My palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding, and my nerves seemed to be more confused than an eagle that was afraid of heights. I looked at myself in the mirror and imagined all the ways that this night could end horribly. In every scenario my body was littered with poison tipped, silver arrows. Was I overreacting? Maybe a little, but I had a good reason. My outfit for the, uh, outing, was pretty simple. Just a Nirvana tank top, black jeans, a blue and black flannel shirt tied around my hips, and black, lace-up boots. You know, tradition concert-wear. My hair was pulled back in a semi-messy, fishtail braid, revealing the silver studs my mother had bought me on Thanksgiving just last year.
"You look fine, stop fidgeting." Bella said, rolling her eyes. Since I had no dating experience, I called up Bella in hopes she would know what I was doing wrong. "You're neck is a little bare, though. You should wear her lace choker." She said, further making herself comfortable on my bed. I pulled out my black, lace choker and gently put it on. As Bella had said, it did make my neck less bare, adding a little "extra extra".
"This is stupid, I should just cancel." I said, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. Immediately, Bella grabbed it, and with impeccable speed, went to the far side of the room. "How did you-" I began, but shook my head resolving that it had to be some master werewolf thing, "Give me my phone." I walked towards her, arm outstretched, but she moved to the other side of the room. "Nope." she teased, shaking the phone. "Bella." I groaned, "I need to cancel." I moved toward her once again, but once again, she moved out of the way. "You're just nervous."
"Bella." I was cut off by the sound of Megan's car.
"Too late." Bella said. Mere moments later I could here Megan walk into the house. "Malia, Megan is here!" Leah called. I groaned, but put on my best smile and went downstairs. Megan's hair was pulled back in a messy bun. An open, green and black plaid shirt hugged her curves. A low cut, black tank top was underneath, and her dark skinny jeans just brought more attention to her figure. Her fingers were stacked with silver and black rings, which perfectly matched her thin-chained, silver heart locket. "Ready to go?" Megan said, offering me a friendly smile.
"Sure." I replied, hoping it wasn't obvious that I didn't want to go. Leah smiled and gave me a hug. "Be back before midnight." She said, "Have fun!"
Megan led me to her car, a shiny black pick-up that was parked on the side of the road. "You'll love this band, they're pretty awesome." She said, as we entered the car.
As soon as we hit the road, I was acutely aware of our close proximity. There was just something about her, something addicting. Her laughter was infectious, and I soon found myself forgetting that she had tried to kill me. Sure, she was dangerous, but so was I.
I was so entrenched in our conversation about random things, I wasn't paying any attention to what was going on. According to Megan, the band she wanted to take me to was an underground, alternative band. Their songs, as she described them, were pretty good and had a nice edge to them, and occasionally they did punk covers of popular songs. As much as she liked them, however, she couldn't remember their name for the life or her.
It was pretty funny watching her try and remember their name. Her nose scrunched up, her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked like she was somewhat constipated from focusing so much. The best part, though, was the fact she was completely unaware of how strange she looked, so she just looked at me dumbfounded when I started laughing.
It was going pretty well, and all the walls I had built up, tore down just as easily.
We were near the edge of the town limits, alone on the road, waiting for the light to turn green. A fog started rolling in, but neither one of us noticed. We probably should have. "I know their name, I swear." She said, still focused on trying to remember their name. I stifled a chuckle. "It's not that big of a deal, Megan." I said. Megan opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it when the light turned green, reverting her focus on the road.
"Argh, this fog is killing me." Megan said, slowing down. I shrugged, attempting to see of my wolf senses somehow had a see-through-fog setting. They didn't. "Just be careful and we should be fine." I said. Megan nodded and mumbled something, but I was too mentally preoccupied to figure out what she said.
Then, all of the sudden Megan screeched and a deer appeared from out of the fog. My body lurched onto the car door as Megan swerved. We went off road, down a small drop, and rolled a few times before the car landed upside down.
My senses had gone haywire, but I was somehow able to escape the car. I couldn't tell you whether I crawled through the window or tore off the door itself, my memory is a fog. I stumbled forward, trying to find the road. Gotta find help for Megan. I thought. The deer had disappeared, no scent, no tracks, it was as if it hadn't existed, but I knew what I saw. I knew Megan had seen the same thing.
Each step in the fog felt like I was stepping on glass, I probably was. At that moment, with the car still in view, I thought of my cellphone. I reached in my back pocket to retrieve it, but then remembered forgetting it on my bed. My luck. I thought.
With every step I grew heavier, more tired. My eyelids were trying to close, and despite how hard I fought, I knew I was slowly losing the battle. My knees buckled underneath me, and I found myself forced to crawl. I was probably a sight. Covered in glass and blood from who knows where. I was probably covered in dirt, my clothes now rags. I knew I hadn't traveled too far, looking behind me I could still see the silhouette of the car. Of Megan.
My eyes wandered to see if they could see anything else, but all I could see other than the silhouette of the trees, was the silhouette of the town sign. No, not a silhouette. Even though it was farther away than the car, I could still see it clear as day.
You are now leaving Black Pines
The cruel irony.
It seemed the only way I would be leaving Black Pines was through death. I turned to look ahead of me once again, but everything was shrouded in fog. As my eyes began to fail me, and my arms started to give out, a giant silhouette approached me. Easily, seven to eight feet tall, the creature approached me, breathing heavily through, what appeared to be, buck teeth. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't. Instead, my body failed me and I was passed out on the ground.
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I groaned, slowly getting up despite my body screaming at me to go back to bed. "Wha-where am I?" I said, trying to focus on my surroundings. I was on an old, blue couch. I appeared to be in someone's cabin, clearly the cabin of a hoarder. Papers, books, and boxes filled with who-knows-what were pushed to the corner. I felt weight on my belly. The weight of something warm. Alive.
