Wild (18 page)

Maybe she’d find out. Maybe everything was going to be okay from now on. She moved through the house, flicking lights on to create some sense of life. Yes, she decided, everything would be fine from now on. She would be fine. She’d make this whole werewolf mess work out somehow. She’d stay away from Nick and sort herself out.

She felt herself brightening up as she headed upstairs. She could change things. She would. Starting tomorrow. She’d call her mother, make amends there. Then she’d work on herself. Get a decent haircut, buy a nice dress for tomorrow night. Alright, she probably couldn’t afford much but there had to be a bargain out there somewhere.

She went to the bathroom to wash her face and scrub the mud from under her fingernails. Examining herself in the mirror, she decided Seth and Nuala were right. A good bath and some clean clothes would do wonders. She smiled at her reflection, remembering that diamond-bright feeling she’d had the morning she resolved to leave Harris and she’d cleaned this house from top to bottom in preparation. That feeling was back now, stronger and sharper.

“I’m going to be fine,” she told her reflection firmly. “I’m going to be great.”

I am, I am, I am.

****

That sweet sense of optimism was still with her when she woke the next morning, and as if the world was in harmony with her, the sun shone brightly through the windows, bathing her bedroom in crisp yellow light. She ate and dressed in a hurry, then walked into Liverpool, enjoying how much clearer and more vivid the world was to her werewolf senses. She could smell late-blooming flowers in people’s gardens – had no idea what they were, of course, but they were sweet and light. She could hear more, like the reggae music drifting down from the next street, and the mewling of a cat somewhere close by.

She headed for Liverpool One, the huge new shopping centre down Paradise Street. The place always reminded her of an airport – all glass and brushed chrome, with a coffee shop every fifty paces. Even so early in the morning, the place was packed with WAG wannabes and school kids clutching giant Starbucks cups. Lizzie felt a little out of her depth in the sea of white jeans and orange tans. She and Hannah used to come here just to people-watch the night after a heavy night of partying, making fun of the girls in their stupid spike heels and enormous gold earrings, laden down with Primark bags.

Lizzie dug her hands in her pockets, struck with a pang of grief for Hannah. Clothes shopping alone was no fun. Steeling herself for a morning of trying on dresses, hating them all, and finally buying the first one she’d tried on, she went in.

****

Three hours later, Lizzie was huddled over a steaming cup of tea in Starbucks, picking at a pumpkin seed muffin. A morning of shoving her way through knots of emo kids, chavs, and young mums with screaming babies had taken the edge off her good mood slightly. The babies’ squealing sounded too much like pigs. But the discovery of a heavily-discounted, very pretty dress in a boutique shop had cheered her up again. It was a forest green wrap-around dress that nipped in her waist and gave some warmth to her pale skin. Just the thing.

Given how cheap the dress was, she’d treated herself to new shoes too, since her crappy black heels had been wrecked the night Nick attacked her. She grimaced into her tea and pushed that thought away. Shoes. This was about shoes. She pulled the box out of the shopping bag to look at them again, letting herself take a simple, girly pleasure in them. How long since she spent money on something other than drugs? On anything nice for herself?

The shoes were simple cream court shoes with a peep toe. She’d dig through her jewellery and make-up when she got home, figure out accessories. She hoped she wouldn’t be underdressed. If it was a black tie affair, she was in trouble. But Seth would have said, wouldn’t he, if she was supposed to show up in a ball gown and tiara?

She finished her tea and ran her fingers through her hair. She hadn’t had a haircut for about a year – left with the choice between looking after her hair and getting high, she’d chosen getting high every time. But that was the old Lizzie, right? The new Lizzie didn’t want to walk into Nuala’s tonight with split ends and messy curls.

Gathering up her bags, she headed out of Liverpool One and down to Bold Street. She couldn’t afford one of the flashy designer salons in the shopping centre, but a quick trim somewhere on Bold Street wouldn’t set her back much.

