Eve the first time I turned. I was in France.” I remembered the terror I felt, running down strange alleys, not knowing what was happening to me.
“Was there a full moon?”
“Yes.” I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the refrigerated air of the shop. I snapped the book shut. “This is a waste of time. Let’s get out of here.”
We returned our stack to the shelves and left the bookstore. I was so immersed in memories of that cold night in France that I was shocked to step out into a sunny, Florida afternoon. We crossed the parking lot and sat in Brittany’s little green car.
“You okay?” she asked.
“It’s late. I should be getting home.”
She nodded, but didn’t start the engine.
“You know, there’s something that always bothered me,” I blurted. “Why can’t I turn into a wolf on nights other than a full moon? It’s still there. Even a new moon is near the Earth, especially in perigee. I should be able to tap into it.”
She gave an uneasy laugh. “You want to be a wolf all the time?”
“No. I want to be able to change at will. If I can control it, maybe I won’t have to shift at all.”
* * * *
The next day, during World History, Vice Principal Overhill sent for me. I crossed the classroom with a sense of foreboding. I tried to catch Brittany’s eye, hoping for a nod of support, but she had her nose so deep in a book it was like she didn’t want to know what was happening.
I trekked down the hallway, dragging my feet all the way, and entered the vice principal’s office. Overhill sat behind his desk with Sheriff Brad standing nearby. Eff sat before them, scowling.
What was going on?
“Come in, Cody,” said Overhill. “Close the door, please.”
I did, and sat in the chair next to Eff. My palms felt damp, and I resisted the urge to wipe them on my pants. “Is something wrong?”
Overhill steepled his fingers. “When you first came to the Bluffs, I believe I mentioned we don’t tolerate troublemakers.” He paused as if expecting an answer, then cleared his throat. “We are aware of an ongoing feud between you and Ephraim Higgins.”
A thousand comebacks clamored up my throat, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t start the fight, and I wasn’t responsible for it being ongoing. But here I was being called on the carpet for it.
Before I could choose a proper response, the sheriff stepped forward and opened a manila envelope. With a flourish, he laid out twenty photographs, covering Overhill’s desk. I craned my neck to see. They were eight-by-ten glossies of me after Eff and his friends got finished.
Seeing the images blown up like that, with every detail enhanced, I was amazed I lived through it. My face looked like lunchmeat. There was more blood than I remembered. In one picture, my arm was clearly broken, and I ached just looking at it.
“These photographs were on the Internet,” Overhill said. “Do you boys know about them?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
At the same time, Eff said, “No.”
“No, Mister Higgins?” the sheriff roared. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, seeing how your email address was on the account.”
I rocked back in my seat. What kind of idiot would use his own email to post that fairy page? Maybe he thought MySpace wouldn’t give him up.
“L-lots of people know my email ad-dress,” Eff stammered. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
The sheriff ignored him. He looked at me. “Son, is that you in those photographs?”
I stared at the desk. It would be easy to say yes, that Eff and his cronies jumped me. But then I’d have to explain how I healed so fast. Besides, I promised Brittany I wouldn’t retaliate.
A thought struck me. Had Brittany tipped off Overhill? She seemed so cheerful when she said bullies always get theirs. Maybe she was trying to warn me off.
“It’s me,” I said with a sigh, “and it’s not me. They’ve been Photoshopped.”
Sheriff Brad snapped up a glossy and shook it. “This?”
“Come on. Someone posted those as a joke. If I’d been beat up that bad, I’d still be in the hospital.”
The sheriff sputtered. “Are you trying to tell me—”
“What’s wrong with your arm?” Overhill asked.
I looked down at the tape, grasping for a lie. “I was helping my uncle move lumber. I didn’t want to get splinters, so I covered my forearm.”
“Why didn’t you take it off when the job was done?”
“I thought it looked cool.” It sounded pretty weak, even to me.
He snapped his fingers. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, I stood and extended my arm. He examined it for a moment, then drew a pair of scissors from his top drawer. I flinched at the touch of cold metal against my flesh as the point of the scissors slid beneath the gauze and tape. He cut away my makeshift cast, e
xposing clean, unblemished skin.
“Not even a bruise.” Overhill looked at the sheriff.
