Red Moon Rising (9 page)

M
y eyes are much darker now. Not exactly blue, not quite dark gray. Just dark. I stop at the mall on the way home and go to the Vamp-EYEr booth. I have to wait for the guy to finish taking care of a couple of hamps—human girls who dye their hair blond and wear cheap makeup to make their skin pale. A couple of vamp girls walk by and shake their heads. The only thing vamps think is more pathetic than hamps are wamps: wulves who are vampyre-wannabes. Finally, the two girls finish up.

“How you doing today, my friend?” the guy asks.

“Great,” I say. “I'm in kind of a hurry, though. I just need some Azure Blues.”

“I'll set you right up. Have a seat.”

He uses the machine to measure my eyes, and I buy a box with six sets of lenses. I put a pair in, right in the store, and check the mirror. They'll get me by, at least for a while.

During dinner I'm careful not to let Mom or Troy look me dead in the eye. It's not hard, since they're paying attention—or pretending to pay attention—to Paige's latest review of a celebrity reality show.

“And then they cut to the rehab center where Ian is detoxing from being hooked in. It's so sad that he turned to using blood, but when Marissa moved in with Willem Worthington—who's nowhere near as gorgeous as Ian—and she took the twins with her, it just killed Ian. He started using blood to numb his pain. I feel so bad for him.”

“I would've thought he could numb the pain with the twenty million dollars he gets for every bad movie he makes,” I say.

Paige stares at me blankly and imitates a deep-voiced announcer. “Got a beast of a headache? Body aches make you feel like a beaten dog? Why suffer when you don't have to? Maximum Strength Lupinox EX.
When you're feeling so bad that your fur stands on end, you can trust Lupinox, your pain-relief friend. Now available without a prescription.
”

“Please, darling,” Mom says. “No commercials during dinner. Especially unpleasant commercials.”

“There's something wrong with the sound system in my car,” Jessica says. “One of the speakers has, like, a buzzing sound. It needs to be fixed.”

Troy puts down his glass of Sangre-Vin. “Take my car tomorrow. I'll bring yours to the dealer.”

“Great. But could you ask them to have a human mechanic do it? Last time, my car smelled like wulf BO for two weeks.”

“Tonight they're interviewing Marissa about why she cheated on Ian,” Paige says.

“Is this program appropriate for children your age?” Mom asks.

“Of course, Mom. Everyone watches it. Right, Jess?”

Mom turns to her consultant on all things teen and tween. Jessica shrugs. “It's nothing she hasn't heard before. And I meant to ask you: I need to get my hair cut, so do you want to go to Martine's with me? Then maybe after we could go shopping? I saw the cutest new Manollhos. They're open-toed Mary Janes.”

Mom's face lights up. “Yes! Anya Mallory wore them to the benefit luncheon last week. They're adorable.”

“On sale, eight-fifty at Annabella's,” Jessica says, like it's classified government information.

“Fantastic. Count me in,” Mom says.

Like Jessica needs more shoes to add to the fifty billion others in her closet. Usually I'd comment, but I'm trying to keep a low profile because of my eyes. I go upstairs to shower right after dinner.

I've been under the spray for half an hour. I notice water collecting at the bottom of the shower and I check the drain: it's completely clogged up with hair, only it's not thick and wavy like the hair on my head. It's fine, smooth. Like a puppy's.

I reach to touch my back. My fingers come away covered with the downy hair. Same thing with my arms, shoulders, and chest.

After turning off the shower, I use my fingernails to scrape off all the hair I can reach, then pull it from the drain and flush it down the toilet. Now I can dry off. I don't want hair on the towels or anywhere Mom might find it.

I can't deal with another day without sleep. I find Somnambulex in Mom's bathroom. The ads on TV promise “Restful sleep until sundown, because you deserve it!” I dry-swallow two pills.

“Dante, get up,” Mom says, shaking me. “It's almost seven and it's already dark out. You're going to be late for school.”

Well, the pills sure worked.

I sit up.

“What happened to your canopy?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

She'd opened the Sol-Blok canopy over my bed to wake me. It has a huge spiderweb crack in it.

“Did you throw something at it?” she asks.

“No. Maybe I was thrashing in my sleep.”

She looks at me, one of her brows furrowed. “These canopies are very durable.”

“Maybe I had a nightmare and kicked it.”

She watches me for a few seconds. I can tell she's not buying it. Finally, she raises both hands and tucks her hair behind her ears, which means she's moving on. “Well, whatever you did, it's broken now. We'll have to order a new one today. It's dangerous to have a cracked one.”

“Sorry,” I say. I swing my legs over the edge and sit up. I rub my eyes, still tired.

“Dante, I have a question. It's one I never thought I would have to ask my children. Are you doing drugs?”

“What?”

She points at the canopy. “This is very odd. And there's been something a little…off, about you lately. If you're taking drugs—”

“I took some Somnambulex this morning before bed. I've been having trouble sleeping.”

