Sunblind (19 page)

Lifting Arla off the ground without touching her, Nadine places her in between her and Napoleon. Arla twists her body violently in a valiant attempt to break free from Nadine's invisible hold on her, but Nadine's grip is mighty. “What are you doing to me?!” Arla shrieks. “What are you talking about? What
risks
?!”

“You'll live,” Nadine replies.

Thank God!

And then Nadine completes her sentence. “But we may suck out your mind when we try to erase your memory.”

“Noooo!!!” Arla screams.

Ignoring her protest, Nadine and Napoleon raise their hands, and two streams of silver light fly out and drill into both sides of Arla's skull. Her thrashing stops momentarily as her body lifts even higher in the sky, and her eyes whip back in her head, leaving only the whites of her eyes remaining. Then the movement resumes and her body shakes uncontrollably, four limbs moving in different rhythms. Her mouth opens wide, and I can almost hear her silent screams. There's nothing I can do but watch and jab at the earth with my paws, trying to destroy the guilt and shame and self-hatred that I'm already feeling, knowing that once again my friend is being viciously harmed because of me.

Bubbles of sweat have formed on Napoleon's brow, and several beads are dripping down the sides of his face. Nadine's legs are trembling. This ritual, this game, is taking its toll on its participants as well as its victim.

“Hold on, children!” Luba cries. “It's almost finished!” Her face shines in the starlight, a psychotic version of pride.

And then it's over. The silver beams of light retract. Arla slams into the ground face first. Nadine and Napoleon stumble, able to do nothing more than catch their breath. I run to Arla and put my snout next to her throat. I can feel her pulse; she's still alive.

With a flip of her hand, Luba makes Arla's body roll over, and Arla looks peaceful, like she's sleeping. There's no way of knowing what damage the twins have done, but because of one of them, Arla has a chance of waking up.

“Children,” Luba says, “take me home.”

Linking arms with her grandmother, Nadine bends her head, and her lips graze my ear when she speaks. “This is just the beginning, Dominy.” And then she lets out a growl that sounds more primitive than anything I've ever heard come out of my own body. A growl that morphs into maniacal laughter.

His head slightly bowed, Napoleon grabs Luba by the other arm. Regardless of what he's feeling inside, he's acting like the dutiful grandson. Maybe it's a ploy; maybe it's the truth; I don't know. Even if he's conflicted, he's still connected to Luba and his sister. He may not be as morally corrupt as they are, but their blood flows in his veins.

When they dissolve into the night sky, I look at Arla, and I have no choice but to be thankful that he spared her life. I'm not ready to absolve him of his sins, not until Arla wakes up and I know that she's safe and not permanently damaged by their memory swipe. My fur sways before I feel the breeze, and when I notice Arla's eyelashes fluttering, I think it's because of the gentle wind. But it isn't. She's already waking up!

Whimpering, I rub my snout on her arm, a futile attempt to let her know that I'm here and I won't hurt her. But she isn't scared; she isn't terrified of my presence. She also doesn't appear to be herself.

“Please forgive me,” she whispers.

Problem is, it wasn't Arla's voice that I just heard. It was Napoleon's.

Chapter 17

What happened?

I don't know if I've spoken the words or if I've thought them to myself.

“Dominy, what happened?”

They're not my words after all; they're Caleb's. What is he doing here? With Archie by his side. And why am I in human form when the full moon is still looming overhead? I look down and see that a blanket is covering me and not my glorious red fur. I'm no longer a wolf; I'm Dominy. How is that possible? Have the rules of this curse changed? Or do I have more control over this spell than I realize? That would be amazing if it were true, but I can't ponder those thoughts now. Such reflection will have to wait for later when I'm not lying on the grass naked next to Arla.

“Arla!” I gasp.

Why isn't she moving? Why does she look like she's dead? Vague images flash through my mind, and I see her screaming and running and falling to the ground. No, I refuse to believe that I could have done anything to her. I have the spirit under control, we're working together—
I, it, we
would never harm a friend. My heart stops, would we?

“Is Arla all right?” I ask, my voice shaking along with my body.

“She's fine,” Archie replies. “Looks like she's sleeping.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply and roughly until my body stops shivering from the thoughts that were just racing through my head. Now that those thoughts are placated, new ones arrive.

“What are you two doing here?” I ask.

“A Wolf Pack's never too far from its leader, is it?”

Caleb's question is meant to make me smile, but it only spurs more questions. Recognizing my need for quick answers, Caleb offers me as many as he can. For some reason Arla had the GPS device around her arm, so when it stopped moving about an hour ago he and Archie followed the trail, thinking that it would lead them to me and possibly Luba. They never imagined they'd find Arla passed out next to me. Archie adds that he brought the blanket I'm clinging to in case I transformed and needed some privacy, but they never expected to find me post-conversion. They didn't think it was possible for me to change back until daybreak; I didn't either.

