I thought at first that I might just sit like that all day, singing a song under my breath—Close to the sun is closer to me / I feel my skin clinging so tightly—and waiting for Grace, but it only took me a half hour of sitting to decide that I needed to drive. More than that, I needed to atone for what I’d said to Grace. So I decided to go to Jack’s house again. He still hadn’t turned up, either dead or in the newspapers, and it was the only place I could think of starting the search again. Grace would be happy to see me trying to put everything into place for her.
I left the Bronco on an isolated logging road near the Culpepers’ house and cut through the woods. The pines were colorless with the promise of snow, their tips waving slightly in a cold wind that I couldn’t feel down below the branches. The hair on the back of my neck tingled uncomfortably; the stark pine woods reeked of wolf. It smelled like the kid had peed on every tree. Cocky bastard.
Movement to my right made me jump, tense, drop low to the ground. I held in a breath.
Just a deer. I caught a brief glimpse of wide eyes, long legs, white tail, before she was gone, surprisingly ungraceful in the underbrush. Her presence in the woods was comforting, though; her being here meant that Jack wasn’t. I had nothing as a weapon except my hands. Fat lot of good they would do against an unstable new wolf with adrenaline on his side.
Near the house, I froze at the edge of the woods, listening to the voices carrying through the trees. A girl and a boy, voices raised and angry, standing somewhere near the back door. Creeping into the shadow of the mansion, I slid around a corner toward them, silent as a wolf. I didn’t recognize the male voice, fierce and deep, but instinct told me that it was Jack. The other one was Isabel. I thought about revealing myself but hesitated, waiting to hear what the argument was about.
Isabel’s voice was high. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What are you saying sorry for? For disappearing? For getting bitten in the first place? For—”
“For Chloe,” the boy said.
There was a pause. “What do you mean, ’for Chloe’? What does the dog have to do with all this? Do you know where she is?”
“Isabel. Hell. Haven’t you been listening? You’re so stupid sometimes. I told you, I don’t know what I’m doing after I’ve changed.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. Jack had eaten her dog.
“Are you saying that she’s—you—God! You’re such a jerk!”
“I couldn’t help it. I told you what I was. You shouldn’t have let her out.”
“Do you have any idea how much that dog cost?”
“Boo hoo.”
“So what am I supposed to tell the parental units? Mom, Dad, Jack’s a werewolf, and guess what, you know how Chloe’s been missing? He ate her.”
“Don’t tell them anything!” Jack said hurriedly. “Anyway, I think I’ve stopped it. I think I’ve found a cure.”
I frowned.
“Cure.” Isabel’s voice was flat. “How do you ’fix’ being a werewolf?”
“Don’t you worry your blonde brain about it. I just—give me a few more days to make sure. When I’m sure, I’ll tell them everything.”
“Fine. Whatever. God—I can’t believe you ate Chloe.”
“Can you please shut up about that? You’re starting to irritate me.”
“Whatever. What about the other ones? Aren’t there other ones? Can’t you get them to help you?”
“Isabel, shut up. I told you, I think I’ve figured it out. I don’t need any help.”
“Don’t you just think—”
A noise, sharp and out of place. A branch snapping? A slap?
Isabel’s voice sounded different when she spoke again. Not as strong. “Just don’t let them see you, okay? Mom’s at therapy—because of you—and Dad’s out of town. I’m going back to school. I can’t believe you called me out here to tell me you ate my dog.”
“I called you to tell you I fixed it. You seem so excited. Yeah. Not.”
“It’s great. Wonderful. Bye.”
Barely a moment later, I heard Isabel’s SUV tear down the driveway, and I hesitated again. I wasn’t exactly eager to reveal myself to a new wolf with an anger management problem until I knew exactly what my surroundings were, but I needed to either get back to the car or into the warmth of the house. And the house was closer. I slowly crept around the back of the building, listening for Jack’s position. Nothing. He must’ve gone inside.
I approached the door I had broken into earlier that week—the window had already been fixed—and tried the knob. Unlocked. How thoughtful.
Inside, I immediately heard Jack rummaging around, loud in the otherwise still house, and I slunk down the dim hallway to a long, high-ceilinged kitchen, all black-and-white tile and black countertops as far as the eye could see. The light through the two windows on the right wall was white and pure, reflecting off white walls and sinking into the black skillets hanging from the ceiling. It was as if the entire room were in black and white.
I vastly preferred Grace’s kitchen—warm, cluttered, smelling of cinnamon and garlic and bread—to this cavernous, sterile room.
Jack had his back to me as he crouched in front of the stainless steel fridge, digging through the drawers. I froze, but his hunt through the fridge had covered up the sound of my approach. There was no wind to carry my scent to him, so I stood for a long minute, assessing him and my options. He was tall, wide-shouldered, with curly black hair, like a Greek statue. Something about the way he carried himself suggested overconfidence, and for some reason, that irritated me. I swallowed a growl and slid just inside the door, silently lifting myself onto the counter opposite. Height would give me a slight advantage, if Jack got aggressive.
He stepped away from the fridge and dumped an armload of food onto the shiny topped kitchen island. For several long minutes, I watched him construct a sandwich. He carefully layered the meats and the cheeses, slathered the bread with Miracle Whip, and then he looked up.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied.
“What do you want?” He didn’t look afraid; I wasn’t big enough to frighten by looks alone.
I didn’t know how to answer him. Hearing his conversation with Isabel had changed what I wanted to know. “So what is it you think will cure you?”