Not Your Ordinary Wolf Girl (18 page)

“I have no clue what you'd do or not do anymore,” muttered Jules.

“I'm not pregnant or on drugs or a cutter or any of those other things. I'm just a freakish werewolf! Okay? A werewolf. There, I said it. It's out.”

The three of them looked at me with identical expressions of horror. The whole situation was so stupid, all I could do was laugh. The laughter quickly turned hysterical—I was whooping in air and honking it out. Harris joined in with an uncomfortable giggle.

“Nice one, Sam,” he said.

“Grrr!” I responded. My ears prickled—the hair was spreading again. I stopped laughing. Tomorrow's headlines would either be “Drug-addled rock star grows a beard” or “Sam Lee's friends on suicide watch.” I felt betrayed by everyone: Marlon and his family; my friends, who couldn't understand. I lurched to my feet.

“Sit down,” said Malika. “Please.”

“You're not listening to me.”

“We're trying to help.”

“You just told us you're a werewolf!” said Jules. “You're obviously demented.”

I was so agitated, hair sprouted over my neck and the backs of my thighs. I tugged my hood lower. In a few minutes I wouldn't be able to hide. I snatched Janis, doubled over, and hurtled toward the door, clutching my stomach as if I were going to puke. This couldn't happen here.

As I passed Tanis, I knocked into her tray of drinks by accident. Everything crashed to the floor, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't.

Outside the Cake Shop the street was clogged with people wanting to get in. I staggered past the crowd and slipped into a narrow alley.

I curled away from a couple of guys taking pills and crouched behind a dumpster that reeked of rotten bar food. Ugh. A feasting raccoon reared up on its legs and hissed, defending its territory. Could it smell the wolf in me? It seemed like the harder I tried to cage my inner monster, the more it demanded to be set free, and the more it tore me up inside. I sank to my knees in the gutter, shaking and panting.

A girl came running up. I thought she was a fan and tried to wedge myself behind the dumpster. Then I saw the blond ponytail and realized it was Queenie.

“Go away!” I yelled as my legs shortened and bent.

She gasped. “You're changing. Here?”

“I can't stop!” I roared.

She yelled at the guys to get lost or she'd call the cops. They grumbled but shuffled off.

“Whoa, man, what the fuck was that?” I heard one of them ask.

My back transformed. Janis was smashing into my ribs. I yelped and tore the guitar strap over my head with hairy claws. Focusing all my rage and fear on Janis, I swung her against the Cake Shop's brick wall. Her protective shell cracked. Incensed, I smashed her
again, then again, and again, until the case fell away entirely and the instrument inside splintered. Then I hurled the mess into the gutter.

“Oh, shit. You're gonna regret that,” Queenie said.

“Get out of here! I … I'm not responsible for …”

“I can't. I know what happened to Sue.”

“Huh?” I tried to say, but my voice was mostly a bark. Somehow she understood.

“Two other girls have gone missing from nearby squats, and a third escaped with her life. Barely. She said it was Owen. He turned all of us. He must have hunted Sue and me, followed our scent back to the squat. He already turned her—what does he want? I came here to talk to his brother, but I know you're with them too.”

“I'm not!” I yipped.

“Well, you smell like you're part of our pack. What if he comes after me, Sam? I'm terrified. I'm hungry all the time. I can't control my temper. I don't know what to do. Where to hide.” She started to bawl.

I had no way to comfort her. I flicked my tail sympathetically.

“I've been crashing in a squat a few blocks away,” she said. “But it's not safe. The cops raided it, looking for the girl gang. We're not a gang! I don't want to become a lab rat … Help me.
Please.
”

My claws slashed through my skirt in an attempt to tear open the pocket. My keys and phone fell to the ground. She scooped them up, along with some cash and a tube of lip gloss. I nodded at her to take what she needed. She grabbed all of it and ran off.

I shuddered through the final bone-jarring transformation, then relaxed my muscles. I jumped on top of the dumpster and was assailed by the odours inside the bar. I leapt down and padded to the Cake Shop's back door. The door opened and a scrawny dishwasher poked his head out, carrying the garbage. He didn't see me, but he heard my growl and quietly disappeared, locking the door behind him. Investigating the contents of his bag didn't reveal much worth eating.

