Sunblind (12 page)

She's right. Looking back at my leg, I don't see any more blood seeping from the wound. The bullet might have struck me, it might be causing me intense pain, but it doesn't have the power to kill me.

With renewed purpose and an increasing sense of urgency, I push into the ground once more, and, although it's a struggle, I finally heave myself into a standing position. I can't hold the position for very long though before my back legs begin to shake. As I lean forward, relying on my front legs to take the brunt of my weight, I feel a sensation on my hind leg, like pricks, tiny needles jutting into my skin. Wincing, I whip my head around and am once again amazed by the ungodly sight.

Luba is saving my life.

She is arched forward. Her long, straggly black hair hangs limp in the air and shields her face from my view, and even though I can't see her mouth move, I can hear her voice. She's speaking out loud now, but the words are hard to decipher, because the words are coming quickly and the sound is like a growl, born from the center of her throat, not latched to her heart or her mind, but from some borrowed place.

While she speaks her hands hover over my leg, her long, bony fingers undulating and retracting as if pushing and pulling energy into my body. At least I found the source of the prickly sensation, but what is she saying? And why in the world is she helping me?

My silent questions are interrupted when I see her body start to levitate off the ground. I've seen Jess perform this trick before, but when she does it it's a graceful move, a gift, a golden spray of light floating effortlessly. Luba's different. Her body is being pulled up off the ground almost against its will by some darker force; her feet are flexed downward as if her toes are desperately trying to make contact with a surface that isn't made of air. All she's wearing are black slippers and a long, gray-tinged white dress, so I can see the blue veins in the tops of her feet and her ankles press against the thin veneer of her flesh. Her body seems to be fighting against this profane movement. Or maybe the action is just exhausting her.

I can hear some words now because she's speaking more slowly, not because she wants to, I don't think, but because she's gasping for breath.
Stars
,
three
,
undo
,
beseech
. Other words surround them, drip from her lips, fall onto the gash on my skin, but I can't make them out. It doesn't matter, because suddenly I can't hear anything except my own howl.

The prickling on my flesh is replaced with intense pain, as if Luba's hands are no longer inches above my body, but burrowing deep within me, fiddling around my insides to find the bullet my brother shot into my body and rip it out of me. Instead of moving quickly, her hands loiter where they shouldn't be, linger inside of me, and I can feel Luba's poison.

I don't know if my cry causes Luba to relinquish her hold on me, or if my thrashing body makes it harder to hold me, or if she simply finished her task, but finally the pain is gone. Completely. I look behind me and see that the wound is healed. There is no gaping hole; it's as if I had never been assaulted. And Luba looks as if she never had the strength to levitate.

She staggers slightly, so I only see a glimpse of her face, and she's ghostly pale. The only color is coming from the shadows in the folds of her wrinkles. For someone with such immense power, she looks like she's going to faint.

Despite her obvious frailty, once she sees me glowering at her, her entire façade changes. Her back stiffens, her body becomes grounded, she raises her left arm toward me, and her eyes take on that sinister combination of revenge and impish glee I've grown accustomed to. Her thumb and pinky touch, so only three fingers are pointed at me as her lips part to form an eerie smile.

“It's too soon for our game to end,” she seethes. “And when it is time, I will be the one to end it.”

That's why she saved me. That's why she used her magic to heal my wounds so I could escape before Barnaby returned with his entourage. She wasn't trying to protect me from the wrath of a bloodthirsty gang; she was saving me so her own thirst for vengeance could be quenched at a later date.

When I hear the ground shake almost as violently as it did in my dream, I know the time has come for me to take advantage of this reprieve. Even if it was offered to me under the most duplicitous and selfish terms imaginable.

Fully recovered, I start to bound off into the woods when Luba's voice stops me. “Aren't you going to thank me, Dominy?”

She speaks her question out loud and deliberately uses my name to remind me that she created me and she could expose me at any moment. Barnaby, Louis, and their gang aren't close enough to have overheard her; they can't even see us clearly yet. But her comment is just another warning shot, with the potential to do even more damage than Barnaby's gun.

I snarl at Luba as viciously as I possibly can, and although she remains silent I can hear her laughter in my head. It's demonic and torturous and damaging, and I need to get far away from it or risk being permanently contaminated. But not far enough that I can't hear what takes place next.

Several hundred yards away, I crouch in between two thick, overgrown bushes. My red fur blends in with the russets and deep oranges among the leaves, so I'm camouflaged from view.

“Where is it?!”

Barnaby's voice is so loud it reaches my ears with the intensity of an unexpected explosion.

“Luba, what happened?!”

Using my enhanced vision I can see an older man help Luba up off the ground. She must have positioned herself to look like the wolf attacked her. I bet she even gave herself some wounds to make it look that much more believable.

