My Wolf's Bane (4 page)

† † †

I whooshed through the front door of my house, dropping my backpack in the entryway. This house was newer than the others we’d lived in, with high ceilings and plenty of wide-open spaces. Mom managed to make it homey despite the lack of furniture and knick-knacks, always keeping fresh flowers on the fireplace mantle, a soft rug over the hardwood floors and warm hues covering the walls.

“Mom? Dad?” I called out.

Faint voices from their bedroom wafted down to the ground floor, reminding me how much I’d be working over the weekend in my dad’s office upstairs.

But I’d have to embrace slavedom in order to win back my freedom. Maybe if I started working tonight and only stopped to eat and sleep… A thrill rippled through me at the thought of salvaging my Sunday. One thing at a time though. Right now, the only thing on my mind was talking my parents out of uprooting me again.

Bolting to the bottom of the stairs, I sprang, intending to take them two at a time. Instead, I soared over four steps, my feet landing with a thud on the fifth.

Sure, five-feet-eight was tall for a girl, but even my dad couldn’t hop that many steps as effortlessly as I just had. Unless, I’d already taken one step before doing the three. Had I?

My heart pounded, not with exertion, but sudden fear. Was my body freaking out or was I going crazy?

Eyeing the first landing, I braced myself, then leapt again. My foot slipped on the third step and my knee smacked into the hard corner. I teetered backward and caught the railing before tumbling to level ground. Pain sliced through my leg.

My knee throbbed as I hobbled the rest of the stairs one step at a time, then limped down the hallway toward my parents’ bedroom. Testing myself for suddenly developed superpowers had been a lame idea.

By the time I stood over the threshold to their room, any discomfort had completely vanished. Like I hadn’t already had enough weirdness for one day with my freaky sense of smell and heightened hearing.

Speaking of smell, the nicotine stench in the house was particularly pungent today. Before I could give it more thought, I noticed my mom smiling up at me from her cross-legged position on the floor. A thin mist of smoke from the lit cigarette between her fingers swirled up toward the ceiling. I glanced at the window that was cracked open only a smidgen and wondered why my parents
hadn’t already flung themselves through the window to get some oxygen.

“Autumn.” Dad’s blond head popped up from behind his laptop. He grinned at me as he set the computer aside to reveal all six feet two inches of him.
“How was your day?”

“Hi, sweetheart.” My mom’s nearly black hair swished over her arm as she reached over to cram a T-shirt into one of several very full plastic bags. Donations to the thrift store, no doubt. Mom liked to travel light, so she always purged just before we moved.

My stomach twisted at the thought of starting all over somewhere else. Worse, with school almost over, why bother enrolling me wherever we ended up? I’d be back to home schooling.

“Something wrong?” Mom asked, exhaling as she flicked ashes into the ashtray.

Yes, something was definitely wrong, but my urge to rehash it with them died as soon as I’d seen the loaded bags. What was the point when they already knew how I felt? “I’m fine,” I lied, giving them a tight smile. “I have a lot of homework though. See you for dinner.”

I slogged down the hall to my room. After kicking off my shoes, I wiggled my toes in the silky fuzz of the white faux fur rug at the foot of my bed and drew in a lungful of air. Mom or Dad must have been smoking in my room recently. Gross. I glanced at my dresser to see a stack of folded clothes that had been dropped off. With another breath came the scent of laundry detergent. From across the room.

I didn’t know how I was able to smell it from that far away, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Fatigue nagged me. Maybe after a nap, I could forget my rotten day.

Sprawling over my purple comforter, I closed my eyes. Noises surrounded me — the patter of my mom’s feet as she went downstairs, a dish clattering against the counter, the refrigerator door opening and closing, water rushing through the pipes. How could I possibly hear all that?

From my prone position, I brought my knee to my chest and rolled up my jeans. My knee appeared perfectly normal. No swelling, no scratch. But as much as it had hurt bashing into the step, there should’ve been something to show for the pain.

My new super-hearing, crazy sense of smell and fast healing couldn’t be my imagination.

But it had to be.

I was just a normal girl who’d been reading too many vampire romances and werewolf tales.

† † †

Wolves howled in the distance.

I crouched perfectly still, huddled against a moss-covered tree trunk, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and pine.

The snarls grew louder and leaves rustled. The wolves were getting closer. Sweat trickled down my temple and my breath froze in my lungs as I braced myself for the inevitable.

I sucked in air and bolted upright, my heart thudding against my ribcage. I rubbed my eyes, then scanned the walls around me.
My
room. No wolves. I released my breath and flopped back onto my pillow. 

It had been years since I’d dreamed of them. Why now?

The sun had lowered, casting shadows on the walls. It had to be almost dinner time. My stomach growled in confirmation. Shrugging off my nightmare, I headed downstairs.

When I settled at the table to eat with my parents, I was too disturbed over the day’s events to concentrate on food. Wayward boyfriends, bitchy friends, my inevitable return to home schooling… And then there were my heightened senses and accelerated healing — which were my imagination, of course.

“How are your classes going?” My mom eyed me over her plate of rice, sautéed vegetables and stuffed tomatoes.

She didn’t fool me. Their love for me was the one constant in my life, but they took it to extremes. One more thing to add to the list of oddities about my parents: they asked a lot of questions about my teachers, my friends and anyone else I mentioned. But if someone else asked questions about us, they got twitchy.