Another person entered the alley from the street. A male who smelled like pack.

“Sam?”

I abandoned the garbage and hurtled through the air to land at Marlon's feet. He was holding the paparazzo's camera in one hand, the other raised peacefully in front of his chest. He smelled sweaty, like he'd been in a tussle. I moved closer.

“Sam, it's okay.” He bent down so that he was at eye level. I snarled. I could have torn out his throat. “Your friends can't help, but you can trust me. I really had no idea Owen was going to attack you.”

“Which time?” An angry
grrrr
slipped from my lips. His eyes widened. He pulled back. Did he think all he had to do was apologize? My last ounce of control evaporated. I rose up on my hind legs and pounced, slamming into his shoulder and knocking him over.

His head hit the pavement. He went still. Much too still. Before I knew it, I was on top of him. My claws sank into the flesh above his collarbone, slicing down. No response. If he'd been conscious, he would have transformed. Blood oozed from a gash in his skull. I tasted it.

Oh, god.
What had I done?
I jabbed my snout under his nose. A puff of air tickled my fur and made me sneeze. His breath was faint, but he wasn't dead. Yet. I was torn between curling up beside him and licking his wounds, and feasting on the warm flesh. Before I could regret my decision, I spun around and bounded away, leaving him alone in the alley.

FIFTEEN

P
eople on the street recoiled when I got close. They must've assumed I was a large dog whose owner was nearby. I dug my paws into the concrete and bared my teeth. That discouraged even the bravest from trying to approach. For the first time in years, I was truly anonymous. I'd wished so hard and so long for this. I could literally do
anything
I wanted, and get away with it. I considered my options. Queenie was at my place. I worried about her safety, but didn't want to risk being there with her until I'd calmed down enough to change back. Also, Owen might come looking for me. And Marlon—if he recovered.

I cut north, staying in the shadows as much as possible. I ran through Tompkins Square Park and
startled some pigeons. They cooed in annoyance when I charged into their midst, jaws snapping wildly. One of those fat birds would make a tasty snack. Four black-clad anarchist poet types stopped arguing about foreign policy for a moment to watch me streak past.

Charging out of the park, I made my way through tree-lined streets to the Bowery. It took me a while to figure out I actually had a destination in mind: a warehouse-like vintage music store called Electric Avenue, which I'd visited recently to buy a special wah-wah pedal. It stocked obscure parts and one-of-a-kind guitars and was always able to get the exact thing you needed, but had an awful reputation for overcharging its customers.

At this hour, all the businesses on the block were locked tight. Metal gates covered the display windows. I padded to the end of the block and found a garbage lane behind the stores. When I was close enough, I confirmed that Electric Avenue's small back window had only thin security bars that looked a decade old. I yipped excitedly.

Starting a couple of feet back, I ran toward the window, sailed through the air, and smashed into the bars. It didn't hurt—this body was built to roll and tumble. I simply bounced and landed on my feet, shuffled away, and did the same thing again. A screw
jiggled loose. I smashed into it a third time and the screw fell out of its socket. I stretched up and gripped the metal web with my teeth. Then I tugged, whipping my muscular neck from side to side. The grate came off and fell to the ground with a clang.

I scampered around a corner to hide, but no one came running. So far, so good. Taking a deep breath, I charged at the windowpane, which broke on impact, shattering into my fur and piercing my paws. I landed in an office/storage room. On the wall was a flashing security alarm box that began to wail. Smashing it with a paw didn't help.

Not much time. I dashed through the door to the front where the best basses were displayed. Barrelling up and down the aisles, I spied the oldest, most expensive guitars hanging from the ceiling. None of them smelled right—until I spotted a classic bass made from some kind of dark wood with a pink pearlescent core and lightning bolts of the same pearly substance embedded in the bridge, behind the strings. It called out to me. The way Janis had when I first found her.

