Other (7 page)

Mum glances over her shoulder. “Now?”

“Yeah. It's important.”

She sighs. “Only if you take the bus and come back here by ten o'clock.”

“Yes, Mum!”

I grab my coat and hurry into the cool evening air. The last rays of sunlight slide from the cobalt sky, and a breeze steals my warmth. The bus, with its lumbering halts, takes forever to get to Bramble Cottage. A yellow glow spills from the B&B's windows. My heart rises. Could just be guests, though. I round the corner and see Alison at the desk, a prim girl not much older than me. Gah. Alison equals no Chloe.

Without waiting for Alison to see me, I wheel around and leave. I stride through downtown. Cars swoosh past, tires hissing on the rain-wet street. The glistening pavement reflects the topaz streetlights. I give the Half Moon Saloon a wide berth. A man staggers out to his motorcycle beneath the flickering neon sign. He shouts something incoherent yet clearly filthy at me, then grins, baring sharp canines.

Oh crap. Werewolf? I can't see the moon behind the blanket of clouds.

I walk as fast as I can without breaking into a run—that only excites predatory instincts. The man's motorcycle grumbles into life. My back stiffens. I wait for it to advance on me, but it growls in the opposite direction.

Maybe he's just a human with particularly long teeth. His dentist would be proud.

I stifle a nervous laugh and walk faster. Scattered trash skitters in the wind like ugly tumbleweeds. I pass manicured shrubbery in a parking lot. The pavement crumbles, yielding to wilderness. Streetlights vanish and stars glitter above. It's hard to tell where private property ends and national forest begins.

I follow the deer trails that lead to Chloe's favorite tree, a walk of about twenty minutes. There. An ancient queen of a bigleaf maple towers head-and-shoulders above all the other trees, shawls of moss cloaking its limbs.

I glance around. “Chloe?”

There's no answer. Then, through bristling black foliage, I see an orange glow flickering ahead. I'm not anywhere near the Kliminawhit Campground … and isn't it awfully wet for wildfire?

Howls pierce the night. I jump, then grit my teeth. Not
again.
This is getting really annoying.

Silently, I creep nearer. There are people standing, silhouetted, around the flames. Sparks fountain skyward. What idiots, I think. Do they plan on burning down the entire national forest? I hear rowdy voices, a belch, then laughter. They sound drunk.

“Quit being so fucking loud, man,” says a guy, just as loudly as the rest.

“Shut your fucking mouth, then,” says another guy. “You tell him, Blackjack.”

A low growl replies. A brindled pit bull lies at their feet, gnawing and slobbering on a rock. What kind of dog chews on a rock? What kind of werewolves own a dog? Frowning, I tiptoe even closer.

Four guys are standing by the flames, each holding a beer bottle. I recognize the Koeman brothers from the Buttercup Dairy: Chris, a bald guy with pale blond eyebrows, and his younger brother Brock, a standard issue hulking jock. I can't remember the name of the fat pimply guy, and I don't think I've ever seen the little skinny guy before.

“Mikey, aren't we supposed to be loud?” Brock cups his hand to his mouth. “Awooo!”

The fat pimply guy—Mikey, apparently—giggles rather girlishly. “Awooo!”

Chris laughs. “Man, you guys sound just like werewolves.” He swigs his beer. “Let's hope those curs think so.”

The littlest guy glances around. “I got to pee. You guys watch my back, okay?”

“Can't you piss here, Josh?” says Brock.

Josh shrugs, his cheeks pink. He edges toward the bushes and unzips his fly.

“You know,” Mikey says, with a philosophical expression, “I've heard werewolves don't like people pissing on their territory. It pisses them off.”

Josh stops peeing abruptly.

“Jesus Christ,” says Chris, his face twisted with disgust. “This isn't their territory.” He lifts a rifle from the ground. Its barrel gleams in the firelight. “That's why we brought this, remember?”

Mikey holds up his pudgy hands. “Yeah, Chris, I remember! Put that down, okay?”