“I don't know,” she says, her voice shaky and fragile. “One second it was lying there, and the next it . . . it leapt up and attacked me.”

The commotion Luba's lie creates is too raucous and too angry, so I can't make out the voices or the words. Luba's next comment, however, silences everyone.

“It's as if the thing can't die.”

Her voice is barely a whisper, the perfect concoction of fear and wisdom, and it's all that's needed to make the bounty hunters shriek and gasp and vow to find me once and for all. Find the thing that defies logic, the thing that supersedes nature, the thing that begs to be destroyed.

Expertly I zero in on one conversation amidst the din of voices.

“Barnaby, I vow to find your father's killer,” Louis says, his voice exuding strength and order. “But if you ever take matters into your own hands again and leave my house with a loaded gun, I will whip you within an inch of your life.”

Good. That's what Barnaby needs, direction and reprimand and love. Everything that my father once gave him and everything that I'm clearly incapable of offering him.

“I told you before that I gave you that gun to remember your father,” Louis adds. “Not to avenge his death! You leave that to me.”

Barnaby's resistance is as thick as the crowd. I can see his body tense, I can almost feel it, and I know he wants to break free from Louis's grip and search the woods for the wolf, but our new guardian is holding him squarely by the shoulders. Louis is not letting Barnaby go so he can try and find me, so he can continue to play hunter, so he can kill. Good for Louis; he's making it impossible for Barnaby to do anything but remain the confused teenager that he is.

“You promise you'll do everything you can to capture that thing that killed my dad?” Barnaby asks.

Louis doesn't hesitate or flinch. He replies immediately. “Yes.”

Barnaby's reply is just as immediate. He throws his arms around Louis, grateful for a confidante, but relieved to have found an heir. Clinging to Louis, Barnaby sinks into him. It's clear that he's tired of fighting.

Until Luba catches his eye.

As he looks at the witch, Barnaby's body changes. It's as if his spirit and compassion and soul are sucked out and replaced with venom. First Nadine and now Luba! But this time it's not a silver light that is trying to destroy my brother, but a filthy black-colored venom that only Luba can control. And this time Barnaby doesn't have the willpower to resist.

Unseen by anyone else in the darkness, Luba lifts her fingers to her mouth and smiles victoriously. A heartbeat later, Barnaby joins in and smiles too. A smile that I believe seals his fate.

Chapter 11

This can only be a very bad sign.

When I woke up this morning, I did what I do on the first day of every month; I checked the lunar calendar. I had been keeping a year-long chart, but peering that far into the future got to be depressing with a capital Mega, so a few months ago I stopped doing that and adopted a new tactic. Now I only check the moon on a month-by-month basis.

When I first made that decision, I took my father's green metal box filled with the calendar he made for me and the rest of his werewolf memorabilia, added my old Two W Timber-wolf banner to the collection, and shoved it in the back of my closet. Way back. Who needs to be constantly reminded of what I already know: that one day out of every month I will transform into something grotesque and primitive and yes, even exquisite. It doesn't matter if I know which day that will be a year in advance or just a month; the outcome is going to be the same.

But this morning when I checked I realized this month would be different. November's full moon will fall on the 29th. My birthday. Also, the anniversary of the first day I was cursed. And the day Jess died. If that's not a bad omen, I don't know what is.

All during school I tried to convince myself that it was nothing more than a coincidence, but I've learned that there are no coincidences. Plus, there were signs to the contrary everywhere I looked.

First period somebody pulled the fire alarm, so we all had to stand outside in the cold without our jackets until Principal Dumbleavy was convinced of what the students knew immediately—that it was a false alarm. Rumor has it that a group of pothead seniors paid The Worm fifty bucks to pull the alarm to get them out of having to take an English exam. Memo to potheads: Smoke less; read more.

Later on Mr. Dice gave us one of his pop quizzes in algebra. Testament to his popularity: None of the kids groaned; in fact, many of them got excited to prove to Two W's favorite new teacher that they were absorbing what he's been teaching. I tried to fight the excitement, but quickly joined in. I mean why not? It isn't every day that I get to fail a test.

Things got worse at lunch when they served meatloaf surprise. The surprise being that it tasted nothing at all like meatloaf or like any meat that I've ever tasted. Even if I had been in wolf mode I would've spit it out. After that Miss Ro declared November to be Dodge Ball Month, which will undoubtedly be abruptly called off when Gwen channels her German-Korean heritage and fights fairly, but brutally, and breaks someone's arm. And finally the day ended with Mr. Lamatina telling us in graphic detail why the Vietnam War was so unpopular.

The bad feeling that I woke up with has been maintained. And it's about to get worse.

