by Reed, Zoe
Inhaling deeply to try and calm myself, to force my body to wake up, I got a whiff of so many new things. The bed I was lying in, though it was saturated with the scent of my own sweat, had an underlying aroma that I recognized quite easily as Camille’s. The musty smell of an old textbook, which must have been somewhere nearby. The scent of cooking meat wafted through the open door, causing my stomach to rumble.
I managed to open my eyes halfway, but they were still too heavy to open completely. As I set my feet on the ground to stand up and nearly collapsed, I realized it wasn’t just my eyes that were tired. My whole body was weak, exhausted. Using the end table for support I straightened myself, and stood there until I felt I’d mustered enough strength to take a step. I’d managed to walk a few feet when I heard footsteps getting closer to the door. My body tensed, preparing for an enemy to walk through, but the second the person did, my face turned up in a huge grin at finally seeing a familiar face.
“Camille,” I almost laughed with joy.
She hurried over to help me balance. “You should really lie back down. Your body’s worn out from everything.”
Even though she was being helpful, I could feel her body tense up awkwardly. For some reason, even I tensed up at being touched.
I shook my head, clearing all the questions I needed to ask and focusing on just one. “Worn out from what?”
“Um, here, sit down.” Camille guided me back to the bed and sat beside me. “Do you remember being in the barn, when Jonathan tried to kill you?” I nodded with a wince. I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want to ever think about that night again. “Well, he nearly succeeded. You were practically dead when um, well, you’re a werewolf now.”
The tension rang in Camille’s voice. Like every word was a struggle. She didn’t look me in the eyes, and I could tell just being next to me was painful for her. So she was still hurt about the phone call? “Camille, I’m so–”
“Please don’t.” I was about to say sorry when she read my mind and interrupted me, her tone pleading. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”
I stared into space, too tired to argue. I supposed I already knew I’d been Changed. What else could account for the pain, the blackouts, and the increased sense of smell and hearing? “How long was I out for?”
“It’s been a little over two weeks,” she told me honestly.
My head snapped up, and I started to panic. “What about my parents? Do they know about this? Do they know where I am?”
Camille shook her head. “That night we got a call from them saying that you left a note and were running away. Did you know about that?” I shook my head, but I seemed to recall Jonathan writing something before they took me. It was like a distant nightmare now. “They can’t know about this, and there was no way they would let you stay at our house so long without a good reason. We had to let them think you ran away.”
“Oh man.” I put my hand to my forehead. “I am so dead when I get home.” I paused and looked at Camille questioningly. Now that I knew how long I’d been gone I suddenly missed my family. “When do I get to go home?”
She shrugged. “We need to make sure you can control your Changes before we let you go home. Or it puts you and them in danger.”
“Have I already Changed?” I lay back on the bed, overwhelmed by everything that was happening. It hadn’t felt like I was out for two weeks, and now I felt like I was in a fog. It didn’t feel real.
With a nod Camille pointed to a part of the wall that was dented in. “Didn’t go so well.”
“Sorry,” I scoffed in disbelief. “How do I control it?”
“Before you can Phase on command you have to know what it feels like, where it comes from. I
f we don’t induce the Change, we have to wait for it.” She stood up, slightly facing the door like she couldn’t wait to leave my presence.
“Let’s do that,” I said, following her lead and stiffly getting up. Camille raised a questioning eyebrow. “Let’s induce it, or whatever.” I figured as long as I was already getting in trouble for ‘running away from home,’ then I might as well have fun with it. And who knows how long waiting for it would take.
“Are you sure?” she asked surprised, to which I nodded. “You should eat first.”
I shook my head. I was hungry, but I wanted to get this done, and I couldn’t deny that I was a little bit excited about it. I could feel the newly acquired power coursing through my veins, and I wanted to really feel it. “I’m okay. Let’s do it.”
I followed Camille down the stairs, where we picked up Luna as we made our way outside. Once on the porch Luna stripped and Phased, and Camille stood there, watching me expectantly.
“What now?” I asked, confused as to what they were waiting for.
Camille blushed slightly as she pointed to Luna’s clothes, which lay folded on the deck. “If you’d like, it’s best not to be wearing clothes. No need to waste some perfectly good ones.”
“Oh.” I looked around awkwardly. Of course that’s what they were waiting for. I already knew they were all without clothes when they Phased. “Okay.”
“You know what, I have an idea.” Camille disappeared into the house, and came back out a minute later with a small blanket that was just big enough to cover my body. “Here, go ahead and strip and then you can cover yourself with this. Me and Luna won’t look.”
I waited until Camille and the big white wolf turned around, and then laid my clothes beside Luna’s on the deck. I couldn’t deny that Camille turning away hurt, but what did I expect? I knew how hurt I myself had been after that phone call, and I could only imagine how much worse it had to have been for her.
“Okay,” I said as I wrapped the blanket around me.
“Ready?” Camille asked, and I nodded. “What’s one of the strongest emotions you can think of?”
I thought about it. “Um, love?”
“Anger,” she answered, and before I could respond she slapped me. Hard.