Chris strokes the rifle, then props it against a tree.

Icy fear trickles down my spine. They think they can provoke the werewolves and fight them off with a rifle and a dog?

The pit bull lumbers to his feet, snuffles around, and cocks his leg. A stream of urine patters on leaves. The guys burst out laughing.

“That dog's so fucking smart!” Brock cackles. “Good boy, Blackjack!”

Idiots! Stupid, stupid idiots. I need to stop this. A burning log cracks and spits sparks high. I stride toward the orange glare.

Chris sees me first. “Who's this?” He narrows his glittering eyes.

seven

B
lackjack lunges toward me, bellowing. I leap back, my heart hammering. My muscles tighten on the brink of transformation. Brock yanks Blackjack's choke-chain and drags the pit bull down.

“Who the hell is this?” Chris says.

Brock squints at me. “Uh … I've seen her around. Like, at the hardware store.”

Damn. Klikamuks is too small of a town.

“Yeah,” Chris says slowly, all twelve of his brain cells working hard. “She's that homeschool girl. What's her name?”

How irritating. Talking about me like I'm not here. “Gwen,” I say.

“You sure she's not trouble?” Josh whispers, his eyes round and guilty.

Brock shrugs. “We can handle her.”

Chris's face relaxes into a smirk. His gaze lingers on my body. I fold my arms tight, trying not to look uncomfortable, or, worse, afraid.

“Care to join us?” he says. “Gwen?”

I look coolly at him. “I barely know you, and I'm not interested in getting drunk.”

“How about getting drunk and getting laid?” Chris snickers at his own cleverness.

“Oh, how appealing,” I sneer. “Does that line usually work with girls?”

Mikey laughs, and Chris whacks the back of Mikey's head, none too lightly.

“What do you think you're doing out here?” I say. “Howling at werewolves?”

Josh licks his thin lips. “Uh…”

“Just having some fun,” Brock says.

I point at the rifle. “And that?”

“Protection.” Brock arches an eyebrow. “You need to loosen up, baby.”

“You shouldn't provoke werewolves,” I say.

“What,” Brock says. “You on the side of those gicks?”

Gicks. Magicks. I haven't heard that slur in years.

My face heats. “I'm not on anybody's side. Just saying that they could kill you.”

Chris sidles closer, close enough to breathe beer fumes on me. “You worried about us?” He drapes an arm over my shoulders.

I shrug him off. “No.”

He grabs my arm. “Why'd you come all the way out here? Huh?”

I yank away.

Chris grabs me again. “Huh?” He says it louder.

My heart pounds against my ribs. I clench my hands to stop their shaking.

“Chris.” Brock tugs his brother back. “Quit.”

Somebody grabs my butt. I whirl.

Mikey giggles. “Nice ass.”

I want to punch him. I want to turn into a cougar. But I can't. Not in front of them. They know me. They know me, and they are still treating me like this. Tears prick my eyes, and that only makes me angrier.

Arms encircle me from behind. “Cool down, firecrotch.” Chris presses against my back.

Oh, isn't that clever. “Let go of me,” I say.

Chris squeezes my hips, bruising me. “Shhh.” His breath warms my ear.

“Let go of me, or you'll regret it.” My voice sounds surprisingly level, considering how much I'm shaking.

“I don't think I'm going to regret anything,” Chris murmurs.

“Oooh.” Mikey swigs his beer like a spectator at a game. “Hey, aren't redheads supposed to be horny?”

Josh backs away, his face pale. Brock glances at him, looking equally uneasy.

I shut my eyes to hide their glow. Magic is burning inside me. My skin feels feverish. I concentrate on my hands. I dig my nails into Chris's arms, and he doesn't flinch. But he does more than that when my nails become cougar claws.

“What the fu—” Chris screams as I dig deeper.

Blood wells beneath my fingers. I keep my eyes shut tight and hope the glow doesn't leak out. I quiver on the brink of cougar. A growl rumbles up in my throat, but I force it down. They can't know.

