Wild (26 page)

Stung, she recoiled. “And don’t get high and mighty with me because you were born with a silver fucking dog bone in your mouth!”

She forced herself to walk away then, before he could say something else or she could say something truly vile.

She managed not to cry until she’d slammed the front door. Then she gave up holding the tears back and slid down to the hall floor, weeping until her throat was raw and her eyes were dry.

****

She felt like she’d taken a couple of steps backwards in her plan for a new life when she woke up on the settee the next morning, still in last night’s clothes, with the TV playing softly. Groggy, in that half-awake state where the world is blurry and your limbs won’t obey you, she ran her hands through her hair. No vomit, alcohol, or blood dried in her curls; well, that was one thing to be grateful for, wasn’t it? At least she hadn’t done anything stupid or crazy after Seth left.

She levered herself off the settee with some effort, numb and listless. The Other felt sluggish and bored inside her. She switched off the TV and padded through to the kitchen for a cup of ginseng tea, trying hard not to dwell on Seth. Impossible, of course, like trying not to think about water when you’re dying of thirst. Her brain just zoomed in on him, his face, his voice, his kiss…

“Shit,” she muttered, dropping a tea bag into a cup and wishing she could have done it more violently. Maybe she should throw the cup across the room or smash a few plates or something? Harris had always started flinging crockery around when he was pissed off.

But no, breaking stuff would take energy and she didn’t have any to spare.

She drank her tea, pretending it didn’t taste like something she’d squeezed out of a dirty towel, and had a quick shower, hoping that the routine would make her feel normal, shake off some of the dust.

It didn’t. After the shower she couldn’t think of anything to do next. She wanted to get high, wanted it badly. But she’d thrown everything out, hadn’t she? Even her precious secret stash was gone, the jewellery box containing nothing more than tangled necklaces and mismatched earrings now.

The Other turned circles in her head, pacing restlessly and longing to stretch its legs. Lizzie wandered the house like a ghost, more tempted with every slow-passing second to give in and let the Other out. If she couldn’t get high, it was the next best option. She wasn’t achieving anything as Lizzie. Just messing up everything she came across, ruining every chance she was given, so why not just let the wolf take over, see what it could do. It couldn’t get any worse, could it?

It felt like giving in though, acknowledging that there was no way forward from here, that she’d never see Seth again. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that yet. Not when Seth still might call or show up on her doorstep with a bouquet of roses or something equally poetic.

She lingered by the living room window for a while, watching cars crawl up and down the street as her neighbours went about their drama-less days. No sign of Seth’s BMW anywhere. She bit her lip, scolding herself for expecting anything less, and gave up her vigil to make more ginseng tea.

It was nearly midday when she accepted that all the herbal tea in the world wasn’t going to make her feel better, and that it might be easier to just indulge her self-pity than deny it. A few weeks ago she might have popped open a bottle of vodka, or snorted a few lines of meth to shake off the funk. And yeah, it was tempting now. As tempting as letting the Other take over, a surrender of control that would excuse any idiotic behaviour that followed.

Twice she picked up her phone to call Vic, see if she could get a few pills or a bit of weed. How much would it really hurt, after all? And twice she put the phone down again, remembering how proud and delighted her mother had sounded yesterday when Lizzie told her she was off the drugs.

She prowled the living room, chewing her nails and frantically trying to fight the Other, who tormented her like an itch in her bones, impossible to satisfy or relieve. The world swam between colour and shade as her vision flashed in and out, going wolf to human, human to wolf in a dizzying, sea-sick circle.

“You win!” she said finally, when her head was too sore and her body too tired to fight anymore. “You win.” The Other was stronger than her, she’d known that all along, hadn’t she? From the moment she saw Harris dead on this very carpet, she’d known the Other was stronger. The Kurtadam could preach all they liked about human first, wolf second, but it wasn’t that simple. They had a lifetime of practise and support to make sure the wolf stayed under control. For a sad little Vargulf like Lizzie, there was no such luck.