“Hey! What was that–” Another slap. I stood there stunned, a small shred of fury planting itself in my chest. “Is this part of–”
Slap. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I could feel an unfamiliar tingling in the tips of my fingers and toes. Camille slapped me again. My cheek was burning, and now it was starting to hurt more than just my ego. I could feel tears begin to sting in my eyes.
“Okay, I get the–” Another slap. I growled, an unexpected low, rumbling sound that startled me, but I couldn’t suppress it through the frustration burning at my core.
Camille stepped back as I started to fume. The startling tingling spread to my limbs. Now I knew what Camille meant every time she said she was losing control. It was like having a severe muscle spasm all over your body. I could feel the Change coming and knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was internal chaos. Finally it turned to itching, and then peaked. A ripping pain shot through my body, worse than the whole weeks’ worth of pain I’d just experienced.
As my wolf paws hit the ground I stumbled and fell, too uncomfortable on my new feet to even stand. I didn’t mind falling. I lay there panting, tired, waiting for the fading pain to fully subside. A shadow shaded my eyes as Camille stood over me. I smiled at her, and to my surprise my tail started wagging. The unfamiliar motion caused me to giggle, making it wag even faster.
Camille laughed at me. “Don’t worry, the pain gets easier every time. Want to try standing up?”
I took a deep breath, looking down at my golden colored paws before pushing myself up to sit on my haunches. While I took the time to get my footing, Camille stripped and Phased with an ease that made me green with envy. My legs wobbled slightly as I pushed myself into a standing position, and finally feeling stable with my balance I stretched. I watched Camille prance over to Luna and tackle her, play fighting. I wanted to join, but as I took a step forward my limbs betrayed me, and I went tumbling back to the ground. With a frustrated whine I stood back up. Digging my paws into the gro
und I tensed every muscle in my body, testing the way they flexed and moved. The power I felt behind every muscle shocked me. I felt strong. Powerful.
I moved one of my fore and back legs at the same time to try and take a step. No, that combination was wrong. I tried another combination of movements. It still didn’t feel right. Luna came over and slowly strode in front of me, showing me how it was done. Copying the stride I let out a wolfish laugh of joy as I figured it out. I ambled around the front yard until I felt comfortable. Then Camille huffed at me impatiently, and I grinned and pranced over. I was sure I looked like a puppy, hopping more than trotting, but I didn’t care. Once I reached where Camille was sitting at the edge of the vineyard she jumped up and took off into it. Not even a second later Luna ran a circle around me, nudging me forward and then taking off after her sister.
I ran as fast as I could to catch up, nearly tripping dozens of times, and eventually Camille and Luna slowed to keep pace with me. I was shocked by how freed I felt. I’d never been fond of running, but now every breath I took fueled my limbs, filling them with power. And each and every breath filled my nose with a flurry of scents I recognized but never smelled before. I felt like I could appreciate everything I used to overlook and ignore. The chirping of the crickets and birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the rich, earthy smell of the dirt my paws kicked up. It filled me with a deep sense of belonging that made me wonder why I’d missed out on it for so long. While the old Kyla built the foundations of this golden wolf, I was new. I was better. Exhilarated. Impassioned.
In spirit and truth, I was born again.
Keep An Eye Out!
Watch for Camille and Kyla in this next installment of Zoe Reed’s In Spiritu et Veritate Series, as they find out just how vast and dangerous their supernatural world really is. Keep reading for a preview…
Phantoms of the Otherworld
Greg sat on the park bench in Portland, Oregon, in his black suit and tie and stared out over the dark river. The moonlight glittered silver and white over the small ridges of the current, and the breeze carried the sweet smell of the water to his nose. His mouth turned up in a sad, reminiscent smile as he remembered all the fond memories of his mother bringing he and his siblings here when they were young. Every Saturday they packed a picnic basket of fruit, cheese and a loaf of bread. Half the loaf always went to the hungry ducks which, after weeks of visits, grew comfortable enough to eat from their hands. He wiped a tear from his cheek. Having just left his mother’s funeral, this was where he wanted her memory to lie.
Standing up, Greg grabbed the lotus flowers and small urn from off the bench next to him and walked to the canal’s edge. He and each of his siblings had been given a bit of his mother’s ashes, to either keep or rest in a place of fondness. Reaching the stone lining of the water, he knelt and unscrewed the vine-patterned lid, taking a last, long look at the stars reflected on the glassy garnish of the channel. He slowly cascaded the water with the ashes before laying the lilies on the surface and saying a last goodbye.
A small breeze picked up as he rose, and through his thick overcoat the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. At first he thought it was the breeze, but he was used to the cold. It was something else. He felt like he was being watched. Turning, he squinted into the darkness, and after a minute of staring the feeling of paranoia subsided and he shook off the cold.
With a final look across the water, Greg turned and started his walk home. Or was he going home? Going home to be alone. Granted, it was getting late, but home was the last place he wanted to be. The nearest bar was a bit farther of a walk than his house, but it was one he could tough out. While he walked he hummed a sad tune lightly to himself, giving small smiles to the few passersby. A couple blocks later he waited for a taxi to pass before crossing the street, and headed toward the bar at the end of the road.