“I'm not talking about Somnambulex. I think you know what kind of drugs I mean. Narcotics.”

“I'm not doing drugs, Mom. Believe me.”

She looks at me. “I want to believe you.”

“Good, because I'm telling you the truth.”

“All right, then. Please hurry so you won't be late.” She leaves me to get dressed.

The Sol-Blok canopy wasn't broken when I went to bed. Judging from the location of the crack, it looks like I punched it while I was sleeping. And like she said, these canopies are practically shatterproof. I must have hit it with a whole lot of force.

I felt okay when I first woke up, but twenty minutes later the aches and shakes came back. Not as bad as yesterday, but not great. Last night was the full moon, so I figure I'm coming out the other side now.

Still, there's no way I can get through another night of school without attracting a lot of unwanted attention.

That's why I'm sitting in this crummy motel room. The wise-guy clerk wanted to know why I wasn't in school, but when I told him I was meeting my girlfriend here and slipped him an extra fifty, he smirked and handed over the key.

I stuff the wrappers from eight burgers into the plastic trash can. Thanks to Claire's help and a call routed through Mom's cell, the school got word that I was feeling “out of sorts” and wouldn't be coming in tonight.

I have about three weeks to figure out how I'm going to deal with the next full moon, when, without a doubt, I'll experience my first full Change. And then there's Mom. The last thing in the world she'll be able to handle is me turning werewulf.

Two more Somnambulex, washed down with a bottle of SynHeme. With any luck, I'll fall asleep before the nausea hits.

I
feel so much better, I can't even believe it. I can unclench my hands and feet. The headaches and joint pains are gone. My eyes have lightened up to nearly their usual blue. It feels so good to be back to normal—maybe it's what humans feel like when they get well after being sick.

Mom was pissed about my cracked bed canopy, but she called Dial-a-Canopy and got a replacement the same day.

Walking to school in the light of the waning gibbous moon feels good. The air smells clean, the woods have the right damp mossy smell. I can hear animals moving through leaves. An owl is nearby, looking for prey. Everything is good. I'm not thinking about next month. I'm just happy I got through it this time.

My cell rings. It's Dad.

“How'd it go?” he asks. “You okay?”

“I got through it. It hurt. I got my first baby fur. And my eyes changed, so I got blue contacts and laid low.”

“Feet and hands?”

“They started to change.”

“How did the moon look to you?”

“Not red. Still totally white.”

He sighs, a loud breathy interference on the phone line. “We're going to have to decide on a plan soon.”

“Yeah. How'd it go for you?”

“I got a pretty good bite on my back, but nothing thirty stitches couldn't fix.”

“Deep?”

“Nah—I'm good. I'll call you later.”

I close the phone. Thirty stitches. He says it like it's nothing. I guess you get used to it.

There goes my good mood.

So far, nobody at the table has said anything to embarrass me in front of Juliet. Not that they'd do it on purpose, but with this crew you never know.

“Hey, I have a good one,” Constance says.
“Defenes
trate.”

I knew it couldn't last.

“Is that anything like
defecate
?” Bertrand asks.

And here we go. I glance at Juliet and she's already looking at me like,
what is this?

“Constance likes to give word quizzes,” I say. “Come up with the correct definition and you get…absolutely nothing.”

“No, no,” Constance says. “You get my
ut
most respect.”

“Which is of absolutely no value whatsoever,” Hugh adds.

“Isn't
defenestrate
to throw a person out a window?” Juliet says.

“Right!” Constance yells. She puts a hand up for a high five, which Juliet delivers.

“That's fascinating,” Bertrand says. “But I have something better. Guess who got caught shoplifting at Nohrdström's?” Constance, Martina, and Hugh all huddle around to learn this critical information.

Okay, I have no interest in this at all. I take a look toward the serving area, where the wulf table is.

Claire clears her throat. “Uh, Juliet? I've been meaning to ask you. How well do you know Victoria?”

“Pretty well,” Juliet says. “What's up?”

I turn back to the table. I'm not sure I've ever seen it, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say that Claire is blushing. “I was just wondering if she's seeing anyone.”

“Not that I know of. She's talked about
you
a few times.”

“Me? Really? What'd she say?” Claire is trying to act casual, but her eyes are all lit up.

“I think she likes you.”

“What, like as a friend?” Claire asks.

Juliet pauses. “If you ask me, more than that. You should go for it.”

Claire smiles, eyes down. Sarcastic, tough Claire—with a crush. I can't decide if it's cute or terrifying. But watching her grin to herself is disturbing. I crane my neck to see the wulf table again.

“What do you keep looking at over there?” Juliet asks.

“It's just that this kid I know isn't there, and I'm wondering…” I get up. “I'll be right back.”

I walk to the wulf table. They're back from the compound, and all of them have cuts and scabs on their faces and hands. They're laughing about something and don't notice me.

