The Night Has Teeth (21 page)

I turn in my chair and lean across the table to
point out the wounds. The bite marks have sealed over in white scar
tissue and there are pale lines on my forearm where I tried clawing
through my own skin. Not that she’s paying attention. She’s gone
rigid again now that we’re sharing our personal space. We’re close
enough that I can see her heartbeat pulsing in her throat. As she
sits stock-still, with both her hands wrapped around the
chopsticks, the only thing that’s on my mind is how much distance
she’s trying to put between us in this confined area.

“You know, I’m not fragile,” I note, resting my
other arm against the back of her chair. “And I’m pretty sure
you’re not either.”

She swivels so she’s facing me, suspiciously eyeing
the arms that half circle her. “What are you doing?”

Honestly, I don’t entirely know. This situation
started off innocently enough with my genuine concern for her
mental well-being. But then something happened. If I were a casual
onlooker, I would fill in the blanks that are the fractions of
space between us. Before I can answer her question, someone clears
his throat purposefully nearby. We both look over at the same time
to see Josh standing by the table. As we penitently right ourselves
in our seats, he sets down his book bag and joins us.

“Did you order yet?” he asks, sounding
irritated.

“En français, s’il te
plaît
,” Madison tells
him chidingly.

He casts her a withering look. “Not in the mood,
Maddy.”

By the expression on his face, I can see the
tutoring session didn’t go well. At the very least, it took every
ounce of patience he had in him and forced him to tap into the
reserve that he seems to keep especially for Madison. Even she
senses the tenseness in him and diverts her attention to playing
with the empty paper chopstick sleeve. Josh and I both watch as she
folds the world’s tiniest origami animal.

“So, are you going to tell us what happened at the
party?” he says.

“I really didn’t see much,” I answer
quietly.

“What started all of it anyway?” he presses.
“Those guys hanging out with the redhead seemed pretty pissed when
they went into that room.”

I shrug, not knowing what to say.

Reading a little too much into my reticence, he
follows up with a smirking, “Did you hook up with some dude’s
girlfriend?”

I really, really don’t know what to say.

He misinterprets that as a yes. “You sly dog.
Madison said you came home with the redhead the next day!”

Finally, I blurt out, “I’d be a dog if I talked
about it.”

This comment apparently warrants a fist bump, which
I oblige reluctantly. It’s what guys do. I’ve seen it at school
both here and in New York. We talk big, thump our chests, and rag
on each other. Madison sets her origami animal in front of me. What
I see is a tiny white wolf. After staring at it for longer than
warranted, I glance over at her, but her eyes are on the paper
craft.

“You guys are both dogs,” she notes quietly,
clearly irritated by the macho banter.

As she pulls her hand away, I grab hold of it. She
freezes but doesn’t resist.

In a hushed voice, she says, “Let go.”

“Sorry,” I tell her, squeezing her hand gently for
emphasis.

“She said let go,” Josh repeats from across the
table.

When I look over at him, it’s clear that every
muscle in his body is flexed. At that moment all I see is the
clean-cut jock who almost killed Madison. He said himself that he
was the one who broke up with her after his DUI. Why couldn’t he
just let her go to Paris on her own instead of shadowing her, a
constant reminder of what happened?

“What’s it to you?” I fire back at him.

His posture changes suddenly, and I sense he’s about
to do something we’re both going to regret. Even though he’s
physically more fit than I am, I’d actually like a chance to clock
him just to knock some sense back into him. What’s wrong with
me?

“Stop it!” Madison screeches. “Both of
you.”

Her hand slips out of mine. Customers at other
tables around us pause in conversation to look over at us. We’re
just a bunch of rowdy teenagers to them. Not to worry, though,
we’ve been suitably chastised. While Josh picks up a menu to glare
at it, I take the origami dog and fumble it between my fingers.

“What actually happened to your hand anyway?” she
asks.

