Starfall (11 page)

“Vaguely,” Vera says. “We went to different schools, so we never hung out or anything.”

School! Okay, now I have something I can latch onto. “What school did you go to?”

Finally a reaction. Just a smile, but it's a smile that works alone, without her eyes. She's pausing. She knows she can't avoid answering my very simple question, but she doesn't know how to reply.

“A small private school. I'm sure you never heard of it.”

That's because you've never heard of it either!

“Are you done with your questioning, officer?” Barnaby asks snidely. “I'd like to get back to my tutoring so I can pass my first test tomorrow.”

Sure, now that I know Vera failed hers.

“Well, this is a much smaller town than Cos Cob, so I'm sure we'll get to know each other really well,” I warn.

“I think you can count on that, Dominy.”

Without looking back at me, Vera turns to Barnaby and starts rattling off some scientific jargon that sounds more complex than anything Caleb ever said to me while he was tutoring me in math. I really do miss my boyfriend. It was wonderful to hear his voice earlier; I can't believe I wasted it by talking so much about Nadine. Ah well, I know we'll talk again very soon, and I won't waste time doing anything else but flirting.

Through the kitchen window I see that it's already dusk, and the three-quarter moon is on its upward journey in the sky. Another transformation will be here before I know it. Turning around I look over at Vera, her head practically touching my brother's, and I wonder what type of thing she's going to turn out to be.

Because as sure as I know that I'm going to become a wolf in a few more days, I know that girl in my kitchen isn't human.

Sometimes it feels more natural to be underneath a cloak of red fur.

I barely felt the transformation this time, barely felt my blood turn to flames or my bones snap and change shape. This time it felt like I was turning into what I'm supposed to be, what I was born to be, what I should be all the time. The thing that most people in this town want dead, the thing that makes brave men act frightened and foolish men act wise, the thing Luba created.

A rough breeze rips through me, lifting my fur, glorious and lush and defiant, and I feel strong. My time in this form is short, so I move quickly to make the most of it.

The night dirt is cool underneath my paws, and, with every step I take, it's as if little pieces of the world are bending to my command, to my strength, to my power. The earth knows that something with more authority is roaming loose, something with the potential to destroy everything that crosses its path, but something that also knows when to show mercy.

A short distance in front of me a doe has just given birth. She's alone with her calf, licking the blood and placenta and mucus off her child's newborn skin, wiping it clean of impurities, washing away any reminder of the violent passage the calf just underwent. But when the doe sees me staring at her, it's clear that their emotional connection will never be severed.

The doe's tongue continues to graze over the calf's face, continues to cleanse the child, but the rest of her body is immobile. Eyes, ears, legs, all unmoving, because she knows the only way to save her own life is to offer the life of her child to me. And such a thought is inconceivable for this animal.

A memory tugs at my mind of a woman with golden hair lying in a bed, covered in a white sheet, the smell of lilac and powder clinging to the air around her. I don't know who this woman is, but I know she's as important to me as the doe is to her calf. I corral my instinct to lunge forward and plunge my fangs into the fresh, minutes-old body of the calf. My front paws dig farther into the dirt, bury themselves so as to anchor my body to the ground, keep me from moving forward to do what I was born to do: hunt and destroy.

But there's another part of me, hidden deep underneath the flame-red fur, that was born to do something entirely different: protect and save. For some reason that's the part that I listen to now; that's the part that comes to the surface and takes control, allowing the doe and her child to live or at least not to die tonight because of me.

As I walk away from my would-be meal, I see the doe bow her head to me in gratitude. In response I let out a fierce howl that makes her child stir, nuzzle closer to the warmth of its mother's belly. I mimic the newborn's movement, twisting my neck, and push against the cool air, and the smell of lilac intensifies. The scent slams into my snout with such force that I stumble backward and have to shake my head to prevent myself from falling into unconsciousness. It's as if the smell is trying to tell me something, remind me of something or someone from my past or another life.

When the next wave of hunger threatens to consume me, I abandon all thoughts of mercy and allow my primitive character to take over. The groundhog is plump and juicy and weak; if he has any will to escape the grip of my fangs, it must be bludgeoned by fear and never shows itself. He lies underneath me, his body rising slowly up and down as I feast on his innards, his blood staining my red fur to create one unbroken line of death to life. Licking my fangs to savor the sweet, ripe taste of this animal's blood, I feel proud; I've served a dual purpose tonight—I've hunted life, but I've also spared life. I've maintained balance.