“Now, that’s mighty peculiar. Perhaps this young fellow here can help clear things up for us.” He tapped Butt Crack’s picture.
I plopped into my seat. I didn’t want them to question Brittany’s brother. Not because I was afraid he would spill his guts. I was sure he would. I just didn’t want him to go through all that.
“Of course, we can’t talk to him without his mother being present. Nice lady, Missus Meyer. Have you met her? I’m sure she’d be interested in these happenings, seeing how you’re friends with her daughter.”
“That’s right,” Eff said. “You can’t question me without my parents being here.”
“But we aren’t questioning you,” said Overhill. “We’re talking to Cody. You just happen to be in the room.”
Sheriff Brad loomed over me. “You listen here, boy. Assault is a criminal offense. I expect you to press charges and bring the perpetrators to justice.”
I hesitated. Wasn’t that what I wanted, to get even with Eff? But the charges wouldn’t stick. Not when I didn’t even have a bruise.
“The photos are fakes.” I looked up at the sheriff. “Like I said.”
He held my gaze. I knew he wasn’t buying my story.
“I see.” He turned away.
“You disappoint me, Cody,” said Overhill. “I expected a little more backbone from you.”
Sheriff Brad looked at the pictures covering the desk. Instead of putting them away, he straightened the rows. “I can’t for the life of me understand why you would protect a gang of thugs. Perhaps they’re holding something over you. I don’t know. I’m certain, however, that the two of you are hiding something. If I can’t get your cooperation for assault, you leave me no choice but to prosecute Mister Higgins for possession of child pornography.”
“What?” cried Eff.
I stifled a laugh.
Overhill looked stricken. “You’ll never make that fly.”
“Oh, yes. These photos are of a minor in his underwear. Strictly speaking, they are illegal.” He looked at Eff. “My deputy is currently on her way to your home with a search warrant. I expect she will find these images on your computer. Maybe even on your camera.”
Eff blanched, cringing into his chair.
I almost felt sorry for the guy. How stupid could he be? I leaned away to stay out of the line of fire.
The sheriff moved close to Eff. “I thought so. The originals. Unedited.”
It was my turn to cringe. My Photoshop explanation might not hold. I wasn’t clear of the situation yet.
“Last chance, son,” the sheriff told me. “Do you have anything to say?”
My mouth went dry. “No, sir,” I croaked.
Overhill looked disgusted. “Get out of here. Both of you.”
Eff and I hopped to our feet at the same time, and we nearly fought each other to get out the door. We walked side-by-side through the lobby.
“Truce,” Eff whispered.
I nodded.
* * * *
“Hey, study partner.” Brittany grabbed my arm as I left school. “Where are you going so fast?”
I grinned with the roller coaster feeling I always got when she touched me. “Home, I guess.”
“Want to come over? We can work on our essays together.”
I balked. Between the business with Eff and thoughts of Uncle Bob being a serial killer, my head was full. But the need to be with the girl I loved won out. “Sure. Let’s go.”
The car was sun-warmed in spite of the coolness of the air, and it felt good to get inside. I thought of my friends up north bundled in their heavy coats, and I chuckled.
“What’s funny?” Brittany asked.
“I was thinking of how quick I got used to Florida weather.”
“Have you ever been skiing?”
“A few times. Yeah.”
“I always wanted to try that. Flying down a mountainside.” She backed her car out of the parking space. “It’s cold, I bet.”
“Actually, I found it to be pretty sweaty work. Exertion keeps you warm.”
“You don’t sound like you enjoyed it.”
I smiled at her. “I’d rather be here.”
She merged into the logjam of kids leaving the lot. I waved at Maxwell and Lonnie, wondering if they ever went anywhere separately.
As we got into town, she said, “You were pretty quiet at lunch. Why haven’t you told me what happened when Overhill pulled you into his office?”
“I didn’t want anyone to hear us talking.” I screwed up my face, trying to phrase my question in a non-accusatory way. “Did you tip him off about those pictures Eff posted on the Web?”
She stared forward as if concentrating on the road.
“If you did, it’s okay,” I added, “but I’m afraid it might blow up in our faces. Sheriff Brad is going to talk to your brother.”
“Butt Crack? He won’t spill.”
“The sheriff might scare him.”
“No.” She glanced at me and grinned. “He’s not afraid of Sheriff Brad.”
