Wild (19 page)

Her satisfaction turned to an almost embarrassed kind of pleasure. “Thanks. You look nice,” she added, hoping he wouldn’t think it was an empty compliment. He did look good. Once again his outfit was simple, but expensive. A rusty red shirt that made his dark hair glow with reddish highlights, and jeans that shade of jet black that meant they were still new.

“We match,” he said. “Well, we complement each other anyway. Okay, you set?” He put the car in gear and pulled away from her house.

As soon as they were driving towards to Childwall, Lizzie’s nerves kicked in. She couldn’t remember the last party she’d been to without pills. Okay, so this was probably going to be a far more sedate affair than she was used to, but still. How was she supposed to talk to people without the artificial confidence and buzz that drugs gave her?

Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself. You managed just fine for, what? eighteen years of your life without pills. You can get through one night.

Roused by her anxiety, the Other moved inside her, sliding against the walls of her mind like a migraine about to explode. Not wanting a repeat of that morning’s episode, she spoke to Seth, distracting herself. “So are there any rules for tonight? Any Kurtadam etiquette I should be aware of?”

He shook his head. “It’s pretty casual, really. We eat, then the adults sit and talk bollocks by the fire whilst the kids shoot some pool and talk bollocks over a few drinks. I mix a mean cocktail,” he added, glancing at her. “What’s your poison?”

She grimaced at his unintentionally loaded question and shook her head. “I don’t drink,” she said firmly. She’d read a pamphlet once on addiction – Piers had kindly sent her a whole stack of self-help leaflets for her birthday last year. She clearly remembered the pamphlet advising that the best way to avoid temptation was to tell people you didn’t smoke, drink, or whatever, rather than saying you were quitting. Something to do with neural linguistic something-or-other… Well, it sounded like nonsense, but it was worth a try, right?

“What, so I can’t get you drunk and take advantage of you?” Seth teased.

“You wouldn’t have to get me drunk to take advantage of me,” she replied frankly. “I’m more likely to corrupt you than the other way round.”

His expression turned serious, and she cringed inwardly, wishing she kept her mouth shut. Why remind him that she was a screwed-up junkie?

“How did you get into drugs, anyway?” he asked. “I mean, we’ve all chipped around with weed and stuff, but how did you end up…” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t think of a polite way to end the sentence.

Lizzie mentally filled in for him. Fucked up? Living in squalor? “Harris,” she said with a sigh. Then clarified, “my ex-boyfriend.” She decided against explaining how Harris had become her ex. As far as she knew, neither Seth or Nuala knew about the Harris situation, and Lizzie was determined to keep it that way. “We met when I was in my first year at uni, and he got me into pills. From there it was just…” She made a thumbs-down gesture.

“What were you studying?” Seth asked.

“Sports science.” She stared out the car window, watching the city roll by. She’d come to Liverpool all hopeful and confident, ready to step out into the big bad world and experience some real life after years of being sheltered and cosseted by her mum. Ha. Nice one.

“I wanted to be a physiotherapist.” A maudlin note filled her voice, and she shook it away. If she made herself miserable, it would be too easy to think about drugs. “How about you? What do you do, apart from accost strange girls in parks?”

They stopped at a traffic light, and Seth switched on the radio, low enough not to interfere with their conversation. AC/DC played softly from the speakers. “It sounds bad, I know, but nothing at the moment. I graduated last year and I’ve been working since then, saving up to go travelling. I’m going to do the typical backpacker thing – Asia, New Zealand, all that.”

“Cool. I’d love to go travelling,” Lizzie said wistfully. “I always wanted to go to South America.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?” he challenged. “You should do it.”

She shrugged, not really sure what was stopping her, now. Before, of course, there was Harris and drugs and lack of money. Now there was just lack of money, and she could fix that, couldn’t she? “Maybe I will,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll finish my degree first.” The future sparkled before her for the first time in too long, open and waiting. She could do whatever she liked now. Now that she was a werewolf, free of Harris and drugs, she could do anything. She laughed, joy surging through her.

Maybe Nick had helped her after all.

“What?” Seth asked.

She shook her head, not sure he’d get it. “Nothing,” she said, grinning. “I’m just excited.”