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

“So sad, too bad,” she jokes, and I can sense that
she’s going to pressure me for answers I can’t reveal.

“Look, drop it already!” I state a little too
adamantly.

Heads turn toward me as a momentary hush falls on
the restaurant. I sink into my seat in embarrassment. Even after
the voices pick up again, silence hovers between us. When the
waiter finally appears, she sizes us up before taking our orders.
We’re regulars, so it’s not like she’ll toss us out for being a
little obnoxious. Still, we get the hint.

After a pause, I regain my composure and announce in
as calm a voice as I can muster, “I’m not even supposed to see you
anymore.”

“Says who?” Madison asks, the ire in her voice
impossible to mistake for any other emotion.

“Amara,” I reply. “And probably Arden, too, if I
asked.”

I imagine my announcement is a relief to Josh. Not
that there’s been any real animosity between us up until now, but I
know I’ve been an unwelcome presence at times. My converging
interests with Madison have monopolized conversations where he’s
used to having her complete attention to himself. I expect her to
say something about the matter. Instead, while we wait for our
food, she goes to the girls’ room. That’s when Josh takes the
opportunity to get in a few words.

“I know I have no right to tell you what to do
here, but―”

“You’re right,” I interrupt him. “You
don’t.”

He leans forward, staring me down with his sky-blue
eyes. “Amara’s right, though. You can’t date Madison.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, sitting back.

I can’t believe my ears. “Why, because she’s damaged
goods?”

“It’s not that.”

“I don’t know exactly what happened last spring,”
I start in, “but you can’t have it both ways, Josh. You can’t call
the shots on who she dates.”

With a shake of his head he explains, “You don’t
know what you’re getting into.”

“That’s my problem.”

“Connor, seriously—”

“Whatever,” I say out of frustration. “It’s not
like it matters. She’s too scared to even touch me, let alone kiss.
So don’t worry. I’m not the guy who’s going to sweep her off her
feet away from you.”

It’s only then that I become acutely aware of
Madison’s presence by my side. Josh takes one furtive glance at her
and stares down at his hands. Meanwhile, I try to work out in my
head if I’ve said anything that would have offended her enough to
never speak to me again.

“You guys are unbelievable,” she notes.

“Maddy―”

“No, Josh, I think you’ve said enough.”

Bending down, she picks up her rucksack and turns to
leave.

“Where are you going?”

For a long while, she just stares at him over her
shoulder. “Somewhere I should have gone months ago. Out of your
life.”

That hurt expression of his appears, and I know
she’s hit a nerve.

“Madison, you don’t mean that,” he says, as much
for himself as for her.

From the way she shakes her head, I know it doesn’t
fly. “I’m done, Josh. I’m done being stuck like this.”

She turns to back away, and I can see that it takes
everything in him to not break down. I feel like an intruder
sitting in on their conversation. My eyes follow as she strides
over to the sushi-go-round preparation counter to get her food to
go. I shift in my seat, compelled to shadow her.

“Don’t,” he orders. His voice is as thick as
syrup. “You don’t get to be there for her, Connor.”

While I keep my eyes on Madison, I’m confident that
it isn’t Josh keeping me rooted in my place. It’s her. She doesn’t
want someone to fix her life. What can I do for her anyway?
Whatever issues she has to work out, she has to handle them on her
own. I can stand to learn that lesson myself. After all, these
werewolves aren’t going to leave my life on their own.

16.
Rolling In The Deep

O
ver the course of the next few days, a coldness creeps into
our lives as Madison gives Josh the silent treatment. It’s weird
for all of us, since she’s not exactly one to keep her opinions to
herself. Meanwhile, the weather begins to turn outside. The chill
and dampness reflect the way things are going between them ―
between us, really. The fact of the matter is we haven’t made any
other friends besides each other. Amara really didn’t take that
into account when she tried to put the kibosh on my associating
with them. For the first time in my life, I somehow fit in, and as
much as I appreciate how seriously dangerous my current situation
is, it’s not as though I can just give up my newfound friends cold
turkey.