“Eff is. Especially now that he’s facing pornography charges.”
“You’re kidding.” Brittany chortled.
“Don’t know how that’s going to work out for him.”
“Wow.” Her eyes flashed with excitement. “That’s going to spread like a muck fire.”
Sure enough, Grandpa Earle met us on the porch. “What’s this I hear about Ephraim Higgins being picked up with child porn? Is he some kind of pervert?”
“I don’t know, Grandpa,” Brittany said airily. “You should ask your friend, Brad.”
He scowled. “He’s been busy all day.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. After all, I was the child in question.
Grandpa Earle ignored me. “It’s a good thing you never got mixed up with that boy. He took quite a shine to you.”
“He never had a chance.” She crinkled her nose. “Why don’t you take your nap, Grandpa? Cody and I are going to study.”
“I never sleep during the day. You know that.” He looked indignant, and I wondered if he was serious.
Brittany tossed her purse onto a living room chair and went into the kitchen. “Yum. Chicken leg soup. Just the thing on a chilly day.”
She stirred the pot, fishing out the chicken bones. There must have been a couple dozen.
Feet thundered down the stairs, and Butt Crack burst into the kitchen. “Hey. What’s for eats?”
“Hey, yourself.” She poured a pint of cream into the soup. “That should thicken it up.”
“Smells great,” said Butt Crack.
She tapped the spoon and replaced the lid. The television blasted from the living room.
“Anything interesting happen at school today?” Brittany asked her brother.
“I’ll say.” He pulled a bag of chips from the top of the refrigerator and opened them. “I was called into the principal’s office. Made me look like a real bad boy, you know? But it was only Sheriff Brad. He was all bent about some photos he found on the Internet.”
“Was your mom there?” I blurted. Those pictures would make the perfect first impression. A great icebreaker.
“Nah, she couldn’t get off work, so they had Grandpa sit with me. And get this. He fell asleep.”
Both Butt Crack and Brittany convulsed with laughter.
I felt like the only one taking it seriously. “What did you tell him?”
“I said I didn’t recognize the guy.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “And that’s the truth. You looked like something out of a Saw movie.”
His stance was angry, but his eyes were haunted, giving me a pang of regret. Poor kid. I probably gave him nightmares. “I’m sorry, man. For all of it. You never should have been involved.”
He shrugged, his sudden anger deflating. “No prob. It got me out of math.”
“You were in a couple of those photos, you know,” Brittany told him.
“Really?” He shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. “He never mentioned it.”
He clomped back upstairs, taking the bag with him. I sat at the kitchen table, almost weak with relief. Disaster avoided.
Brittany sat with me. We started our history essays, reading each other’s reports and sharing facts. I wasn’t used to working in tandem, and I was really enjoying myself.
Until the news blared from Grandpa Earle’s television. It reported another mauling. The murderer, in fact, was now dubbed The Mauler.
I felt the blood drain from my face. He struck again, and I was powerless to stop him.
“Cody? What’s wrong?”
“Wait,” I said. “I have to hear this.”
The victim, a middle-aged woman, was found near Turtle Pond by a couple of fishermen. The authorities estimated she was dead almost a week.
My heart thumped against my chest so hard, I thought it was trying to break out and run away. I felt responsible, like I could have saved her somehow.
Why had Uncle Bob waited until I arrived to start killing? Did my moving in with him push him over the edge?
Brittany clucked her tongue. “I’m surprised the sheriff took time to personally handle Eff’s case with everything else going on.”
“I have to tell you something,” I said. “It’s a secret, okay?”
She nodded, her green eyes widening.
I told her my suspicions about Uncle Bob and all the reasons behind them. I even threw in the Tarot card reading and Grandmaster’s cryptic warning. She never interrupted. When I finished, she sat in stunned silence for several long moments.
“I’ve known your uncle for a long time,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Longer than you, in fact. He’s a nice guy. Soft-spoken. A bit of a loner.”
Crud. She didn’t believe me, probably thought I was out of my mind. Now she was going to yell at me for even thinking things like that about the man who took me in.
“A few weeks back, the Discovery Channel had a show about serial killers,” she said. “Almost every one of them were nice guys. Quiet. Friendly, but without many friends.”
The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 17