She threw on her coat and walked down to Smithdown Park, a tiny part of her clinging to the idea that Seth might come and find her there like he had before. They hadn’t exactly broken up, really, had they? A couple of days, he’d said, and maybe after that he’d appear to tell her it was okay, that killing Harris didn’t matter because it didn’t particularly seemed to have interfered with Harris’s life.

She smiled bitterly at herself. There was no part of society in which killing someone ought to be okay, and if there was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of it. There ought to be punishment, justice, something to redress the balance. Not that she wanted to be punished or anything, but she couldn’t pretend – even to herself – that everything was okay just because Harris was still strolling around Liverpool asking for fags.

Yesterday’s rain had given way to clinging, creeping mist, the kind you half expected monsters with giant tentacles to lurch out of. It was pretty dismal, but it meant the park was deserted, and Lizzie had utter privacy as she jogged into the tree line to strip off and change shape. She allowed herself a brief pause to marvel at how casually she approached getting naked in the middle of the day in a public place, then let the Other take over.

It happened smoothly and naturally, liking inhaling and exhaling. Lizzie’s head spun as the world fell away, then came back again, altered and intensified. She shook off humanity and embraced the wolf, letting the world light up as her senses sharpened. The rush of liberation was so overwhelming, it made her want to sing, and impulsively she threw her head back and howled.

The sound was lost in the mist, but it made Lizzie happier anyway, and she wagged her tail as she trotted off into the trees, nose to the ground. All the other animals had been driven away by the miserable weather, but their trails blazed through the wet grass; the sharp musk of rodents and rabbits, the peaty tang of muntjac deer. She followed the trails aimlessly, just for the joy of movement rather than the desire to hunt, determined to burn off some of her frustration and despair.

The Other didn’t see the point in despairing. The world didn’t have to be complicated, didn’t have to be about anything besides hunting and sleeping. As long as you had food and somewhere warm and dry, what else mattered? Lizzie wished she could be as philosophical. But after an hour of meandering through the park, chasing rats and voles from their hidey-holes, she didn’t feel much better. Tired and numb again, yes, but not really better.

She flopped into the grass with a sigh, chewing her front paws listlessly. Was it time to admit defeat and go back to London? Melissa didn’t ever have to know about all this … stuff. There were plenty of places in London where she could go to shapeshift without anyone seeing. She could probably even learn to put up with Hugh, if she put her mind to it. Couldn’t be any harder than cleaning human blood off the carpets.

Gloomy but resigned, she trotted to where she’d left her clothes and changed back. She couldn’t help a pang of sadness at leaving her wolf-shape. She felt safer, stronger in the Other’s body. But the Other seemed sated and content now, no more pushing at her for release. Let’s hear it for exercise and good eating. Not to mention clean living. She sighed.

There was a copy of the Liverpool Echo on her doorstep when she got home, all soggy, the ink smeared. She scooped it up as she went in, dropping it on the settee. The paper unfolded as it landed, displaying the picture on the front page. Lizzie picked it up with a frown. It was a grainy, blurred picture of a street at night, probably taken with a camera phone. But she could definitely make out two dog-like animals slinking along the street.

Lizzie’s heart rocketed into her throat, then plummeted into her stomach. There was no doubt it was her and Nick from the other night. She sat down, ripping through the damp pages until she found the story. There wasn’t much, thankfully, just a little puff piece on stray dogs in the city, possibly linked to the slowly rising number of homeless people. But oh God, oh God, if Seth or any of the Kurtadam saw it, she was finished. She could kiss goodbye to any chance of making it right with them after this.

She imagined Des storming up and down Nuala’s kitchen, waving a copy of the Echo, telling her this was exactly what he’d been talking about. She remembered Harris and Vic crowing with laughter over Wolf Watch. Didn’t seem funny now.

She tossed the paper aside and buried her head in her hands, fighting off tears. Crying won’t help, she told herself sternly. You won’t fix anything by blubbering so don’t do it. Be practical. Where do we go from here?

