Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl (13 page)

Things could've been much worse these last few days. What if I'd attacked Jules, or Malika, or my mom? Or Harris? I couldn't think about any of that. I just needed to learn how to cope with the future. And Owen.

“Are we upsetting you? Should we stop?” asked Françoise.

I shook my head but couldn't form words.

“She needs to understand the danger,” said Pierre. “She's been very lucky so far.”

“Maybe she can control herself better than the rest of us for some reason,” said Marlon. “Maybe there's something special about Sam. I mean, Mom survived the change, but there are so many horror stories about what happens to girls—death, mutations, insanity.”

“What do you mean, ‘mutations'?” I asked.

“Some girls—the lucky ones, I guess—don't die. They just get stuck … can't fully change shape, and live in between. They're half a wolf. All the time.”

Those two girls who'd jumped me yesterday—were they mutant werewolves? The fur and the claws were so realistic. I was reluctant to talk about the girls. Had Owen bitten them, too? Would his family stop him from doing it again, or cover up what he'd done?

“How many girls survive?” I asked.

The Lebruns glanced at one another.

“They mostly die,” said Marlon.

“Like, how many of them?”

“Four out of five,” admitted Françoise. “Or more. Honestly, we don't have enough case studies, but the ones we know about who survive all have mutations they can't conceal. One poor woman has the head of a wolf. She has to live as a recluse. Another just has a tail.”

“I'm positive there's something special about you,” Marlon said with a wink. But I could tell he was nervous.

“Maybe it's because I'm eating loads of meat,” I said, eager to offer an explanation. “Which is a huge deal considering I was a vegetarian for
years
.”

Pierre frowned.

“Well, I have, uh, had a raging temper. And really vivid dreams about howling at the moon—”

“They probably weren't dreams,” said Françoise.

“What?”

“Your body's been forcing you to change when
you fall asleep,” said Pierre. “To fulfill the wolf 's urges.”

Was he saying I may have done something horrible in the middle of the night? But I remembered my dog dreams, and they didn't involve murder. Although I'd almost made Zoe a midnight snack …

“What's going on during the day?” he asked.

“I keep wanting to do crazy stuff, like bite people and break things.”

Pierre frowned again.

“Enough of this,” said Françoise, clapping her hands. “Obviously Sam's got much better self-control than any of us did.”

Why did it sound like she was trying to convince me?

“We should be grateful for that,” said Pierre after a moment. “And now that she's found her pack, we'll help her.”

I shook my head. “My pack?”

Pierre smiled and reached across the table to pat my hands, which were clenched together. “You're one of us. Every other werewolf you meet will smell Lebrun on you.”

“Why?”

“It's in your blood,” said Marlon.

“So I'm like your sister now? Your half-wolf sister?”

“Not exactly.” The look he shot me was anything but brotherly.

“I think we should all go for a run,” said Françoise, “and cool off. You need to experience the feeling of running with a pack, Sam. It's the most liberating thing in the world.”

I would've loved to press pause on my life and curl up with Janis or hang out with Malika, talking everything through until the sun came up. Mali always knew what to say. I'd probably never be able to tell her what was really going on with me again. It was all so messed up and unbelievable. I felt more alone than ever.

How could I trust these people? The Lebruns didn't seem particularly worried about trusting me with the knowledge that they were werewolves. But I'd learned that when you were somewhat famous like us, secrets could be worth a lot of money. I didn't need the cash. Clearly they didn't either. Other people, though …

Pierre was staring out the window at the moon. I expected him to start howling any second. Were we going after Owen? My heart thumped, hard. They expected me to turn into a wolf. On demand? In front of them? Would I have to watch them change, too? But I
was
curious. What did I look like when I was transforming?

Marlon's eyes were trained on the trees outside. His
heart was already out there. He began to pick up the empty teacups. His mother put a hand on his arm.

“We'll clean up later.”

Without looking at me, he headed for the kitchen. His parents followed. So did I.