“I guess the rules have changed yet again,” I whisper, more to myself than my unexpected company.

“We found this a few yards away,” Caleb says. “Arla really came prepared.”

My boyfriend hands me a plastic bag filled with sweatpants, some underwear, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. But these are Arla's clothes. Whatever. She must have brought them with her when she came looking for me. I can't remember. Unlike after recent transformations, I can't remember anything.

“My head is a total blank,” I say, tying the laces of my sneaker.

“You don't remember anything?” Caleb asks.

“Zilch.”

I look up at the sky, which is now a dark navy blue. It looks immense, so much bigger than we are, and I feel puny because I know that it holds so many mysteries that we'll never unlock. What's contained in the sky just beyond our vision? Will we ever find out if anyone is looking back at us? How can three stars line up so perfectly in one straight line?

“Nadine and Napoleon were here,” I blurt out, finally remembering a bit of what happened.

“You saw them?” Archie asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “They were here with Luba.”

Archie's eyes search mine. He wants more information, and he wants me to shut up at the same time. He doesn't want proof that his boyfriend is connected to the woman who's cursed me, but that's all I have to offer. And I'm too tired and my mind is too foggy to lie, so all I can do is tell what I know.

“It's like we suspected, Caleb,” I say, looking up at the stars. “They're connected to Orion.”

“The constellation?” he clarifies. “But how?”

Shaking my head, I draw the blanket closer around me; unprotected by my wolf fur I feel the chill clinging to my body. “I don't know, but they are. All three of them—Luba, Nadine, and Napoleon.” I see Archie wince at the mention of his boyfriend's name. “I'm sorry, Arch, but it's true.”

Wordlessly he responds by simply nodding his head. What else is there to say when you find out the love of your life is connected to a source of evil?

“So the tattoos and Jess's diary and the references to Orion by Luba and Mrs. Jaffe weren't mere coincidences; they actually meant something?” Caleb asks, consolidating what we currently know.

I nod my head. “They were all clues to their connection,” I confirm. “What that connection is I can't remember.”

I may not remember how the twins are connected to Luba, but I do understand their goal. They didn't kill Arla and me, but they left us here side by side as some sort of warning. A reminder that they're superior.

“But they didn't hurt you, Dom,” Archie observes. “I mean you two are fine.”

“Well, Domgirl's fine,” Caleb corrects. “Jury's still out on Arla.”

Gently, I nudge Arla's arm to try and wake her up, but she obstinately clings to sleep. At least I pray she's sleeping. I shut my eyes tight because an image of my mother pops into my head, and I can't bear the thought of Arla's becoming like her, unresponsive and silent. If that happens, I know that I'll be to blame; the only reason Arla is out here is because of me. She must've followed me after I left the house. Temptation must've been too hard to resist; she wanted to see firsthand what secrets were going to be revealed. I refuse to believe that the only revelation will be that she will suffer the same fate as my mother and never wake up again.

“Arla!” I scream. “Wake up!”

My voice is abrupt and loud and demanding, and it startles Caleb and Archie, startles them into action. Flanking Arla on either side, they lay the blanket over her to keep her body warm and start to rub her arms, let her know that she isn't alone, let her know that she has to come back to us. I kneel at her feet and grab her ankles. I can feel blood pulsing through her veins, so I know there's still hope that she'll open her eyes and everything will return to normal. But why is she taking her sweet time?

“C'mon, Arla,” I say. “Wake up!”

Now the boys start to raise her arms up and down, trying to trick her into thinking that she's moving, that she's already awake. It actually works! Her eyes begin to quiver, and her arms try to break free from the boys' hold; they're no longer limp. She digs her heels into the ground as if she's stretching or walking or desperately trying to outrun whatever force has got such a hold on her. Her movements quicken and become more urgent. At the same time we all let go of her, and freedom sets her free.

“Let go of me!”

“Easy, Arla,” Caleb says. “It's just us.”

Wild-eyed, Arla looks around, her expression quieting only when she determines Caleb was speaking the truth. She's only surrounded by her friends, no one else.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

Sitting up, Arla looks at her body and comes to the same conclusion we've already come to: Outwardly she looks fine. Internally, maybe not.

“My head is killing me,” she groans. “Are they gone?”

She remembers too! Greatly relieved, I allow myself to smile. My friend isn't hurt. I didn't give her yet another scar—physically or emotionally; she didn't suffer once more from the curse that is supposed to only affect me. She's unharmed by whatever events just transpired. But obviously not untouched.

“I'm connected to Luba,” she announces.

“What?!”

That's the collective response, and it's filled with disbelief and disgust and disapproval. There is no way that Arla is connected to Psycho Squaw. Or is there?

“Dom, don't you remember?” she asks.

Obviously not. At least not as much as Arla does.

“My father is dating Melinda Jaffe!” she exclaims.