He shot her a bemused look, then returned her giddy smile and turned up the radio. “It’s going to be a good night,” he said.

Yes, she decided, stealing a glance at him as he sang along – badly – to the radio. It was.

****

Nuala’s house was bright and welcoming tonight, all the windows ablaze. Cars crowded up the curbside, and Lizzie ran her eyes enviously over Saabs, Jags, and BMWs. Seth parked across the street and offered Lizzie his hand as she got out. She took it with a little flare of excitement.

The soft babble of talk drifted down the hall inside. She heard glasses clinking together and smelt duck and plums, laced with the earthy scent of werewolves. The scent moved the Other, caught its attention and tugged it awake. A little trepidation wove through her excitement at the thought of meeting the Kurtadam, and she resisted the urge to pull closer to Seth, press herself against him as if she could disappear inside him and hide.

As if sensing her unease, Seth squeezed her hand. “Ready?” he asked her softly as they approached the kitchen.

“Not really,” she said, straightening her back until her spine felt like it might snap.

“You’ll be fine.” He surprised her by kissing her hair, a quick, easy gesture, like they’d been together years and these little gestures were second nature. Lizzie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and smiled up at him.

Okay. This couldn’t be any worse than anything else she’d ever done. And she’d done some bad things. She smiled up at Seth and they walked into the kitchen together.

It was a big kitchen, with sandy marble flooring, dark wooden cupboards, and a long central island that served as a table. Like the rest of the house that Lizzie had seen, everything was simple and elegant. And it was full of werewolves.

They crowded around the island, leaning across the smooth amber-coloured table top to refill glasses and snatch plump green olives from the ceramic dishes scattered across the table. Kids and adults, all chattering, laughing, having a good time, and not a sniff of drugs anywhere.

Nuala held court by the oven, stirring a wok-full of shredded duck and spring onions whilst listening with a grave expression to a small girl who was tugging her skirt and talking earnestly. Lizzie’s heart constricted at the easy domesticity of it all. Then Nuala looked up and saw her, and her wrinkled face broke into a smile. She waved them over.

“Seth, Lizzie, come here and taste this,” she ordered. “Little madam here seems to think I’ve overcooked the duck.”

Nuala’s voice rose above the general babble, and silenced it. Suddenly all eyes were on Lizzie and Seth, and she felt a mix of curiosity and hostility aimed at her. Once again, she fought the desire to hide herself behind Seth, and instead drew on some of the Other’s bold strength, and met their stares evenly. Not aggressively, she cautioned herself, she wasn’t here to make enemies or cause trouble. But calmly, assuredly. She wasn’t here to be judged either.

Seth cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Lizzie. She’s a newly-made werewolf, and we’re taking care of her now.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder possessively, a challenge in his voice. “Lizzie, this is…”

He ran off a litany of names he couldn’t possibly expect her to remember, and Lizzie politely nodded and smiled at the group of twenty or so werewolves until her neck and mouth ached. The faces were just a blur, the names were meaningless, and the feeling of being surrounded by so many other werewolves was just … weird. She found herself studying them all, looking for some common element that marked them. Something that gave them away.

There was nothing of course, except that distinctive musk. She abandoned her search and focused on Seth again as he tugged her over to the table. Conversations resumed, slowly and with less enthusiasm than before, as if everyone was waiting for Lizzie to say or do something. What, she wasn’t sure. Nobody asked her anything, nobody tried for eye contact. They just went back to chatting with each other, watching her covertly. Her skin itched.

“Take a seat.” Seth pulled a chair out for her. “So, I guess you don’t want wine – what can I get you?”

She shrugged, tapping her foot arrhythmically on the tiles. “Fruit juice is fine.”

He nodded and went over to the fridge, leaving her horribly alone amongst the Kurtadam. She held her breath, waiting for something to happen.

“Hey,” the girl next to her said, a petite young Chinese woman in a kimono-style dress. “I’m Tai.” She offered Lizzie her hand and a genuinely warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey.” Lizzie shook her hand, relieved to find some real friendliness in the room besides Seth and Nuala. “Thanks.” She searched for an intelligent topic of conversation. “So there are Chinese werewolves?” Damn. She could have slapped herself.