Chris yanks back, and I throw myself into girl form with a gasp. My eyes snap open. I raise my blood-slicked hands before my face. No golden glow shines on them. Shaking and giddy, I face the guys.

Chris clutches the gashes on his arm and stares at me. “Bitch!”

“What'd she do?” Josh asks, looking paler.

“Dug her nails into me!” Chris says.

Brock whistles under his breath. “She's got some fucking long nails.”

Chris grabs my wrist. He stares at my short little bloodstained nails.

I twist out of his grasp. “I'm leaving. And you'd better get out of here before the werewolves kick your butts.”

The guys are so shocked they let me walk away.

“Wait a second,” Brock says. “Her nails. Claws! Is she … ?”

“Get her, Blackjack!”

Not the rifle, I mentally urge them. Don't remember the rifle. I break into a run, pursued by Blackjack's panting.

Crap. This time I'm really in for it. Can I possibly shapeshift fast enough?

I hear a
whoosh—thwack—yelp
. I wheel around to see a low branch flinging Blackjack aside. The pit bull hits a trunk, slides, and scrambles to his feet. Whimpering, he flees with his stumpy tail between his legs.

Yes! Here comes the cavalry. Chloe, at least.

The boys shout and curse. Chris raises his rifle, but another branch smacks it from his hand. Josh shrieks. Mikey runs away, surprisingly fast for a fat guy. Chris grabs his brother's arm before he can follow.

“Get the gun!” Chris bellows.

Brock dives for it, but a root rises from the dead leaves like the Loch Ness monster and twists around his ankles. He cries out, groping for the rifle as another root drops it neatly into the bonfire. Chris starts yelling and waves at them to flee. They scramble away, tripping over serpentine roots. Cowards!

A branch coils around my waist and hoists me high into the air. I shout, my stomach lurching, as it lifts me even higher. My feet are dangling twenty feet above the ground. Then a sound like firecrackers makes me clap my hands over my ears. Ammo explodes from the rifle and peppers the trees. The tree holding me—a towering Douglas fir—shivers as if in pain. Chloe's face surfaces from the bark and glares at me.

“What took you so long?” I say.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” I fidget within the branch's grip. “Can you put me down?”

She sets me down, well away from the bonfire. Her face sinks into the tree, and she steps from the trunk and strides toward me.

“Gwen! Are you insane?”

“Are
you
? Don't tell me you were actually sleeping out here with werewolves around.”

“I can take care of myself,” she says coldly.

I feel an awful twisting in my stomach, like I always do when Chloe's mad at me.

“Great,” I say, “just great. I blundered into moronic guys for nothing. And why did you wait so long to help?”

“I decided to sleep as far away from those young men as possible. They didn't wake me until I heard them shouting at you.” Her steely expression wavers. “Thank you for worrying about me, but you shouldn't.”

“Humph,” I say, but I'm not pissed off anymore.

Chloe grabs my shoulders and spins me around. “Not hurt, are you?”

“No.”

She purses her lips. “Gwen, you shouldn't be so reckless.”

I stare steadily into her eyes. “You shouldn't, either.”

“True.” Chloe's gaze flickers away from mine. “I…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It's not nothing, I can tell.”

“Have you ever had the feeling that you're being watched?” she asks.

The hairs on my arms bristle. “Of course.”

“I've felt that way for the past week or so. This morning, someone left a bouquet of roses on my doorstep. With no note.”

I laugh. I can't help myself. “Randall.”

Chloe frowns. “It doesn't seem like something he'd do.”

“He's staying at the B&B, right? Maybe he picked some roses from the garden.” I'm still smiling. “See? I said he liked you.”

She shakes her head. “What about a stalker?”

“Nah. Probably just some secret admirer.” I make a face between a grin and a grimace. “Hopefully not Chris or Brock.”

“It was rather amusing when their dog ran off,” Chloe says in a conversational tone.

I laugh. “It was funnier when they did.” I scratch at the blood under my nails. “Yuck. I'd better wash this off.”

Chloe nods. “You should head home.”