On the periphery, Josh has his extracurricular
sports and the guys who make up those teams. But after the last
goal, he has no use for them off the playing field. Madison seems
to covet her personal space, always standing on the outside of
social circles looking in, not caring one way or another whether
she fits in ― in fact, trying hard not to. As the trees begin to
fade from shades of green to ochre, we’re forced indoors and into
each other’s company. That’s when her wall comes down. Every day a
little brick comes loose in her reticence, until, at the end of a
week, it’s like the keystone holding everything together is
removed, and with it all the other pieces come crumbling down. It
puts an end to her anger toward him altogether.

The funny thing about time is that you don’t ever
really notice it until you’re waiting for something to happen.
After being bitten, I sort of expected the world to change
dramatically. But days pass, and those days turn into weeks. During
that time nothing out of the ordinary happens. It’s like someone
hit the reset button on my life, and everything in it has been
restored to factory default setting. That said, I’ve noticed some
weird changes in my physiology since the incident at Pleine Lune.
For one, I need more sleep. Besides the twelve hours I get at
night, I catch several naps throughout the day. At the same time,
when I’m up, I feel like I’ve got an excessive amount of pent-up
energy. I’ve had to take up jogging just to expend some of it. Then
there’s the scent sensitivity. Whether it’s perfume or food ― or
the less pleasant odors of Paris ― I seem to smell
more
of everything. I’m still
working on the assumption that these are all side effects of the
antivenin, but I’ve programmed Boadicea’s number into my phone just
in case I have to make an emergency call to her. It gives me peace
of mind knowing there’s a point person for me to talk to in the
event that something weirder happens, like I grow a monobrow or
whatever.

Meanwhile, my legal guardians have put me in
lockdown. I’m forced to account for my whereabouts at all times,
which is more than somewhat annoying. Moreover, when they’re not
working, they’re installing themselves awkwardly into my life.
Arden often accompanies my early morning jogs in “dog” form. Amara
tends to just check in on me at random intervals to ensure I’m
where I said I’d be.

My only reprieve from them is during school hours.
In mid-October I’m on a school trip to the Louvre. Our entire art
class shuffles in among the throngs of other visitors, led by a
guide who has the bohemian look down pat. Even without us knowing
its history, we can tell the museum was obviously once a palace.
Everything about its opulent architectural features says so. The
massive building wraps around a large courtyard, in the centre of
which is a modern addition: a glass pyramid. We enter there, going
through security that’s as tight as an airport, before heading on
the guided tour.

As we make our way through the grand halls and
exhibits, Josh and Madison are back to the antics of their easy
relationship. Bored, and with a grin full of mischief, he tugs on
her ponytail. Although she casts him a glare in return, the
intended edge is softened by her smile. It’s the kind of expression
she reserves for when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking. Like
somehow it would undo her if other people thought she was content.
As though happiness is something she needs to guard closely lest it
be stolen from her. But Josh gets to share this moment with her. I
force myself to look away, to suffocate the unexpected spark of
envy. Even if they’re just friends now, that intimacy between them
is a sore reminder of what I’ve never experienced. It isn’t true
what they say, that you can’t miss what you’ve never had.

Our guide tells us we’re about to visit the
world’s most famous painting, so sought-after that about six
million people view it each year and many have tried to steal and
vandalize it. She leads us around a corner toward the
Mona
Lisa
, where the room
swells with tourists. Even though there are other paintings,
everything about this area is meant to draw the eye to the middle
of the far wall, where Leonardo da Vinci’s work hangs on its own
behind what we’re told is bulletproof glass. I jostle my way to the
front of the crowd to get a better view. When I’m close enough to
see the full painting, I’m surprised by everything about it. For
one thing, it’s somehow a lot smaller than I imagined. Darker, too.
Nothing about it screams work of genius to me.