In the distance, police sirens grew louder. Springing upward, I used my snout to nudge the instrument off its hook. It came tumbling down onto my back. Ouch. I hoped I'd broken its fall enough that it wouldn't be damaged, but didn't have time to check. I gripped the
bass's neck in my mouth and dragged it back toward the broken window. The aisles were narrow and cluttered, slowing me down.

The cops were out front now, rattling and banging on the door. I bought myself time by bumping the office door closed with my tail. It clicked shut. Someone shouted that they could see movement inside. They started hacking at the front door's lock.

Moments later I heard the cops rush in, shouting for the intruders to give themselves up before anyone got hurt. Footsteps clattered through the store. Officers yelled commands at each other. I managed to shove the bass out the window. Just as the first cop busted into the room, I jumped through after it.

“It's a dog!” the cop called out. “Taking a guitar.” He laughed. “Must think it's a stick.”

I snatched the instrument and dragged it down the alley. The first cop was climbing out the window, and another one was trying to smash down the fire door in the back. Loping along with a heavy object in my mouth wasn't easy. I dodged a delivery truck that swung into the alley and dashed across the street, where I hugged the walls until I came to a doorway big enough to hide my whole body.

A delicious odour wafted out of the building. I'd chosen to hide outside a twenty-four-hour barbecue
restaurant. Damn it. I began to drool, so much so that I had to put down Courtney (which is what I was already calling my new instrument) while I shook my head to fling away some of the moisture. Could I get away with grabbing myself a chicken wing? Probably not.

Even though I could afford to buy things like barbecue chicken and old guitars, with my new abilities, I'd never
have to
again. I could not work for the rest of my life and still get everything I needed. It was true freedom, and it was intoxicating. Was this how Marlon's parents gathered enough money to buy their massive piece of land? Being a werewolf meant I really could live outside the law. No one believed we existed. If the cops reviewed Electric Avenue's security footage, they'd assume someone had trained their pet
really
well. The Lebruns would probably come after me if I went on a killing spree, but short of that, I doubted they'd care. And I'd be able to defend myself or heal from almost anything.

Once the police sirens died down, I picked up the bass and continued along, avoiding people and stopping whenever my jaw got tired. I had to cross the Bowery. Even in the middle of the night it was traffic chaos, but once I made it onto Delancey, the worst of the city would be behind me. As soon as I stepped into the road a careening bus bore down on me out of nowhere.
I leapt into the free lane, but couldn't move very fast with the bass.

I looked up in time to see a taxi bulleting around a corner.

Then it hit me.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the sidewalk. A homeless man with a straggly grey beard wearing tie dye from head to foot hovered above me like a psychedelic ghost. I covered my face with my arm, expecting a flashbulb to go off somewhere. When nothing happened I slowly lowered my arm—and realized I was stark naked and had better things to cover than my face. Every movement hurt. When I coughed, something wet spilled from my mouth. Blood?

I remembered—a car had just hit me! Craning my neck, I confirmed that the taxi was no longer around. How the hell did I get onto the sidewalk? Did this man drag me off the street? Had he saved my life? When did I change forms?

Courtney was on the ground nearby—a little scraped, but miraculously still there. Huh. Whatever this guy was, he wasn't a thief. All his worldly possessions seemed to be with him, in a shopping cart that stood a few feet away. I was the thief here.

“Did you call an ambulance?” I asked, although I wasn't sure how he'd call anyone.

As he shook his head, he plunged his hands into his cart and tugged out what looked like a sheet. He handed it to me. It turned out to be a floral muumuu, about a million sizes too big for me. Not that I was complaining.

“The driver? Where'd he—”

“Hit and run.”

I sat up, pulled the muumuu over my head, and got to my feet, grunting in pain. The man caught me just as my left leg gave out, but then his hand slid up under my armpit, getting dangerously close to body parts I didn't want strangers touching. I jerked away and focused on tying a bunch of excess fabric around my hips.

“Thanks for helping me,” I said. “Can I … repay you somehow?”

“You got somewhere to go, Wolf Girl?” he asked, not responding to my question.