“Yeah. By the way, thanks for saving my butt.”

“Any time.” Her smile doesn't touch her eyes. She looks away, then back at me. I'm not sure what I see in her face. “Randall is…”

“What?” I raise my eyebrows. “Are you guys officially together?”

She squints, then sighs. “Yes.”

“Ah, I knew—”

“And he's a werewolf.”

“
What
?”

“I've known it for a while now,” she says. “And before you ask, it doesn't bother me. In fact, I don't think it should affect how I feel.”

“You're crazy,” I say, shaking my head. “A werewolf? Seriously?”

Chloe leans against a mossy tree, her gaze distant. “He told me soon after I told him, but I already knew.”

“Told him what? Wait, you didn't—”

“Gwen.” She meets my gaze. “Don't worry. Randall's a good person.”

“He's a
werewolf
. He's
dangerous
.”

Her eyes sharpen. “How do you know?”

“Haven't you heard? Werewolves and vampires just love to seduce women right before they bite them. And did you really—”

“That's not true, and you know it.”

I fling out my arms. “It's in their nature to do that. Why do you think there are so freaking many of them?”

“Them? They're Others, like us. Randall understands me.”

“Chloe! This isn't Beauty and the Beast. You're not going to somehow tame him. And wait, is he with that new pack?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Yes.” Her voice chills. “We obviously disagree on this topic. Can we let it go?”

“I … I guess.” I exhale noisily. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will if you will,” she says, and she smooths her hair back and walks away.

You know, I thought getting my driver's license would be one of those empowering, rite-of-passage kind of things. But instead it just sucked. No, “sucked” is too kind of a way to say it. More like sucked monkey balls.

Outside the Department of Licensing, Dad tries to smile. “Want to drive home?”

I shake my head and yank open the passenger-side door. How can he honestly think I still want to drive after what just happened? While Dad backs out of the parking lot, I stare at my temporary black-and-white paper license. My photo beams at me, foolishly happy. Next to the line “HT: 5-07” and “EYES: HAZ,” it says “50% POOKA.”

“For identification purposes,” the guy at the DOL said, which of course is total bull.

How can I ever show this to Zack? To anyone?

A lump smolders in my throat all the way home. Mum frowns when she sees me and assumes I failed my driving test, but Dad explains. I run to my bedroom, grab a pen, and bury “50% POOKA” under black scribbles. Then it looks nearly normal.

Nearly normal. As if I am.

That afternoon, I work at the hardware store, the monotony a comfort. Dad lets me sort merchandise while he handles the customers. When I return from lunch, I see Justin's white van parked outside. What's he doing here?

I freeze at the edge of the parking lot, my fists clenched. Bollocks. Chris and his stupid friends are loitering by the doors.

I breathe deeply and stride toward them, my face blank.

“Red,” Chris calls. “Hey! You listening to me, Big Red?”

I ignore him and keep walking. Brock steps in front of the door.

“Excuse me,” I say, in a mild voice.

“Aren't you happy to see us?” Brock asks.

Mikey giggles. I hate that giggle. Josh fidgets and twitches like a little ferret.

“Redheads are my favorite flavor of lady.” Brock leans closer, smacking a wad of mint gum, and pretends to lick me. “Spicy.”

There's a snowball's chance in hell I'd find these assholes sexy.

They're blocking my way, but I try to keep moving. “I have to get back to work.”

I notice that Chris didn't bandage the ugly red wounds I gave him. Apparently he wants to look macho or something.

Chris leans close. “I know what you are,” he hisses, beer-and-cigarette breath in my face.

I rummage in my purse. “Breath mint?”

“Bitch,” he spits.

I pretend not to have heard, but I'm sure my face is stoplight red.

“What breed of gick are you?” Chris lowers his voice to a whisper. “Cur or leech?”

Oh, I just love it when people assume all Others are werewolves or vampires. I've had enough of these Neanderthals. My heart hammering, I advance on Brock. At the last minute, he steps away with an insolent sneer. Magic simmers inside me.