Except for the lights outside the bar and the dim lamps that seemed to randomly litter the street, it was dark. Perhaps the darkest street he’d walked yet. He laughed while, as he walked toward the bar, he could see a couple of drunkards goofing off outside, making fools of themselves for the attention of a girl that leaned against the wall. After a few more steps he recognized one of them as an old family friend.
Greg was about to holler his friend’s name when he stopped walking and turned his head. Down the alley to his left he could hear crying. It sounded like a woman.
“Hello?” The feeling of paranoia returned, his hairs again standing on end. But he told himself to man up. This girl could be hurt. “Hello,” he called again, greeted still by the quiet sobbing.
Pulling out his cell phone, he used it to illuminate the way into the dark alley. He was about halfway through when he could see a small woman leaned against the front of a large trash bin. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she had her arms wrapped around them, sobbing with her head down.
“Hey are you okay?” He continued forward cautiously until he was standing directly in front of her. The small, pale, blonde girl looked up at him with bright, tear-filled blue eyes. “Are you hurt?” He knelt beside her and waited patiently for her to answer. Through the stench of the garbage he could smell what he assumed was her – a sweet, sugary vanilla smell that flooded his senses, and in any other situation, he might’ve made an attempt at flirting.
“No,” she answered in a soft voice, barely audible.
“What’s your name?”
The girl looked up at him shyly, boring into his eyes before she answered, “Cynthia.”
He slowly held out his hand for her to take, and then helped lift her off the ground. “Well Cynthia, let’s get you out of here?”
She nodded and let him lead her toward the entrance of the alley. They were about twenty feet from the street when a man stepped in front of them, blocking their exit. Greg hesitated for a split second before confidently leading Cynthia forward.
“Excuse me sir.” He stared at the ground and tried to politely sidestep the man, who moved again into his path.
Greg looked up into the man’s eyes. He wasn’t tall, about the same height as Greg, who was only five foot nine himself. Nor was he muscular. But his dark eyes stood out against his pale skin and conveyed a cold emptiness that sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. He felt Cynthia’s grip tighten on his arm, and assuming she was afraid, tried to sidestep the man again. He soon realized Cynthia wasn’t clutching him for comfort. She was making sure he didn’t go anywhere, holding him in place. His heart skipped and a small knot of fear settled in his gut. He shook his arm free of the girl and took a step backward, while his eyes darted from side to side, deciding which way he’d have the biggest chance of escaping if he needed to bolt.
Cynthia greeted the man with a smile, and took stride beside him as they advanced on Greg, pushing him farther and farther into the alley. As he realized his only escape route was blocked, his mind started racing. His brothers, his sister, his father, would he never see them again? The newspapers. His mind flashed to the local paper. Over the past few weeks there had been a spike in the number of kidnappings, and not just women – men, some of them big men. His back hit a wall as he reached the end of the alley, and the two continued to close in on him. Both Cynthia and the man smiled evil grins, sharp, bright white teeth glowing against the dark night. Against the cold air he felt something hot run down his leg, and seconds later the stench of urine reached his nose.
“Coward.” The frightening man’s deep, ringing voice cut through the silence as he chuckled.
Greg tried to think of anything else but this. To turn his mind somewhere happy, somewhere he could escape to, but it returned to the newspaper. How many people had been reported missing? Eleven, and not a single body or survivor had been found. He closed his eyes and felt a cold hand press hard against his mouth, stopping him if he tried to scream. Eleven people had been taken. And he would be the twelfth.
***
Crouched as low as I could get to the ground in the Dolan’s wheat field, I
held my breath against the cold night and pricked my wolf ears forward. No more than thirty feet in front of me, I could hear the tiniest crackling of semi-frozen twigs in rhythm with a slow stride. With minimal progression I crawled a few paces, using the weight of my body to muffle any crackling sounds I may have made with my own paws. The rustling was getting closer. Luckily, what little breeze that blew wasn’t coming from behind me. I was hunkered downwind, and my scent wasn’t going anywhere near my target. Not only was the wind on my side, but I also had the advantage of camouflage – my golden brown fur matched perfectly with the wheat.
Just a little closer… I urged my mark to take those last few steps that would bring it within striking distance. Finally. Teeth flashed in a wolfish grin as my back and shoulders tensed, paws digging into the dirt, preparing for the pounce. The rustling stopped as if detecting my presence. Releasing all the tension in my muscles I leapt, the white wolf noticing me a second too late. I crashed down on its back, sending us tumbling through the field. I had the upper hand in catching it off guard, but because the wolf was smaller and had so much more experience, it was able to wriggle out of my grasp and knock me off my clumsy feet, pinning me to the ground.
A big smile reached Luna’s hazel eyes, as she remained champion. I gave a defeated sigh and rolled out from under her hold. I understood now why Camille had so many tiny scars on her arms. While Luna and I had only been play fighting and romping around for less than a minute, I could already feel the slight sting of a few bite marks on my limbs. Instinctively, I ran my tongue down one front leg, too busy cleaning my little wounds to notice Luna, who came running at me, lightheartedly but roughly head butting me and sending me tumbling in the opposite direction. I heard the crashing of her paws disappearing across the field, and swiftly bounded after her.
