The Amazing Wolf Boy

by Roxanne Smolen

I caught a tantalizing whiff of sweet grease. “They have food here?”

  “The Snack Shop. Must be getting ready for the day,” Howard said. “Fry breads. Frog legs. Smells good, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll say.”

  Brittany giggled. “You’re always hungry.”

  “Chehuntamo, friends,” said a man as he passed us on the boardwalk. He wore a snake draped over his shoulders. “Be sure to see the alligator pit. First show is in two hours.”

  I watched him walk away.

  Then a deeper voice spoke behind us. “Nokosi. I did not recognize you without your bear claws.”

  Howard looked like he wanted to spit. “Have you seen Chelsea?”

  The taller man smirked. “Yes.”

  Heat seemed to radiate off Howard. With apparent effort, he turned and walked away. I could tell the man was a rival of some kind, so I gave him a final sneer before following.

  “Did you used to work here?” I asked Howard.

  “No.” He frowned like I’d startled him from his thoughts. “Why?”

  “He said something about wearing bear claws.”

  “The last time I was here, there was an incident,” Howard said. “I was provoked.”

  We entered a hut. It was large. I noticed rolls of tarps hanging from the ceiling, presumably as drop-down walls in case of a hurricane. Several women attended a star-shaped fireplace. They were having trouble getting the fire started in the breeze.

  One of the women rushed over to us. “Chehuntamo. Hello and welcome. This cooking chickee was at the heart of every Miccosukee village. The star-shaped fireplace allowed several families to cook their meals at the same time.”

  Howard stared past her as if entranced. “Hello, Chelsea.”

  A woman stood. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore a long, red and yellow patchwork skirt. “You came,” she said a little wistfully. Then she gave us a fake smile. “And you brought friends.”

  “This is Cody and Brittany,” Howard said. “They come to speak to the Story Keeper.”

  “I see,” Chelsea said, her face stiff. “Let us go somewhere more private.”

  She left the cooking chickee and strode briskly away. She must’ve worn moccasins, because her feet didn’t make scuffing sounds like our shoes.

  The next hut had a table and chairs. As soon as we were inside, Chelsea rounded on Howard. “So, this is your trade-off?” she hissed. “You’ll sign the papers if I speak to your friends?”

  “Give me your papers.” He sat at the table.

  She pulled a packet from her pocket and handed it to him. Howard signed in several places marked with red stickies. When he finished, he looked anguished. “Chelsea, I never wanted this.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “I need to be with my own.” Silence fell between them. Then she added, “He’s here.”

  Howard nodded. “I saw him.” He climbed to his feet, and then looked at me. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Chelsea folded the papers and pocketed them. She sniffled, avoiding our eyes. “Please sit. I am the Story Keeper. A Story Keeper is a tribal historian who memorizes oral stories of all that happened before. I carry the wisdom of our forbearers, which I recite during celebrations and ceremonies. If you’ll bear with me for a moment, I will pray.”

  She sat at the head of the table, eyes closed. Brittany looked at me as if to ask if we were doing the right thing. I shrugged and chose a seat.

  “Creator, it is I,” Chelsea said in a soft voice. “Thank you for today’s sunrise, for the breath within me, and for your countless creations. As the day begins, I ask Spirit Keeper of the East, Brother Eagle, be with me. Guide my step and give me courage to walk the circle of my life. Spirit Keeper of the South, Wolf, be with me. Help me to remember love and compassion for all mankind. Spirit Keeper of the West, Brown Bear, be with me. Bring healing to the people I love and to myself. Spirit Keeper of the North, White Buffalo, be with me. As each day passes, help me to surrender the things of my youth.”

  I figured it was the Indian equivalent of help me to accept that which I cannot change. I took Brittany’s hand, and we waited until the Story Keeper opened her eyes and focused on us.

  “I will begin with the Joining of Two Nations,” Chelsea said. “The Seminole and Miccosukee.”

  Brittany said, “If you don’t mind, we have specific things we’d like to ask.”