Walking into the center of a rocky plain, an area I've overheard humans call Dry Land, I'm paralyzed by another memory. Screams of a girl, sounds of terror silenced only by my claws and my teeth, then the utterly glorious taste of first blood. This is where it all started; right in this spot is where my hunger was unleashed; this is where I was reborn. I look up into the sky and I see the same thing that I saw that night, the blazing moon. It's more of an instinct than a memory, but I know that I stood here drenched in the silver glow of the moon, stood here on a precipice, on the edge of my existence, and this is where I remain. Sometimes I teeter toward the moon; sometimes I retreat in fear from it, but I will never fall too far from its pull. The energy of the moonglow will always pulse through my veins.

Whether I'm a werewolf resting after a meal or a girl waking up from a dream.

“Arla?”

She's standing at the foot of my bed, her light brown skin glowing in the first light of dawn that is streaking in through the open window. Looking like a statue carved out of rosewood, Arla stands there motionless, the only movement coming from her cotton nightgown rippling slightly in the breeze. Her eyes are open, but vacant; her voice is soothing, but not hers.

“Remember, Dominy, you are blessed.”

That's what my mother used to tell me, and now Napoleon's repeating her words.

“You're blessed,” Nap says, “because she has finally come.”

Nap has got to be talking about Vera.

“And she's brought with her an ending.”

An ending? To the curse? To my life? To what?

“Arla . . .
Nap
. . . an ending to what?”

My voice is rough, like I've spent the night screaming or howling. I try to speak again, but my mouth is dry and parched and I have to swallow hard. By that time Arla has turned and left the room. Leaving me alone with the sunlight and my memories and my questions.

And the unsettling feeling that the wolf now buried deep within me is trying to speak to me through my dreams.

 

“At least you know when the wolf is going to take over your body,” Arla states, walking down the hallway in between classes a few days later. “I never know when Nap is going to swoop in and do the body-swap thing.”

She's wearing her black pageboy wig today, so she reminds me of a Japanese schoolgirl, and naturally whenever I think of anything Japanese I think of Jess, that country's number one fan, human or otherwise.

“Isn't it ironic that despite how hard Jess tried, she and Nap were never really connected when they were alive,” I say. “But now that they're both spirits, they're so much alike, coming and going whenever they want, on a whim.”

Scrunching up her face so her eyes squint and she looks even more Asian than ever, Arla shakes her head. “I don't think they have any control over when they visit,” she declares. “They never come just to say hello; they've always got a message.”

She's right about that. And Jess's messages have been very infrequent lately.

“As long as Nap doesn't take over my mind while I'm driving or trying to win a track meet, I'm okay,” Arla announces. “Guess this is my new normal.”

“Welcome to Dominyland,” I shout.

A land where anything can happen, where dead spirits and live humans can converse, and where every ounce of beauty is doused by a rainstorm of ugliness.

“Nap was a faggot! He probably got killed trying to get some straight guy to be a faggot too!”

The hate etched into every word Jody Buell shouts hovers in the air like dense fog. It's sudden, it's unexpected, and it's impossible to see beyond. The entire hallway is plunged into immediate silence by the shock of hearing Jody, usually quiet and reserved, utter such a malicious comment, and before anyone can protest, Archie reacts.

He's standing at the other end of the hallway, facing Jody, who's in front of us. Barnaby, Gwen, and a few others are next to Jody, all of them stunned by the ferocity of his statement and so preoccupied with their friend's outburst that they don't see Archie's evolution; they don't see him change from human into something else.

I don't even think Arla can see it from this distance, but it's as if I'm looking through a magnifying glass, and I can clearly see his left eye turn black and his right eye turn gold. Even though my view is perfect, I'm still shocked to see his right eye flicker several times before changing once more to match the same dark color as his left. All goodness has left his body.

Leaping through the air, Archie is horizontal for a few seconds before making contact with Jody. It's not until both boys are on the ground that Jody even knows he's being attacked. That's how quietly and quickly Archie pounced on his prey.

In a series of deft movements, Archie straddles Jody's stomach, pins his arms under his knees, and starts punching Jody in the face. Once, twice, three times. I lose count, and my head begins to swim because I'm no longer looking at my friend in a brawl, but at an animal unleashing its fury. This is what I must look like when I'm consuming my prey, elegance and precision and rage all coming together to create an action that feels incredibly natural because of its very inhuman nature. I know exactly what Archie's feeling, so I know I'm the only one who can stop him.