She swung her bags as she walked, a tension she’d been carrying for months gradually lifting as she made her plans. It wasn’t just the werewolf mess, she realised. It was the drugs and Harris, and how desperate she’d been to escape both. The werewolf mess had thrown that into sharp relief, forced her to take action. Okay, ripping Harris to shreds probably wasn’t the kind of action she would have chosen, but… Well.

Well, if she dwelt on that, she’d drive herself mad. She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of them. A sudden burst of anxiety stirred the Other, and for a second the world turned sepia as the Other took control of her senses. Lizzie stumbled, caught herself on a lamp post, and shook her head to drive away the Other.

But the wolf twisted and turned within her, beating against her very soul, the core of her being, determined to be free. It was like riding out a bad trip, putting up shields against the tumult of images and emotions that swept over you when a dodgy pill or some cheap coke took you to the wrong places.

The world spun and flashed, and panic swelled inside Lizzie. Suddenly the street was too hot, too noisy. People barged into her, knocking her this way. Fever burned in her, bright and dizzying. Heart hammering, she staggered off the street and down a side alley, collapsing against the wall with a moan. She inhaled deeply, sucking down car fumes and the scent of discarded cigarette butts. Eyes closed, she tried to calm herself, to ignore the burn in her blood and the ache in her bones.

Oh God, to have a line right now…

No. I do not want drugs. I do not need drugs. I’m stronger than that. I’m beating this. I am.

She chanted it to herself over and over, until the mantra sank into her blood and her brain, and some of her panic receded. Still gasping for air, she raised her hands to her face, touching her cheeks gingerly, half expecting to feel fur instead of skin.

But no. She was human, complete with smooth, hair-free cheeks.

Just to be sure, she pulled her hairbrush from her handbag. There was a little mirror on the back of the handle, and she raised it with shaking hands to study herself in the glass. She looked flushed, brown eyes wide and maybe a little wild, but definitely human. She slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to her forehead, relief flashing through her.

Her heart slowed and the world settled back into place. She clutched her shopping bags to her chest as she slowly opened her eyes. Colour had returned, the wolf-sight sepia was gone. Lizzie laughed a little hysterically, wiping sweat from her forehead. God, she hadn’t had a panic attack since her first LSD trip, when she’d hallucinated the ceiling was collapsing. Harris had wet himself laughing.

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to compose herself. Okay. It was okay. It was natural to freak out a little bit, wasn’t it? Between drug withdrawal, murder, and werewolves, it was a wonder she hadn’t had a full-on nervous breakdown yet.

With one more deep breath for luck, she went back onto the street. The crush of people unnerved her, but the Other didn’t react. Good. Fine. The wolf was sleeping again. Lizzie could go get her hair cut.

****

Two hours later, she was back home with freshly-washed and cut hair, and no sign of the Other. Lizzie threw her shopping bags onto the settee and flopped onto the floor to pull her shoes off. Despite the silence of the Other through the rest of her time in town, she was still edgy and nervous. What if she lost control tonight and wolfed-out in front of the Kurtadam? Would they see that as proof that she wasn’t good enough, that she was just an animal? They would decide she was better off staying with Nick, that she had no place with them.

Her throat tightened, and she went to the kitchen to pour herself some water. Calm, she ordered herself. Human first, werewolf second, right? You’re going to be just as good as any of them.

She wandered back into the living room and noticed the red light flashing on the answer phone. There were about seven messages, dating back to before Harris died. The usual junk: calls from the bank about bounced direct debits, mostly. One from two days ago from the Job Centre saying Harris had missed his regular appointment. And one from Nick, from just this morning.

Lizzie listened, throat dry, as his rough Irish accent filled her living room, bringing back all the rage and hurt she was trying so hard to bury.

“Lizzie, listen, I know you hate me right now, and I get it, I do. But please, I never meant to hurt you. I thought … Fuck, I thought I was doing something good, you know? I know it’s a big adjustment, but when you’re used to it, when you see how much better life is this way… Look, just call me, okay?”

He sounded wired, jumpy. He’s
high
, Lizzie thought, erasing the message. No, she wouldn’t bloody call him. He could take his good intentions and snort them.