  “And we’re kind of in a hurry,” I said. “Can you make them short stories?”

  Chelsea gave a small smile. She was really pretty. I could tell why Howard was attracted to her. She spread her hands. “Ask away.”

  “We’d like to know your folklore about shape changing,” Brittany said.

  “We have many such stories. A medicine man could turn into any animal he chose by using a hide belt.”

  “What about shape changing that isn’t so voluntary?” I said. “Like werewolves.”

  “Lycanthropy.” She looked at me for several moments. “I can tell you that it is hereditary, passed on through the mother’s side. The accursed child is born with a mark in the shape of a crescent moon. Usually on the back, although I’ve heard of it hidden on the scalp. He or she turns into a werewolf at age sixteen.”

  Yeah, that fits.

  “You can tell a werewolf from a real wolf by its tail. A natural wolf has a luxurious tail, while the tail of an unnatural wolf is stubby and often yellow.”

  “Why is that?” asked Brittany.

  “The devil cannot create a perfect animal as God can.”

  I blew out my breath. “Is there any way of breaking the curse?”

  “These are very specific questions,” Chelsea said.

  “We’re doing a report at school,” said Brittany.

  “Yeah. Maybe we should be writing this down.” I motioned at her purse, and she took out her notepad.

  “There is a potion,” Chelsea said. “Theriac of viper, aloe, wormwood, and vinegar.”

  “You drink it?” I asked.

  “No, it is topical. Applied to the skin. The potion must simmer for two days, and must be used on the night of the new moon.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Ah, but the person you are trying to cure will not voluntarily apply the potion. The wolf will want to remain a wolf. You need to trap them first.”

  I grimaced. “Like a bear trap?”

  “Magical beings need magical means,” she said. “A circle drawn in the dirt and bestowed with the power of Mother Earth will hold the creature.”

  I remembered reading about magic circles at the bookstore.

  Chelsea sat back. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Brittany put away her notes.

  I stood. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “And I you.” Chelsea smiled. “Take care of my friend, Howard, for me.”

  Brittany scowled. “He’s our friend, too.”

  We left the hut. Howard sat on the edge of the boardwalk, his feet dangling over the swamp. I would have been afraid to tempt the alligators.

  “Finished?” he asked. His eyes were bloodshot. He drove us back to Loxahatchee without another word. He even turned off the radio. It was a relief when we finally pulled up to his house.

  But instead of hopping out of the truck and saying goodbye, Howard just sat there.

  “Are you okay?” Brittany asked.

  After a moment, he said, “We’d been separated for a while. Then she took up with my ex-best friend.”

  “I thought my uncle was your best friend,” I said.

  He thumped a finger on the steering wheel. “You two and Bob are the only friends I have left.”

  “We won’t leave you,” Brittany said.

  He sagged, nodding. “Shonabish.”

  We watched him go into the house and shut the door.

  “That was weird,” I said.

  “It was horrible. Poor Howard.” Brittany got into her car. “I’m going to just drop you off.
I have to get back home.”

  “All right.” I was disappointed. The day wasn’t turning out the way I planned.

  We drove with the windows down, music blaring. Traffic was light. Within minutes, we were in my uncle’s driveway. Brittany turned down the radio. “I feel so bad for Howard.”

  “It could have been worse. He could’ve gotten into a fight with that big guy.”

  “I thought he was going to.” Brittany sighed. “At least, we got some good information.”

  “Something to think about, anyway.”

  “Do you have a mark like that? A birthmark like a crescent moon?”

  I frowned. “I had something on my back between my shoulder blades, but my parents had it lasered off when I was a kid. I don’t think it looked like anything, though. I don’t know. I never really saw it.”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Talk to you later.” I got out of the car and waved as she drove away. When she was gone, I sat on the porch.

  Why had my parents removed my birthmark? Why not just leave it alone? I wondered if they knew all along I’d been touched by this curse. If that were true, I’d never forgive them for not telling me about it. I’d never forgive them for sending me away.