Barnaby, Gwen, and some others are trying to pull Archie off of Jody, but they have no idea that his body no longer belongs to him; it's stronger and more vicious than they can imagine. Glancing to my left, I see Arla holding onto an open locker door to keep from falling onto her knees; she understands as well as I do that Archie is being possessed. The problem is that, just like on the football field, he's doing nothing to fight off the attack; he's reveling in his newfound power.

I know my actions are going to appear suspicious, but I hope that the frenzy of activity surrounding Archie and the screams ripping down the hallway will act as a buffer, and my movements won't appear as incredible as they'll probably look. Running behind Archie, I wait until he raises his arm in preparation to strike another blow against Jody's battered face, and I hook my arm around his so our elbows lock. Then I grab Archie's other arm, the one pressing down on Jody's forehead to keep him immobile, and yank it behind his back, so I have him in a makeshift wrestling hold. I hear some gasps behind me, but I ignore them. I'll attribute my strength to a rush of adrenalin. Right now my friend needs protection.

“Archie, I know you can hear me,” I whisper into his ear. “I know you're in there. You have to fight this.”

The only thing Archie wants to fight is me. His body twists from side to side, and it feels like our skin is burning against each other.

“This is not the person you want to be,” I urge. “This is not the person Napoleon wants you to be.”

At the sound of his former boyfriend's name, Archie's body stiffens. Finally, I get the sense that he's fighting the evil coursing through his veins. He stops moving long enough for me to pull him off of Jody and to a standing position at the same time that Mr. Lamatina hoists Jody up and over his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Luckily, our diminutive teacher's surprising action trumps mine, so most of the kids are amazed that little Mr. Lamatina, school hypochondriac, is playing the hero.

“I'm taking him to Nurse Nelson,” he cries to Dumbleavy as they race past each other.

“What the . . .”

I'm not sure who looks more surprised by Archie's actions, our principal or Archie himself.

“Seriously, Dom,” Archie starts as he grabs onto my wrist with a hand that's shaking and bruised. “What is happening to me?”

His eyes are back to their normal violet color, but they're no longer beautiful because they're soaked with fear.

“Don't worry,” I say. “I'll explain everything later.”

I'm so distraught, so focused on watching my friend walk down the hall as if he's walking to the electric chair, I don't realize Nadine is standing next to me until she speaks.

“Are you going to tell Archibald that he's going through the changes?” Nadine asks.

I'm so infuriated by Nadine's comment that I hesitate. Barnaby doesn't.

“You think this is funny, don't you?” my brother asks.

Smirking slightly, Nadine replies, “I'm not laughing, am I?”

“I don't know what the hell your problem is, Nadine, but Archie was defending your brother!” Barnaby shouts. “Something you've never done.”

I'm filled with pride and fright at the same time. Pride because my brother is confronting Nadine, clearly no longer under her spell, and fright because her blackened light has extended from her pores and is curling around Barnaby's neck. Just as I'm about to reach out and grab hold of the light, wrench it from my brother's body, it retreats on its own, buries itself back inside its source like one of those retractable cords on a vacuum cleaner. Thanks to Vera.

“Hi, Nadine.”

Nadine actually shivers. I don't know why Nadine is afraid of Vera, but she is. She looks like she wants to hide, but here in the hallway she has nowhere to go, so she's forced to speak.

“Hello, Vera,” Nadine finally says.

“We really have to get together soon so we can catch up,” Vera suggests. “It's been a long time.”

Maybe that's it! Maybe Nadine isn't afraid of Vera, but of what she represents—her past. They come from the same town, so maybe Nadine thinks that Vera knows all about her. As blatant as Nadine and Luba are about their powers with the Wolf Pack and me, they haven't exactly shouted their true nature from the rooftops. Better to maintain anonymity while on a supernatural crime spree, I suppose. And better to keep your enemies quiet until you figure out how to quiet them permanently.

“That sounds great,” Nadine replies, her voice sounding forced and thin. “I'd like that.”

Without waiting for a response, Nadine hurries down the hall, the squeaking of her sneaker shoes echoing off the walls.

Vera watches her scurry away, and I can't tell if she's pleased to have reconnected with an old friend or thrilled to have made an old enemy squirm. Until she speaks.

“Obviously Nadine hasn't changed a bit,” she says. “She's still able to bend the truth while wearing a straight face.”