****

The rest of the day crawled by. Lizzie curled up on the settee and flicked aimlessly through the TV channels, searching for a decent Western without success. She finally settled on a documentary about Nazis using occultism, drifting off to sleep while the dry-voiced narrator assured her that Hitler most definitely had engaged in Satanic practices.

She was jerked awake by her mobile phone, ringing inside her bag. She half-fell off the settee as she groped for her purse, catching the strap and tipping the contents onto the carpet. There wasn’t much; keys, wallet, and the buzzing phone. It was a cheap, second-hand mobile she’d bought from a friend after Harris sold her Blackberry to buy meth. The ring tone was one of those nasty, monophonic tunes that set Lizzie’s teeth on edge, and she pressed the answer button without checking who was calling, just to stop the godawful noise.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie, it’s Nick. Don’t hang up, okay?”

Ice filled her at the sound of his voice. She felt hard and brittle at the same time, afraid of shattering but unable to hang up. “What do you want, Nick?”

“Are you okay? I’ve been calling all day.”

“Am I okay?” she echoed. “What do you think, Nick? Would you be okay if you were me, and you found out someone you’d trusted had deliberately screwed up your entire life?”

“I know you hate me right now,” he said hurriedly. “But you can’t just … We need each other, Lizzie! The Kurtadam –”

“I’m not scared of the Kurtadam and their bloody experiments,” she cut in. She bit her lip, holding back her meeting with Seth and her plans for the night. Instinct told her Nick shouldn’t know. “And I don’t need you, Nick. I don’t need anyone, alright? I’m fine on my own.”

“But you don’t –”

“Bye, Nick.” She hung up, dropping the phone onto the carpet. She hugged her knees and inhaled slowly, amazed at how cool she’d managed to sound when inside she was quaking. Just speaking to Nick set off a chain reaction of nerves, anger, and dread. How dare he ring her? Tell her she needed him? Fuck him!

She leapt up, kicking the phone across the room when it began to ring again. He had to leave her alone. He’d mess everything up. Nuala’s feelings on Nick had been clear – he was trouble, he was bad news. Lizzie agreed. Anyone who’d inflict this chaos, this curse on another person on purpose was nothing but bad news. She wished she’d realised it earlier, before she’d trusted him, before she’d liked him.

But she knew now, and she wasn’t going to let him drag her back down. She was clawing her way out.

****

At seven o’clock sharp Lizzie was ready for the Kurtadam party, whatever that might entail. The new dress was on, as were the new shoes. She strutted around the living room, practicing walking in heels far higher than anything she’d worn for a while. There was no point getting all dressed up if you were just going to do drugs. At some point in the night, totally wasted, you’d fall into a bush or spill a pint of cider all over yourself, or something. After one particularly blurry night, Lizzie had woken covered in vomit. Never did find out whose.

She shuddered at the memory as she toyed with her necklace. It was the last present her mum had given her before they fell out, a simple silver chain with a seahorse pendant. She’d fallen so far, it seemed impossible she could climb back up and start over.

“I will though,” she whispered. “I already am.” She’d gone round the house earlier and thrown out every bit of drink or drugs paraphernalia she could find. Not just her personal hidden supply, but Harris’s grinder, a small stash of weed he’d hidden under the mattress, a few old needles, and a rather beautiful glass bong shaped like a mushroom. She’d given it to him as a present last year, and it hadn’t been cheap. The price tag alone was enough to make her hesitate over binning it, but in the end she’d smashed it and swept the glittering red and green shards into the bin. It felt like a symbolic gesture.

Outside, a car horn beeped, and Lizzie patted her hair, straightened her necklace, and went to meet Seth.

eighteen

A
S SOON AS
she slid in the car, she knew she’d chosen well with the dress. Seth’s smile of greeting heated up a few degrees when he took in her outfit, and she felt a flush of satisfaction at the warmth in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just reached out and brushed the seahorse pendant with quick, gentle fingers. “Very pretty.”