  Then an image popped into my mind. Uncle Bob had a mark like that on his back. A backwards C. I saw it the morning he’d taken off his bloody shirt.

  I laughed, shaking my head. What was I thinking? Like Uncle Bob could be a werewolf.

  TWENTY

  Monday after school, we climbed into Brittany’s car and drove to her house to study. Brittany chattered nonstop about her day with her mother at the Farmer’s Market, and how the flowers were wilted and she made the man go back into his truck to get fresh ones. I made noncommittal sounds, watching her. Her hair was prickly with styling gel. I wanted to run my cheek over it and bury my face in her neck. Of course, she was driving, so I didn’t.

  When we turned onto the dirt road that ran alongside her house, the topic changed to her brother’s report card. He was good in math and miserable in English. There was concern in her voice. She might call him names and bully him, but he mattered to her.

  Something pinged off the hood of the car, and I heard the distinctive pop of a pellet gun. I glanced around. Grandpa Earle sat under his favorite tree, pointing his rifle into the woods.

  “That man.” Brittany parked the car. “He’s driving me crazy.”

  We hurried across the lawn. A naked guy a couple years older than me streaked through the yard. He looked like he worked out. I glanced at Brittany, hoping she hadn’t noticed him.

  Grandpa took another shot and missed. “Dang jackrabbits.”

  Brittany raised her voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Protecting my property,” Grandpa Earle said. “That one’s been back three or four times.”

  “I’m surprised the Sunspot hasn’t called Sheriff Brad.”

  “He’s already been by. He was in a fine mood.” Grandpa Earle chuckled. “It seems the boys got their comeuppance.”

  Brittany wrinkled her nose. “What boys?”

  “That Ephraim Higgins and a few of his football buddies got sentenced to community service. Serves them right.”

  Brittany’s eyes met mine. She looked alarmed.

  “Brad even showed me a few of the snapshots they were said to be carrying,” Grandpa Earle said. “I didn’t say anything at the time, but it seems those photos were taken right over there. I’d sure feel bad to know you were keeping important secrets, Missy.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Brittany said.

  I couldn’t let her lie to her grandfather. “You’re right, sir. The photos were taken in those trees.”

  He sat a bit straighter in his chair. “Well, boy, you look hale and hearty to me.”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Ah, I get it.” He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. “You went to that medicine man. I knew you had smarts in you.”

  Medicine man? Did he mean Howard?

  “The important thing is the boys got what was coming to them,” Brittany said.

  “Amen.” Grandpa Earle chortled. In a flash, he sighted through his rifle and fired. “Dang jackrabbits.”

  Brittany shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We walked toward the house with our fingers entwined. I wished someone were around to see her hold my hand. Behind us, we heard another shot, and someone yelped. Grandpa Earle roared with laughter.

  “You don’t think there will be retaliation over this community service thing, do you?” Brittany said.

  I thought of Eff’s face when he called a truce outside Mr. Overhill’s office. “I expect this is the last we’ll hear of it.”

  “Good.” She smiled and climbed the steps. “Although, I don’t think they’ll be so quick to jump you now that you got muscles.”

  “What? I don’t have muscles.”

  She laughed. “God, Cody, you really ought to look in the mirror sometime.”

  We walked across the porch, dodging wicker furniture. The ceiling fans made a lazy thwack-thwack sound. I held the door for her, and we went inside. As usual, the heavy shades kept the living room in darkness, and I blinked to adjust.

  “Come on up.” Brittany took the stairs two at a time.

  “Ah, o-okay.” Even my thoughts stammered. I’d never been upstairs. Was she inviting me to her room?

  I followed, my heartbeat hammering my ears. I smelled furniture polish and bath soap, heard Butt Crack’s music behind closed doors. The hallway ended with a sunny window and a vase of flowers.