“Dominy,” Louis calls out to me. “Can I . . . um, see you in the kitchen?”

Sitting on the living room couch between Caleb and Arla, I momentarily ignore his question to finish writing out a history homework answer. The Vietnam War ended on April 30, 1975. I sense that another war is about to erupt.

This can't be good. Even B.T.C. (Before The Curse), whenever my dad wanted to have a private conversation with me, it always meant I was in trouble. Since becoming a member of the Bergeron clan, I've been able to avoid a one-on-one with Louis. Not that he hasn't asserted his authority, casually letting Barnaby and I know that it's his house and therefore his rules, but that's been the extent of our very important tête-à-têtes. Which is understandable because as far as he knows I haven't broken any of his house rules. And I've made sure not to wander the hallway clad only in a bath towel any longer, but maybe he's found out about my late-night sneak outs? From where I'm sitting I catch Louis in the kitchen glance over at me, then at Caleb, and then back to me. Oh my God! Could he think that I've been sneaking out to hook up with Caleb?

“Of course,” I say, continuing to scribble in my notebook. I try to keep my expression neutral, like Switzerland, a country that did nothing to help end the Vietnam War by the way, but when Arla speaks I know I wasn't successful.

“Is something wrong, Daddy?”

Arla knows I know I'm in big trouble, because she's pulled out the D word. Every daughter has tools to thwart a tirade or scolding from her father; the most efficient is to call him Daddy. It unnerves them and reminds them that they are not about to yell at the teenager who is aggravating them, but at the little girl who used to consider her father the most amazing man in the world. I'm not sure if I should be thankful that Arla's stepped in or scared silly that she's felt the need to.

Louis looks equally confused.

“Um, no, nothing's wrong,” he stammers. “It's just that . . .”

“Just what?” Arla questions.

She really is pulling out all the tricks now. Interrupting a nervous and/or angry parent is another excellent way to take control of the situation. The disruption startles them, jostles them so they fall off the parent train, forgetting that they are, in fact, the parent and the one who should be in charge, and makes them question their own ability to lead. In extreme circumstances it makes the parent forget exactly what the uncomfortable and unspoken topic of conversation was going to be, resulting in the parent's shrugging and mumbling an “oh forget it” or “it wasn't important,” before quickly retreating to another room to handle something manageable like emptying the dishwasher or balancing a checkbook.

But this time the strategy doesn't work. Louis is frazzled but undeterred and proving to all of us that he's taking this guardian thing very seriously.

“I'm not comfortable letting Caleb stay here while I'm out of the house,” he blurts.

It was apparent that Louis was nervous when Caleb arrived, but I thought it was because Louis had just announced he was going out on a date. This is a landmark event and Louis's first real date since Arla's mom came out of the closet wearing flannel and Birkenstocks instead of satin and Manolo Blahniks. Guess his agitated state had nothing to do with his mystery date and everything to do with my boyfriend.

“Dad, that's ridiculous,” Arla scoffs, flipping a kernel of popcorn into her mouth and channel surfing with the remote.

Now that she's back to calling him Dad and not Daddy, I'm guessing the perceived threat level has dropped from high alert to normal.

“I know Mason trusted you, Caleb. He told me so himself,” Louis says. “But I can't imagine he trusted you enough to leave you and Dominy alone in the house together.”

I remain silent for only one reason: Louis is absolutely right.

“They won't be alone, Dad,” Arla observes. “I'm playing chaperone.”

Before Louis can even contemplate this offer, Arla starts talking again.

“And if you agree,” she says, “I promise not to interrogate you about your new lady friend.”

Since he's apparently desperate to keep his private life private, this seems to seal the deal for Louis. As long as the deal is sealed on his terms.

“You have an hour, Caleb,” Louis states. “I'll have a squad car circle the area in exactly sixty minutes, and if your car isn't gone by then, he'll be instructed to haul you in for questioning.”

“Wow, you're even tougher than Mr. Robineau was,” Caleb declares, impressed despite being threatened.

“I'm new at this boyfriend thing,” Louis replies. “So I'm looking at this as training for the inevitable.”

Arla doesn't have to see her father's smirk; she knows it's there. Dropping the remote to pick up a fashion magazine, she doesn't even look up when she tosses a zinger back at her father. “What makes you think I won't turn out to be a lesbian like Mom?”

Louis sheds his responsible parent skin and reveals his inner pouty child. “You would do that just to remind me every day that your mother left me for another woman, wouldn't you?”

“It's a definite possibility,” she says, lifting the magazine up to cover her face so her father doesn't see her starting to laugh.

Ignoring his insolent daughter, Louis turns back to the only boyfriend he currently has to deal with. “I trust you, Caleb,” he states soberly. “And in my line of work you have to learn to trust your gut.”