“Hey,” I say. “Is Craig Lewczyk around?”

Jim O'Conner looks at me. He's one of the not-so-lucky ones: his face is like a fist, lumpy from the bones not realigning right after the Change. “Why do you want to know?”

“I was just wondering where he is.”

John Fusco squints at me for at least ten seconds, then says, “What are you?”

“What?”

“I said, what
are
you?”

I should never have come here. He sees. He knows.

“Well, never mind about Craig. I was just asking,” I say. Get out of here, like
now
.

I start moving toward the serving area, and Fusco calls out, “Hey, kid. Stop right there.”

I turn back to him.

“I asked you a question,” he says. “What
are
you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Just what I said. What are you? What grade?”

Huh? “I'm a freshman. Why?”

“Human-vamp freshmen runts aren't allowed to talk to us or to come near our table without an invitation,” he says. “Didn't you know that?”

“Oh. Oh, no. I mean, I didn't know. But I'm not half-human. I'm half-wulf.” That should help.

“Whatever,” Fusco says, his face stony. “The other half is vampyre.”

“Okay. I was just wondering about Craig. I'll leave now.”

I start to walk away. Steve Slattery calls out to me. “He got hurt.”

“What?”

“We go to the same compound. He wasn't on the bus coming back. I asked, and the monitor said he was injured.”

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he's not dead, so that's a good start.”

Not dead is a good start
. That's reassuring. I head back to our table. As I get closer, I see that Claire and Juliet are talking. Juliet laughs. I'm glad they like each other.

Then, maybe ten yards from the table, I see Gunther striding over, Lattimore and his other obnoxious sidekick, Alex Fourier, a few steps behind him. Gunther stops between me and the table.

“Um. Where you think you're going?” he asks me. I can't read his tone. His face is blank, or if anything, a little happy.

“I'm just going back to my seat.”

“I think you're lost,” he says.

Juliet, Claire, Hugh, and the others have stopped talking and are watching us. “Nope. I know where I am. I was sitting here just a couple of minutes ago.”

He flips his blond hair. “That's funny. I just saw you over at the howler table.”

“Well, yeah, I went over for a second, but now I'm back.”

“Can't be,” Gunther says.

“He was,” Juliet says. “He was here, like, two minutes ago.”

Claire and the others nod. Gunther barely gives them a glance. “I don't need your input on this. When I want your opinion, I'll give it to you.” Lattimore and Fourier laugh. Gunther just looks at me. “No, you belong over there.” He nods toward the wulf table. “With your own kind.”

I look back at the wulf table, then at Gunther. He makes a motion like he's shooing away a fly. “Now, git.”

Fourier and Lattimore smile. Lattimore puts his hands on his hips. Fourier cracks his knuckles.

I'm not going to push him aside and give the three of them an excuse to pound me. But I'm not going to let him humiliate me again in front of Juliet, either. “Excuse me,” I say to Gunther. “You're in my way.”

“Oh, there's no excuse for you,” he says, half smiling at his great wit. “All these vamps are trying to eat, and most of us lose our appetites if there's…one of
you
at the table. No. You go sit with the rest of the mutts.” He's raised his voice, and now some kids from the tables nearby have turned to see what's going on.

“Why don't you just leave him alone,” Juliet says.

“Yeah,” Claire agrees. “It's our table.”

Gunther completely ignores them, keeps his eyes on me, and points toward the wulf table. “Get going.”

“No.”

“You can walk over there yourself, on your own hind legs, or we can escort you,” Gunther says in a tone that sounds like a parent reasoning with a difficult child. Lattimore nods, Fourier grins.

“I'm staying here,” I say, my voice firm.

Gunther shakes his head. Lattimore and Fourier stroll a few yards to the left and right, so the three of them are in a triangle around me. I'll have to work on whoever grabs me first. If there's enough blood—from them, or more likely, from me—they'll get bloodlust and have to stop. I set my feet, ready for the worst.

“What's the problem?” a school safety officer says from behind me.

“No problem,” Gunther says. “We're just helping our friend here. You can go.”

“That true?” he asks me. “They're helping you?”

Before I can answer, Lattimore says, “Take a hike, rent-a-cop.”

I don't know if there's some kind of signal these guys use, but two more guards appear, hands on their holstered riot batons. “Kid,” says the first guard, “you just crossed the line. Now get lost, all of you, before I take the bunch of you to the principal.”

Gunther looks the guard in the eye, trying a stare-down. The guard isn't moving, his gray eyes steady.

“All right,” Gunther says. “We wasted half the lunch period. Let's get out of here and go out for some food.”

He and his pals leave. The guard watches them, then says to me, “Do me a favor. Don't provoke that kid. Just mind your own business.”

“I was—” But before I can say anything else, he shakes his head and does his pseudo-tough, slow guard-walk away from me.

I turn to Juliet. “See? I told you you'd like our table.”