London, of course. It wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it would solve a few of the immediate ones. She could hide away from the Kurtadam, Nick, and Harris, for a start. Right. Okay. She would call Mum and tell her she’d be on the first train home. No need to call the landlords about the house; she’d sort all that out once she was safely in London. All she needed right now was clothes. Everything else could wait.

She leapt up, determined to get packing straight away. No point waiting. The minute any of the Kurtadam saw that newspaper picture, it was all over anyway. They wouldn’t want a careless, flighty Vargulf in their ranks, flaunting herself to every twat with a camera phone. God, if Seth thought killing Harris was indiscreet, wait until he saw this.

She was halfway up the stairs to find her suitcase when her phone started ringing. She paused, cursing herself for hoping it was Seth. Hope was a nasty thing, lighting a fire in her heart and sending her scurrying back down the stairs to retrieve her phone. “Hello?” She picked up without looking at the screen – didn’t want to crush her hope before she had to.

“Is this Lizzie?”

The voice was female, clipped, and it took Lizzie a few seconds to place it. When she did, her stomach twisted and her heart lurched. “What do you want, Ingrid?”

“Is Seth with you?” Ingrid asked. She was hushed, cautious, as if afraid someone might be listening in.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Lizzie curled her free hand into a fist, imagining Ingrid’s face at the other end of it.

“No, it was a serious question. Is he with you? I don’t want him finding out about this, okay?”

Lizzie frowned. “What’s with the cloak and dagger act, Ingrid? What do you want?”

The other girl swallowed hard, like the words were lodged in her throat. “Drugs,” she said finally.

“What?”

“Drugs. Whatever you can get me, I don’t care. I’ll pay.”

Lizzie sat down on the floor, suddenly feeling off-balance, like the world had made some fundamental shift. Ingrid was not a junkie. She was as certain of that as she was her own name. Nothing about Ingrid said “drugs.” She was clean, Lizzie would swear to it. Probably didn’t even know what a trip was, for God’s sake. “Why the hell do you want drugs?” she asked.

Ingrid went silent for a few seconds, and Lizzie thought about hanging up. Whatever the other girl wanted, Lizzie didn’t want to give it to her. Then she spoke again, and the world shifted once more. “They help you shift, don’t they? That’s what everyone’s saying. That it’s easier for you to shift because you’re a druggie.”

“I’m not –” Lizzie started, then shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. So?”

“So I want to be able to shift!” Ingrid cried. “And if snorting coke helps me do it, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m sick of being sneered at and looked down on because I can’t shift. And if the Kurtadam are going to start letting people like you -” She cut herself off quickly, adopted a friendlier tone. “So come on, Lizzie. What does a good gram of coke cost?”

Lizzie laughed, taken aback by the outburst and the request. “I can’t get you any,” she told Ingrid. “Sorry.”

“Of course you can,” Ingrid wheedled. “Everyone’s saying you’re a junkie, you must have friends, contacts.”

“Not anymore.” It felt surprisingly good to say it. Never mind that earlier she’d have given her right arm for a bit of meth. She’d resisted, hadn’t she? She’d stayed strong. “I’ve quit. I’m clean.”

“But you must still know people,” Ingrid said desperately. “You must have friends who are still using. Please, Lizzie, you don’t know what it’s like for me!”

Lizzie felt a shred of sympathy for her. It must be hard. Being dumped by Seth would be bad enough, but being the laughing stock of the Kurtadam – if what Tai said was true – would be pure hell. “Why can’t you shift?” she asked, trying to divert Ingrid’s attention away from drug dealers and coke.

“I just can’t,” Ingrid snarled. “For God’s sake, don’t you think if I knew why I’d do something about it? Just tell me where I can get some coke or speed, or whatever you Vargulf bitches take, and then we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

She thought about it for a long moment, thought about passing Ingrid on to Vic, or even Nick. Nick would probably be delighted to help Ingrid overcome her shifting problem. But … “No,” she said finally. “I’m not helping you, Ingrid.”