The second the door closes behind Louis, the three of us crack up laughing. We're laughing so hard I'm convinced he's going to come back inside to find out what the ruckus is all about.

“Trust his gut?” Arla says. Then she drops her voice to a whisper and asks, “Does he know he has a werewolf living under his roof?”

Instinctively, I run into the hallway to make sure Barnaby isn't at the top of the stairs eavesdropping. Nope, he's still presumably in his bedroom doing his homework. Still, he's been too sneaky and untrustworthy lately to take any more chances; time to steer the conversation away from my affliction and toward her father's new affection.

“So any idea who your father has a date with, Arla?” I ask, sitting on the floor facing the couch.

Tossing the magazine onto the floor dramatically, she sighs. “Not a clue, and it's not for lack of trying.”

Sliding on the floor across the room from me, Caleb leans back against the couch and presses his feet into mine, a flirting tactic that's both chaste and cute. “Not that I know anything about divorced parents,” he starts, “but isn't that kind of weird?”

I haven't thought about it, but it kind of is. Unless Louis is waiting until the relationship is more solid just like Essie's doing with her relationship. Hold on just one bleeping second! What if Louis's relationship
is
Essie's relationship? Could that possibility be possible? Possibly! That could explain why Essie kept mum and didn't tell me her boyfriend's name. 'Cause I'm living with her boyfriend! But Louis and Essie? They'd make a quirky couple for sure, but they're both great people, so it might just work. Until I have proof that Louis and Essie are sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g'ing, I should probably keep my assumptions to myself.

“This is the first woman he's dated since my mother lesbified,” Arla replies nonchalantly. “So I think he's making sure it'll lead to something at least semiserious before introducing her to the family.”

“Makes sense,” I say, hoping my smile doesn't give away the fact that I think I know who Louis's lady friend is. “Especially since your family just got extended. Might be a little much for someone he's just casually dating.”

“Exactly,” Arla agrees. “Honestly, I'm just happy he's happy.”

“That was happy?” Caleb asks, a surprised look on his face.

“For a cop and the sudden father of three,” Arla says. “What you saw was my father in a state of bliss.”

Once again laughter fills up the living room. Laughter that is Hooverized when Barnaby makes his entrance.

“I'm going over to Jody's house,” he announces, bounding toward the front door.

“No, you're not,” I inform him.

I'm shocked when Barnaby turns around and I see his face. Who is this person? How did I not notice the stubble growing on his chin and the long strands of hair on the sides of his face? Is this new? For a moment I'm reminded of my sudden hair growth, and I wonder if Luba's curse extended to include my brother. But no, no! It was just for my father's firstborn. When the shock of his physical appearance wears off, another shock takes its place. He's taunting me. It's as if he's been waiting for me to try and stop him from leaving.

“And why aren't I?” he asks.

“Because it's dark . . . and it's not safe outside.”

And just like that I've fallen into his trap.

“Of course it's safe outside,” he disagrees. “It's not like there's a
full moon
out tonight.”

Chuckling to himself and unable to hide a self-satisfied grin, Barnaby leaves. It takes over a minute for any of us to speak.

“It was him.”

I think that was Caleb's voice. I'm not sure because I've been repeating the same phrase over and over in my head.

“No question about it, Barnaby was the one who informed Louis of the connection to the full moon,” Caleb clarifies.

While Arla and Caleb chatter about what this may or may not mean, I focus on my breathing so I don't freak out. All I can think of is how Barnaby previously threatened me and how he said that he would find out what role I played in my father's death. He's made the first connection, and he's secured an ally in Louis. Worst of all he's linked to Luba. I pray it's just an innocent friendship, a young boy fascinated by this old, odd creature, but in my heart where there's no thought and only feeling, I know their relationship is much more complicated.

Like with my brother cub in my dream, all I want to do is protect Barnaby. Jess feels the same way.

The computer in the living room suddenly turns on, even though no one is standing near it. At first we think it's just a malfunction, an electrical surge, even though the TV, the lights, and none of the other appliances in the house are affected. When the computer screen turns golden yellow, I know my friend is trying to communicate with all three of us.

“It's Jess!” I announce.

Neither of them is shocked. I've told them enough about my connection to Jess and how she sometimes shows up in the most unlikely situations to offer guidance and information, so they accept that we're being visited by our friend from some other supernatural plane. Since I'm the only one who can see Jess, she must have something to say to all of us, so she's figured out a more efficient way to communicate on a group level. Clever!

A bright light emanates from the screen, and the computer seems to throb with life. The light becomes so blinding we have to shield our eyes until it retreats back into the computer, as if that's the light's resting place. And then Jess's message becomes clear.