Claire De Lune (15 page)

Claire frowned. “Well, I just ran into Victoria while I was with Emily at the coffee shop and she didn’t act like I was a stranger or anything.”

Marie clenched her jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What happened? What did you say to her?”

Each question scraped against Claire’s nerves. She was getting really tired of her mother’s personal version of the Inquisition.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. She said hi, I said hi. I told Emily that Victoria was someone you knew, which wasn’t exactly giving anything away, since you know pretty much everyone. Victoria didn’t act like I’d screwed anything up, so I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not ‘freaking out,’ as you so eloquently put it. I’m trying to protect you. Any pack interaction in the human world is an occasion for caution. What if someone overheard something? If they became suspicious, they could make a report to the FHPA. And that would be disastrous. You see? This is
exactly why I don’t think you should be close with Zahlia. It’s too easy to make a mistake.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “But—what about Beatrice and Victoria? They’re close.”

Her mother laughed softly and leaned against the bedpost. “That is true. But, then, they are mother and daughter.”

Something Claire hadn’t quite put together before slid into place in her mind.

“Why isn’t everyone’s mom part of the pack? I mean, you and I are related, and Victoria is Beatrice’s daughter, but Zahlia and Judith and Katherine are all by themselves.”

“Judith and Katherine moved here years ago, after their own mothers died—the packs in their areas became too small to survive. Zahlia’s mother used to belong to our pack.” Claire’s mother twisted the sliver bangle on her wrist, her eyebrows sinking low over her eyes. “Her mother was second to Beatrice in our pack, and Zahlia was right behind her. But then—well. Something happened, and she left the pack to become a lone wolf,
une seule
. Zahlia also paid for her mother’s carelessness by losing her own position. I became the second.”

Claire blinked in surprise. “Wow. She never told me any of that.”

“I imagine there are many things Zahlia hasn’t told you. Which would be yet another reason for you to distance yourself from her.”

“But she’s the only one who’s even answered my freaking
questions. I can’t do this all by myself, and you never want to help me! I mean, Victoria has Beatrice, but I—” Claire snapped her mouth shut, cutting off the rest of the sentence.

“We have never been close, have we?” A wistful look crossed Marie’s face.

Claire shrugged, staring down at her hands. “I guess not.”

“It is hard, raising another while always hiding. You are right—I am your mother, and whether or not you believe it, I do want to help you. But only when the time is right, Claire. And right now the best help I can offer is to advise you to distance yourself from Zahlia.”

“But it’s not an order.”

“Not now. But if I have to go to Beatrice, I will. So. I hope you will be joining Lisbeth and me for dinner tonight?”

Claire frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Her mother left the room and Claire rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the comforter. Sometimes, she really, really hated her mom.

Just before dinner, Emily’s car pulled up to the house. Claire hurried down the stairs to meet her.

“You’re here! I thought I was going to have to say good-bye on the phone!”

Emily grinned. “I told them if I couldn’t come see you, I was going to do something horrible.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno.” Emily shrugged. “They didn’t ask—they’re too freaked out to be logical at this point. I can only stay for a minute, though.”

Tears filled Claire’s eyes and she sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re really going.”

Emily looked up at the ceiling and blinked. “It’s not like I want to. Oh my God, I am not going to cry. I have on way too much mascara to start crying.”

Claire swiped at her eyes, fighting to control herself. “I mean, hey, it’s not like we aren’t going to talk, right?”

“I made my parents switch my cell plan to unlimited minutes.” Emily said proudly. “Okay. I have to go. I just came over to give you a hug.”

Claire wrapped her arms around her best friend. How much different would she be by the time Emily got back?

What if things are never like this again?

“Hey, I said ‘hug,’ not ‘crack my ribs,’” Emily said, straightening up and forcing a smile. “Call me, okay?”

“I will.”

“So …”

“Don’t say it. Just go.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Better that way.” Emily slid on her sunglasses and walked out to the car.

Claire watched her go, the lump in her throat getting bigger with every step Emily took.