  I stood at the entrance to Brittany’s room. It took purple to a new level. The walls were violet. The bed was eggplant. A pyramid of Barney-colored pillows leaned against the padded grape headboard. Several prisms sparkled in the window. A tower of old CDs stood in the corner. Dragons and fairies vied for every available spot. I saw the remains of the broken snow globe I bought for her.

  A hot blush crept upward. “Are you sure I should be here?”

  “Why? You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

  “Of course not. I—”

  “No?” She draped her arms about my neck.

  Heat slid down my body. I didn’t know where to put my hands. Putting them on her waist seemed too personal, and higher up might earn me a slap.

  Then the music became louder, and Brittany’s brother jostled past. “Excuse me. Just sharpening my pencil.”

  “You worm,” she said. “There’s a pencil sharpener downstairs.”

  “Yeah, but downstairs is like down stairs.”

  His pencil whirred. Brittany hit him with a pillow. I felt sluggish, like I was waking from a dream. I should have put my hands around her waist. I should have kissed her.

  “Turn that music down,” Brittany told her brother. “We’re trying to study.”

  “Yeah. I saw that.” Butt Crack went back to his room.

  Brittany grinned, her face perfect, looking like one of her mischievous fairies, and I wanted to freeze the moment. I wanted to remember her like that forever.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned to the bed. Then, shifting books on her desk, she uncovered a laptop. “Let me show you something.”

  I sat. From my new vantage, I noticed several movie posters on the wall. Pirates of the Caribbean. One, Two, and Three. She had a battered, life-sized stand-up of Captain Jack taped to her closet door. I figured she got it from work.

  “You like Johnny Depp?” I asked.

  “He’s my man. But don’t be jealous. He hardly ever calls me any more.” She spoke with such a straight face, I wasn’t sure if I should take her seriously. “I’ve been trying to find out more about the potion the Story Keeper gave us.” She placed the laptop on the bed and sat beside me. “Theriac of viper, aloe, wormwood, and vinegar.”

  “Do you think there’s something to it?”

  “I think it’s worth a try. Don’t you?”

  “Sure,”
I said. As long as I don’t poison myself. “But where are we going to find the ingredients? I mean, we can get vinegar at a grocery store, but—”

  “Read the label. Most of the stuff you buy today is watered down. We need the old-fashioned kind. I’ve bookmarked a few sites.” She turned her attention to the laptop. “We can buy some here.”

  “You’ve done a lot of research.” I looked over her shoulder.

  “How much do you think we need? A gallon?”

  I made a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine face.

  “Wormwood is a bitter herb,” she said. “It was used to cure intestinal worms, thus the name. I thought it might be better to buy a live plant. We can grow it on my windowsill. This nursery will ship it overnight. But again, I don’t know how much we need.”

  The plant on the screen was silvery.

  “It looks so normal,” I said. “Not like something that would be in a magic potion.”

  “At least it’s easy to find. I searched all night trying to figure out what theriac of viper was. Turned out it’s several things.” She flipped through her Favorites. “Here. Theriac of viper is made up of the flesh of a poisonous snake, opium, cinnamon, gum Arabic, and agarics all pulverized and mixed with honey.”

  “What are agarics?”

  She pulled up a dictionary. “It either means a type of gilled mushroom or tree fungus.”

  “Yummy. Tree fungus.”

  She looked at me. “I don’t know how we’re going to afford all this.”

  “First we have to decide how much we need of each ingredient. We also need some sort of cauldron.”

  “Do you think we should get a live snake?”

  “Can you get that on the Internet?”

  “You can get anything on the Internet,” she said. “Do you know how to wrangle a viper?”

  I made a face. “Maybe we can buy frozen snake meat from a restaurant supplier.”

  “Good thinking. I’m sure someone has rattlesnake on the menu. I’ll look for that and you research how to make magic circles.”

  “To trap me? That won’t be necessary. I want to stop the wolf.”

  “But the wolf won’t want to be stopped. Maybe it can influence you somehow.”

  I nodded. “Friday is the new moon. We won’t have everything ready.”