Tai laughed, flicking her silky black hair from her eyes. “Chinese, Japanese, French, African… Lycanthropy knows no racial boundaries.”

“I’m not really up to speed on the subject yet,” Lizzie confessed. “I’m really new to the whole… wolf thing.”

Seth rejoined them, setting a glass of apple juice in front of Lizzie with a flourish. “Tai’s studying medicine at Liverpool University,” he told her. “She’s going to find a vaccine to cure ghouls, right, Tai?” He winked at her, and she blushed, shooting him an annoyed look.

“Don’t say it like that,” she scolded. “I really think, eventually, we could find a cure. I mean, we don’t really know what makes a ghoul yet, but I’m sure the conditions we identify as “ghoul-like” are symptoms of a viral infection passed on through werewolf saliva. If we could get –”

“You won’t,” an older man across the table cut in. Lizzie thought he might be Derrick or Desmond. “You’ll never get a ghoul in a lab, for one thing.” He waggled his finger at Tai knowingly. “It’ll never happen, you know, this “coming out” thing. It would mean war. Instant war between us and them. And there are a lot more of them than there are of us.”

“It will happen,” Tai said stubbornly. “It’s inevitable. As forensic science improves, werewolves won’t be able to hide themselves anymore.”

Lizzie’s stomach turned at that thought. She imagined men in white coats poking around her living room, finding fibres and specks of blood and stray hairs from Harris’s death, using their high-tech equipment to pin Lizzie down for murder. She imagined prison bars – God, a werewolf in prison. It would be carnage. Utter bedlam, nothing but blood…

She took a deep gulp of her apple juice, wishing fervently it was topped with vodka.

“If it does happen, it’ll be down to these bloody Vargulfs,” Derrick or Desmond said. “Causing chaos, no respect, no regard for safety or discretion. They’re going to be the undoing of us if we don’t get rid of them, you mark my words.”

An awkward silence fell over the table, and Desmond/Derrick flushed bright red as everyone’s gaze turned on Lizzie. She closed her eyes, wishing she could just vanish.

Tai cleared her throat. “So, what do you do, Lizzie?”

Lizzie felt the attention of the Kurtadam on her. Seth shifted imperceptibly closer to her. She tested his warmth and support against the curious/hostile gazes weighing on her, and found it gave her the courage to answer honestly. Well, mostly honestly.

“I’ve been sort of drifting for a while now,” she said, fiddling with her pendant. “But I’m planning on going back into education, finishing my degree.” She was surprised to discover it was true. That was what she wanted to do, a first step in proving to herself she could change, make her life work again.

The answer seemed to satisfy the gathering, as they quickly returned to their own conversations, and Seth tapped her on the shoulder.

“Come on, come and taste Nuala’s duck before she gets offended.”

Feeling she’d passed a test – or maybe dodged a bullet - Lizzie joined Seth and Nuala at the stove. The sweet smell of plums was mouth-watering, and Lizzie couldn’t resist snatching a strip of duck from the wok as Nuala stirred.

“Definitely not overcooked,” she told Nuala. The old woman smiled as if she’d expected nothing less.

“Help dish it up, then,” Nuala ordered Seth, nudging him towards a huge bowl of leafy green salad on the sideboard. “There are pancakes over there,” she told Lizzie, who found herself obediently hurrying to help serve up the enormous stack of pancakes.

She glanced around the room, doing a quick headcount, and guessed there were about twenty or so werewolves here. The number made her quake a little, but she sternly quashed the feeling. Nothing to prove, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.

With the food served, everyone simply dove in – no standing on ceremony here, obviously. Another blow to Nick’s feudal-system propaganda, she thought as Seth handed her a plate of pancakes. He pulled her over to a quieter corner of the kitchen, and they stood together, eating and watching. She had to admit, none of this was what she’d expected. She’d envisioned something either a lot more formal – dusty gold candelabras and a table so long you had to communicate with the other end via semaphore – or something a lot more primal, with slabs of raw meat dripping blood across the pale countertops while wolves sprawled under the table, gnawing on marrow and bone.