She didn’t want to watch Emily drive away. Taking the stairs two at a time, Claire bolted up the steps and into her bedroom, where she could fall apart in private.

Three days later, Claire stood in her room, sorting dirty laundry into piles. She’d actually made it out of bed before noon, since she’d been stuck in the house for almost seventy-two hours, trying to make her mom less suspicious. Lisbeth had been so excited to see her while it was still morning that she’d made pancakes.

The phone rang and Claire looked at the screen.
Crap.

“Hello?” she braced herself.

“Thanks a
lot
,” Emily huffed.

“Sorry?” As usual, Emily was going so fast that Claire couldn’t keep up right away.

“Well, you should be. I’ve been stuck out here for almost a freaking
week
and you haven’t called me once! What kind of best friend is that?”

Claire winced. “Sorry. The time just got away from me, I guess. Things have been pretty crazy around here.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in. You’re right there in the middle of all the excitement, and I’m stuck out in cow-pie central with no Internet connection.”

Right in the middle of all the excitement. Man, she has no idea how close she is to the truth.

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Claire asked.

“Oh, my
God
, they have the Farmers’ Almanac on the coffee table, like it’s the damn Bible or something. My aunt cooks stuff in lard, Claire.
Lard.
Do you know what that
is
? And this morning,” she sniffled, “there was a mouse in the bathroom.”

Emily sounded so pathetic, but Claire couldn’t help but think how minor her best friend’s problems really were. Emily hadn’t turned into an animal. No one was hunting her. And the biggest secret she had to keep was the fact that she had a pack of cigarettes hiding in the pocket of an old bathrobe.

It didn’t matter how much Claire wanted to feel sorry for Emily—jealousy gnawed on her insides, eating up any room she might have had for sympathy.

“Claire? Hello? Are you there? Damn it!”

“No—I mean—yeah, I’m here. You’ve still got a signal.”

“Thank God. I have to sit on top of the kitchen table and lean toward the window to get two stupid bars. I’ll probably have to go a freaking chiropractor if my parents ever decide to let me come home.”

“Any chance of that happening?” Claire asked.

“I don’t think so,” Emily moaned. “Not until they catch the werewolf, anyway. I swear, I hate that stupid thing more than Dr. Engle does.”

Claire sagged against the bedpost.
She doesn’t know what she’s saying. If she knew, she wouldn’t feel that way at all.
Claire struggled against the urge to tell Emily what was going on.
The only thing that stopped her was the memory of last year, when Emily ruined two separate surprise parties because she couldn’t stand to keep a secret.

“So, is there anything at all about being at your aunt and uncle’s that doesn’t suck?” Claire asked, anxious to get away from the subject.

“Well,” Emily hedged, “there might be
one
tiny thing.”

“Might that thing have two legs and a dimple?”

“Yes on the legs, no on the dimple,” Emily admitted. “His name’s Dan … I dunno, Claire, he’s so … wholesome. He’s gorgeous and funny and we met because he actually opened the door for me, but … it’s weird. I mean, when we went out to dinner last night, he had
milk
with his meal. Whole milk. And he calls my uncle ‘sir.’ I just don’t know if he’s really my type.”

“But you like him?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, I like him,” Emily sighed.

Even though it had been days since she’d talked to Emily, the next twenty minutes crawled by. Listening to her friend debate the pros and cons of getting involved with a guy who didn’t know who Chagall was and had never had anything pierced was so far from everything that was going on with Claire that she couldn’t think of anything to say. Which was especially strange, since the two of them had had this same conversation every time Emily liked a new guy. Claire hadn’t felt this abnormal since the first night she’d transformed, and she paced around the room, trying to get away from the feeling.

“Claire, I’ve gotta go. My aunt wants to set the table, and I’m sitting on it.”

Claire closed her eyes in silent thanks. “Sorry, Em. Keep me updated, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Emily hung up and Claire flopped back on the bed, the tension draining out of her body. She sighed and sat back up to finish sorting her dirty clothes. No matter how badly she wished things were normal again, it just wasn’t going to happen.