Like in Reno, Nevada, when I was fourteen-years-old, the waiter at a restaurant was curious why we were vegetarians and asked what school I went to. We’d moved a week later. Or a couple years ago when our neighbors in St. George, Utah had asked, in what seemed like polite conversation, where we were from — I’d told them. That time, I’d only had a few days before being whisked away.

Way to make me earn my adulthood by loving me to death. I adored them, but their backseat-driving and paranoia drove me crazy. And drove me away.

They weren’t exactly over-sharers either, so my info deprivation only fueled my imagination. I used to wonder if I’d been kidnapped, but blew it off since I looked too much like my mom. Had something bad happened to make them so overcautious? I’d asked, but never got any straight answers. Ironically, I’d hated their aversion to sharing information, yet I’d developed the same affliction with them.

Until I knew the reason for their paranoia, omitting details and giving my parents a more pleasant version of reality would keep them from worrying as much — and from ruining my life.

“Aced my history test.” Which was odd since I hadn’t studied at all. Like I’d suddenly gotten way smarter.  “But I’m not sure why any of that matters since I won’t be graduating with everyone else.” I set my glass on the table with a bang.

Dad cleared his throat. “We’re doing what’s best for this family.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

Mom took a sip from her glass of juice, her gaze still steady on mine. “You should know, your father accepted that job today.”

So it was official. My eyes stung. “When does it start?”

Dad reached over to squeeze my hand. “We’re still working that out.”

My parents shelled out money for my private school, so we couldn’t be poor. But if we stayed here and they turned down work, could they still afford the tuition? Whether we stayed or left, I was screwed.

I blinked away the burn in my eyes as I withdrew my hand from his and got up. “Thanks for dinner.” After loading my plate into the dishwasher, I headed to my room to mope in private.

Just as I settled on the bed and turned on the TV, a rap sounded on my door. Apparently, going five minutes without laying eyes on me was too long. “Come in.”

Mom and Dad appeared in the doorway, each holding a glowing cigarette between their fingers. I wondered if it was a conspiracy to stink up my room.

With only the dim light from my TV barely reaching their faces, they could almost pass for teenagers. They insisted that their vegetarian diet and jogging every night kept them young. Except they smoked. Go figure.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Dad asked.

I muted the TV. “Is it going to change anything?” I fired back.

He shook his head. “We’ve made our decision.”

Exactly. They’d still haul me from city to city and they weren’t going to give me a pardon on the debt or unground me.

“Then I have nothing to say.” I switched the sound back on and turned to the TV.

Mom peeked past Dad’s shoulder, her amber eyes narrowing just before closing the door.

Damn them.

Restless, I jumped off the bed and opened the window for some fresh air. I looked past the neighbor’s parted curtains to their ghastly, paisley-patterned paper, which I hadn’t been able to see yesterday.

Yep, even my vision was better.

Maybe my improved senses were stress-related. Like the way moms were capable of great strength to save their child. If I did away with the stress, maybe my body would start metabolizing normally again. Maybe that’s all there was to it.

After my shower, I threw on some pajamas, then went in search of dessert. Maybe after getting some chocolate in my system, I’d feel normal.

A
lot
of chocolate.

“We’re leaving for our run, sweetheart,” my dad said as I descended the stairs. “We’ll be gone an hour or so. You’ll be okay while we’re out?”

I blew out a breath, slipping in a groan for their benefit. “I think I can handle being home alone for an hour. Maybe one day, when I’m thirty or forty, you can leave me alone
all day
.”

Dad laughed, my irritation soaring over his head. Mom gave me a scolding look before following him out the front door.

On the way to the fridge, I shook out my arms to relax. An unfamiliar energy, like a power surge, centered in my chest and spread out. My pulse hammered. What the hell was that? Panic crept up on me. Maybe I had a brain aneurysm or something.

As my breathing calmed and the tingles faded, I could almost believe I was okay and that most likely it was just my crappy day that had taken its toll. Yeah, that’s all there was to it.

Grabbing a juice bottle from the fridge, I held it in one hand and twisted off the cap with the other. The bottle burst and liquid sprayed. I winced as shards of glass sliced through my palm and blood flowed down to my fingertips, blending with the spilled juice.

My heart pounded. I sucked in a few long breaths which seemed to dull the pain. With trembling hands, I threw the glass shards in the garbage, then ran water over my palm to survey the damage. The cool stream soothed my frayed nerves and washed the blood down the drain.

How had I shattered the bottle with my bare hands? Defective bottle? It had to be. I couldn’t imagine the amount of strength it would take to crush a glass bottle.

Strangely, all the pain had faded, even though it had only been a matter of seconds since I’d broken the bottle. Flipping my hands over and back again, I couldn’t find the source of the blood. How was that possible? Blood would’ve required an opening to pass through. And yet, no such opening existed.

No avoiding it now. Something was definitely up.

A logical explanation had to exist somewhere, but I had no idea where to start. The last place I’d go for information was my parents. The way they worried about me, I’d probably find myself in the hospital. Next thing you know, I’d be the subject of some weird experiment.

I’d fallen asleep at my laptop last night, surfing the Internet for anything on powers or accelerated healing. The Marvel comic sites told me about superheroes with special abilities. But I already knew I wasn’t a superhero. I needed to know
why
it was happening. I had some other ideas for research, but had to hold off until later, after I worked off my debt to my parents.