The kitchen was designed in sterile black and chrome, an oddly stark and modern contrast to the antique decor in the rest of the house. We went out the back door onto a path that led straight into the woods. Manicured lawns and ornamental flower beds weren't a priority here. I squinted at the trees, wondering where Owen was.

Pierre lifted his shirt. He was going to change right now! Skin rippled, tightened, and stretched. His arms hunched up and shortened. When his pants began to fall away, I spun around. Once I'd heard him scamper into some nearby bushes, I decided it was safe to turn back. Instead of Pierre, a giant canine peered up at me. He looked just like the wolves who'd been in the park, except that his brown coat was shot through with grey.

“Please excuse my husband,” said Françoise. “He's not used to guests.”

“It's okay,” I lied, feeling slightly queasy. “You're not expecting me to do that, are you?”

Marlon raised an amused eyebrow. “Shy?”

Françoise shook her head. “You don't need to be, Sam. Not around us.”

“I think maybe I'll sit this one out. Stay at the house—”

“No way!” said Marlon. “You have to learn how to control the change, or it will control you. Sooner or later.”

“And the only way to do that is to practise with us,” said his mother. “Transforming here on our land with three experienced werewolves watching your back is a lot safer than prowling around the city alone.”

She had a point.

“I'm not stripping in front of you,” I told Marlon.

He laughed.

Françoise grabbed my hand and dragged me around the corner of the house, out of sight. Then she took off her clothes. Whoa.
I'm
not even that comfortable with my human body.

“The trick to changing—or not changing—is to control your mood and empty your mind,” she said as she lowered to the ground on all fours. Her legs and hips melted into a wolf 's haunches. “It's a little like meditation. Have you ever tried that?”

“My mom taught me a few relaxation techniques when my band first got really popular. I was having panic attacks every time I sat down to practise, and worse when I had to perform.”

“Did it help?”

“Yeah. Some.”

“Same sort of thing,” said Françoise. As I watched, her hands became paws. They changed back to hands. Then paws again. Then hands. “Slow down your thoughts as much as possible and simply
will
your tissues and bones to give up their current shape. Or to remain as they are. After a while, it's no more difficult than forcing yourself to concentrate in any stressful situation. Try starting with a hand …” One of her hands turned into a paw. “Close your eyes and imagine the change.”

I took off my T-shirt and squeezed my eyes shut. I pictured Françoise's furry paws, then imagined my own hands changing shape and my nails lengthening into claws. Nothing happened. Not even a prickle beneath my skin. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes I saw my same old black nail polish peeling off the tips of my fingers. I sucked at this.

“You're trying too hard. It should feel natural. Clear your mind. Breathe. Gently nudge your body. It
wants
to transform.”

I closed my eyes again and focused on the darkness and the earthy smells swirling around me: soil, trees, fragrant wildflowers, and beneath it all, Françoise's particular sweet wolfy odour. A tendril of thought
reached out for my hands. The skin bubbled and stretched. Success! I kept my eyes shut so I wouldn't lose focus.

“Very good,” whispered Françoise. “Now the rest of your body.”

I finished my arms, then shifted my thoughts to my legs, pleading with them to become a wolf 's hindquarters. They didn't respond. I got frustrated and had to take deep, slow breaths to relax again.

It didn't happen with the same grace as Françoise. It kind of happened all at once: my torso lengthened as my legs shook, and my skirt began to rip at the seams. I tore it off, pitched forward, and found myself spitting out dirt.

Paws aren't meant to balance a human's upper body. I felt like puking. Then it passed. My sports bra stretched to its limits and cut into flesh—then snapped right off. The bulk of my stomach moved upward, into my chest. I rolled on my back and scrambled to claw off any remaining scraps of clothing. I finished by transforming my head.

Françoise hovered above me in wolf form, panting her approval. As a wolf, she was also small and round.

My wolf appendages worked more like closed fists than hands and feet. But my limbs felt … free. I stretched forward, then back. Stuck out my tongue as
far as it would go. A gust of wind ruffled my fur. Wow. This shape felt fantastic.
Normal
.