Almost a week went by, and Hanover Falls breathed a collective sigh of relief. No one else had been killed. It had been nearly a month since the editor’s death, and on the evening news they spent as much time talking about the unprecedented heat wave as they did covering the unsolved murders.

Ever since their discussion about Zahlia, Claire had been avoiding her mother as much as possible, pretending things were fine, but later that afternoon, while Lisbeth was at the grocery store, Marie stopped her in the kitchen.

“We need to talk again,
chérie
.”

“Hey, it’s been ages since I even left the stupid house, much less seen someone you don’t want me to. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I did not say that you had, Claire. There’s no reason to jump to conclusions.”

“So, what’s up?” Claire asked. She was anxious to get out of the kitchen and away from her mother’s probing gaze.

Her mother sat down at the island.

“You know what night next Tuesday is, yes?”

Claire’s heart sped up. “It’s the full moon.”

“Yes. And I want to prepare you a bit for the gathering. It will be … somewhat different than it usually is.” Her mother pulled an elastic hair band off the granite countertop and stretched it taut between her fingers. “It is time for our pack to expand. Victoria has had”—she cleared her throat—“she has encountered a man. She is pregnant. We find out on Sunday if she will have a New One.” Claire’s mother squeezed her shoulder.

“What do you mean? If she’s pregnant, she’s having a baby, right?” Claire stuck out her lower lip in confusion.

Worried creases appeared at the corners of her mother’s eyes. “Not necessarily. If she is pregnant with a male, the fetus will not be able to withstand the stress of her transformation, and her pregnancy will end.”

“You mean …” Claire let the question trail off.

“If it is a male child, then Victoria will lose the baby. If it is a New One she carries in her womb, then her pregnancy will proceed.” Her mother twisted the hair band between her fingers.

“How long does it take after she changes? If it’s a boy, I mean.”

“It begins immediately.”

Claire’s mouth opened.
Jesus.
The idea that she might have to watch Victoria lose her baby sent nausea spiraling through her. She tried to cover her shock. “So, what’s different if it’s a girl? How does her body know?”

Her mother shrugged. “We can’t be certain. Our legends say that the Goddess knows and protects Her own Unborn. But it is perhaps hormonal, chemical.”

Claire thought for a moment. “Does everyone—I mean, do we all have to have a baby? Eventually?”

Her mother shook her head. “No. Many of us have a child. But not all. The Goddess has Her own plans for each of us.”

The set of her mother’s mouth and the stiffness in her shoulders said to Claire that the topic was closed for conversation.

“Well, thanks for telling me, I guess. Victoria must be really nervous, huh?”

“I’m sure she is. Well. I’ve got some work to do. Try not to leave an enormous mess in here for Lisbeth, hmm?” She slid off the stool and walked toward the stairs.

Claire leaned against the fridge and sighed. Things just kept getting better and better.

T
HE
NEXT MORNING
, Claire found Lisbeth outside by the pool, lying in the sun with an unopened book on the table next to her. When Claire sat down next to her, Lisbeth lifted her sunglasses.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Claire hesitated, hoping that her new system of telling absolutely as much of the truth as she could would work
again. “Not much. Well, something, actually. I got invited to this party on Friday night—at Doug Kingman’s house? And I was hoping you could drive me.”

Lisbeth squinted at her. “That name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“He goes to school with me. We didn’t hang out much last year, but …” Claire trailed off.

“But?” Lisbeth raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Oooh—you like him, don’t you?”

Claire couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Lisbeth had just given her the perfect cover.

“Um, yeah,” Claire said, hoping it sounded like a confession. And it wasn’t like she
didn’t
like Doug, she just didn’t know him all that well.

“Matthew-schmatthew.” Lisbeth giggled. “You got over him in no time, huh?”

Claire shrugged. If she said anything, she might make Lisbeth suspicious.

“So—will you take me to the party?”

“Yeah, I can do that. What time does it start?”

“Seven thirty.” A smile spread across Claire’s face.

“Will it be over before dark?” Lisbeth frowned.

“Well … no, but, Lisbeth, there’ll be a million people there. And we’ll be inside. I’ll be as safe there as I would be here.”