While Caleb and Archie shout and ply Arla with requests for more details, my memory returns. Barnaby casually mentioning that Mrs. Jaffe is Louis's girlfriend; Louis not getting angry that Barnaby revealed what he had been trying to keep secret; Arla and I freaking out over the disclosure of her father's love life; my sudden transformation.

“I turned into a wolf in your bedroom,” I divulge. Arla nods her head in agreement. “But how did I get outside without anyone seeing me?”

“The old ‘crash right through the window screen' routine,” Arla replies.

The way she's holding the sides of her head, it looks like something is trying to crash through her skull, from the inside out.

“But how does your father's girlfriend connect you to Luba?” Archie asks.

“Because Melinda's kids are working with Luba,” she confirms. “They were here!”

“You saw them?!” I cry.

Completely awake now, Arla stands up. She doesn't need the blanket any longer for warmth; she has enough fire in her belly, so she lets it fall to the ground at her feet.

“The three of them were floating in midair in front of you!” she shouts, unable to fathom how I can't remember such an image. “It was like something out of a horror movie! Luba in the middle, Old Lady Ringleader, and her two minions on either side. I have no idea why they've joined forces with her, but the three of them are working as a team.”

“So those were the three that Jess was talking about,” Caleb adds. “Luba, Nadine, and Napoleon.”

“No.”

Archie's voice isn't loud, but it isn't weak either. It's final. He refuses to believe his boyfriend could actually be a part of something so consciously evil.

“I don't believe you,” he says.

“Archie, honey, I know this is a shock,” Arla says, her voice now more like a quivering flame than a roaring fire. “But I saw him hanging in the air alongside the other two.”

Fists clenched, Archie starts to pace, moving randomly to the left, then the right, hoping that he'll move toward the truth that will disprove what the rest of us have come to believe.

“So okay, Nap was here.... He's somehow,
somehow
connected. That doesn't mean he's . . . like them; it just means he was here.”

He was more than here; he was participating.

“They were raising their arms in unison toward Orion and collecting its starlight like fuel to hurl at Dominy,” Arla describes. “And they weren't trying to start up a game of supernatural dodge ball. They wanted to hurt her.”

Thank God there was a witness this time, because I don't remember any of this. It's like the first transformations, like a plastic bag is over my head and my vision is distorted. I can only see glimpses of things, and if I want to see the whole picture I have to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. For some reason Arla has a perfect snapshot of what happened. Maybe because she was just an observer and not a participant, I don't know, but however it's happened, I'm grateful. At least we have some answers. Even if we don't have the full explanation just yet.

“If he was there,” Archie says, “he was there against his will.”

Shaking her head Arla refutes his words even before she speaks. “There's no way you can brainwash someone to act like that,” she states. “I'm sorry, Archie. Your boyfriend cannot be trusted.”

The night sounds take over. The wind, the birds, the nocturnal animals make noise all around us because we can't. The sounds are solemn, like the mournful chanting of a cluster of monks, the only purpose to remind us of our faults and our need to ask forgiveness for our sins. I know the sound well. And now, unfortunately, Archie knows it too.

“But . . . this can't be.”

He says the words, but he doesn't believe them, not really. I look up at the moon, and once again I'm filled with an incredible feeling of ambivalence; I'm in awe of its majesty, but filled with rage at its lack of mercy. I'm the one who's cursed; I'm the one who should be suffering! Instead it's as if I'm in quicksand, descending lower and lower into some unknown hell, and the quicksand isn't satisfied with only one sacrifice, so it's making me reach out and bring extra bounty with me. I'm paying back my friends' loyalty and support and love by introducing them to pain and anguish and despair.

“I love him.”

Archie's words are quiet, but they bounce off of the trees and the ground like thunder in the night. I want to cover my ears; I want to run and hide, but I can't. Caleb must know that I'm fighting the urge to break free, that the pain I'm inflicting is almost too much to bear, so he sits next to me and holds my hand, but that only makes matters worse. This is all Archie's ever wanted, all he ever dreamed about: to sit on the ground in the middle of the night holding his boyfriend's hand. I've taken that away from him; I've destroyed the first dream he's ever had that came true. Restlessly, I turn my head. I don't want them to see me cry, but they can hear the sobs. Nothing I do seems to protect them. Nothing I do seems to shield them from the truth.

“Don't cry, Dom,” Archie whispers.

And nothing I do seems to make my friends leave me.

“Why . . . why don't you people . . . hate me?” I ask.

My voice is barely a whisper, as if my question is almost too heavy, too impossible a thought to speak out loud. My friends find the response to be an easy one. I feel arms wrapping around me, and I try to push them away, but they're determined to grab hold of me.

“No one could ever hate you for any of this.”

I have no idea who's talking, not that it matters; one voice speaks for them all. Now it's my turn to speak.

“I'm so sorry, Archie,” I say, my words and my arms wrapping around him.