Françoise nudged my shoulder with her snout in greeting. I gnashed my teeth, not sure I wanted her getting so close to my throat. She still smelled okay, though. Like old books and tea. Also—to my surprise— like family.

ELEVEN

W
hen Françoise surged forward into the forest, I followed awkwardly, adjusting to my new perspective on the world. These legs moved strangely. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes two on opposite sides. I became highly conscious of my movements, and lumbered along until I figured out a rhythm where my balance switched from side to side.

My vision was a confusing series of close-ups. It was much easier to piece together information about my surroundings by using my nose and ears. But since my nose was low to the ground, smells could be distracting. At least I didn't have to look around to locate Françoise. I just had to lift my snout. The wind swept her scent in my direction.

She remained ahead of me, but would pause to look back every few steps. Her jaw hung open, as if she was trying to smile, and her tongue lolled to one side. Her fur was exactly the same colour as her human hair— reddish brown with a white streak on the top. When she veered off to the left, through pungent evergreens, I staggered behind, feeling like a toddler learning to walk. If I didn't pay attention my snout would drag along the ground. After a couple nosefuls of grass, I learned to hold it up.

Through the trees I caught a glimpse of Pierre— slimmer and longer than his wife. He turned to yip hello and bounded over to me. Marlon loped up behind him, sleek and dark brown. I stiffened and backed away, trembling. There was no doubt he was one of the wolves who'd jumped me in Central Park! When he came running up to sniff me, I gnashed my teeth in his direction.

There was a loud crash in the woods. I twisted around and saw Owen racing up to us at full speed. He was nearly identical to his brother, just a little wider around the torso and shoulders. I smelled him cautiously, then backed away. His scent was powerful and familiar. I was so distracted that I backed up into a prickly bush and yelped.

Pierre barked once, sharply, then raced off. The
pack swept after him. I joined them before I even realized I was moving, though I was so clumsy I quickly fell behind. The sight of them running together was amazing: fur rippling in the wind, muscles bunching and releasing with each leap. They owned this forest.

An iridescent beetle's carapace glinted as it scuttled across a flat rock. I catapulted through the air to land on top of it, in the process disrupting a mama raccoon who was weaving through the brush with her young. She screeched and clawed the air near my nose. I growled and reared on my haunches. She nudged her tasty-looking babies away from me with her hind legs, but held her ground. The little ones skittered into a hollow log to hide. I barked fiercely and feinted at the mom. She ran into the log. I lowered myself to peer inside and could see their four sets of eyes gleaming, but my paws couldn't reach that far.

The Lebruns discovered I'd stopped following and came running to see what was going on. Marlon inserted himself protectively between me and the mother raccoon. The other wolves flanked us. I lunged at the log, which was useless. Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my tail wagging. I gave up on the raccoons and chased my tail around in circles until I got dizzy and staggered to a stop. It took me a moment to recover. So much fun! A built-in party game.

The Lebruns just stood there watching. Then Pierre barked at me and bounded farther into the woods. His family ran along behind him, calling to me with little barks. They soon disappeared. I started to panic, but Marlon reappeared, and as I followed he slowed down to stay nearby. From time to time he moved close enough to prod me with his snout.

Marlon had endless patience as he waited for me to explore the crags and crannies of the forest. I stumbled a million times, but didn't hurt myself. It was much easier to get back up now that I had four feet. And there was a lot less distance to fall. Losing my footing was kind of fun, too, like doing a somersault.

Once in a while Owen would jump up onto a high rock or log and howl. Marlon and I had to join in— the sound was infectious. Howling was as cathartic as playing music. And just like my band, the other pack wolves responded to the sound. Sometimes we were together and other times far apart. We used howls to keep track of one another.

I paused to smell everything. Each mushroom was different, but all were musky and earthy. An anthill was a bland stew, and a hole in the ground smelled strongly of wet rabbit. As I turned away from it, a nearby bush shook. Its inhabitant was hoping I wouldn't notice.
I snuffled excitedly and the terrified creature started hopping, revealing itself to Marlon as well.