"Ngggggguh."
I stared at the creature who wa staring intently me with a seemingly human intelligence. "I've finally lost my mind." I muttered to myself as soon as I realized I was in a staring contest, with a beaver. "Well, I guess you're not dead." A gruff voice said, coming from what, I assumed, was the kitchen. I turned my neck to get a glimpse of the man. Charles. Megan's uncle and the last werebeaver. "You're Charles." I said.
"I'm quite aware of that." He said, "That there is Norman, keeps me company." I looked at Norman, who I now realized was wearing overalls. "Why is he wearing overalls?" I asked, my brain still foggy. Charles looked at me as if I had just asked the dumbest question in the world. "Nnngggggguuuuhhh." Norman said.
"Norman," Charles chided, "Don't be rude. That language is not tolerated in this house." What? Am I...am I high? I thought, Or am I dying and am in some sort of heroine's dealer limbo? Charles was now mumbling to himself, mentioning something about some girl named Meg. Meg? Whose Meg? Sounds familiar. Must be a friend of his. I thought. "How can you understand him?" I asked, hoping he wasn't some delusional lumberjack.
"I speak beaver." He said.
So, I am going to die. I thought, resigning to my fate. "How do you speak beaver?" I said. I was a werewolf and I couldn't speak to wolves more than basic hand signals anyone could learn. "Werebeavers have a special connection to beavers, and 'cause uh that we can speak with them." He explained. "It's what makes us better than ya wolves."
Highly debatable. I thought, then I remembered when I first encountered him. "How did you know?" I asked, "How did you know I would become a werewolf?" Charles chuckled, then started coughing violently. "Norman's a psychic beaver." He said.
"Mhmm." I said. Charles ignored my lack of belief, and disappeared into a room. I could hear the tumbling of boxes and shuffling of papers. "Imma bring out mah wife." He said from the room, "She doesn't do much. Jus a pretty face, but she's a good listener." He came out with a cardboard cutout of Maria Sunson, an 18 year old reality TV star who's famous for....I don't even know, even her "beauty" is enhanced with plastic and fillers. "You can tal' to her while I call mah niece." He said, he opened the curtains, revealing it was nighttime, kissed the cutout on it's cardboard cheek, then disappeared into another room.
"Are you magic too, or is he just crazy?" I said, wondering if the cutout could respond. It didn't. "Ngggguuuh." Norman said, settling himself on my stomach. "Thanks Norman." I said, sarcastically. This was my life. Talking to a supposedly psychic beaver.
"Hows Meg?" Charles voice asked from the back room.
With my wolf hearing, I could clearly hear the other voice. The man on the other side of the phone had a deep voice, but it wasn't rough like Charles. It was smooth, almost poetic. "She's fine, but she's a bit hysterical about her friend, Malia." The voice said.
Why would she be hysterical about me? I wondered. "Well, tell her her friend is fine. Imma take her home in a minute." He said, "Just gotta finish the salve."
"Does her friend remember anything about what happened, anything strange?" The voice asked.
"Nope, she don't remember nothin." Charles replied.
A short pause came from the other side of the phone. "Alright, well, thanks for takin care of the girl. She's supposed to be home by midnight, according to Meg, so you have four hours to get her home safely." The voice said. "Thanks, Uncle."
Charles grunted and hung up the phone, then he returned to the living room. "What salve?" I asked almost immediately. I wasn't overly fond of the idea of this guy putting some unknown item in or on my person. "Ain't anythin." He said, "Can't be tellin him you a were. So, I told him I gave ya a salve that will make it appear ain't nothin happen to you."
"Oh." I said, slowly getting up, "Well, I feel better, and I really want to go home." Charles nodded, and handed me my clothes. (It was then I realized I was in oversized sweats.) "There ya go, all fixed and unbloodified. You can change in the bathroom or I can give you a backpack and you can stuff your clothes inside, phase, and run back home. Whateva you wanna do."
Too eager to go home to make a scene about the sweats, I grabbed the backpack, stuffed my clothes inside, and phased just as he said. There was something freeing about being a horse-sized wolf with dagger like teeth. For one, animals tended to keep their distance and it was much faster than going by car.
I kept semi-close to the road, I was close enough to see it, but not too close someone could see me. It certainly helped that my ebony pelt helped me blend into the shadows with ease. The fog had seemed to dissipate, but the air remained cool and moist. Scents and sounds flooded from everywhere as I made my way home.
My head was unusually quiet, with only my voice in it's depths. Even though it had only been a few times, I was already used to having everyone else's voice in my head. Seeing their day. Hearing their secrets. Sensing what they sensed. Felt what they felt. Instead, I was greeted by nothingness. A cold, empty room lacking the warmth of it's fellow pack members. It was an odd feeling. An unnatural feeling.
The only voice in my head was my own, and I hated it.
I walked stealthily to the edge of my backyard and morphed back behind a tree, then I changed into the clothes that were in the backpack. What am I going to tell my dad and Leah? I thought, Oh, hey. I'm back early because a psychotic deer ran into the car and I was rescued by an insane werebeaver and his psychic, overall-wearing pet beaver. How was your night? I knew eventually i would be forced into a position where I would have to makeup a story about where I was, but I was hoping it wasn't anytime soon. (Or ever if we're being honest.)
I took the keys that were (thankfully) still in my pocket, and opened the door. The house was unusually dark, with no sign of my parents. I cautiously walked into the kitchen, turning on the lights almost immediately. A blue post it note was posted on the refrigerator, signed by my father
Hey, Malia,
If Leah and I are not back by the time you got home, don't be alarmed.
The cafe was robbed and Leah needs to make a statement.
We'll probably be back before you, but just in case - don't freak out.
Love,
L.A
My body instantly relaxed knowing they weren't murdered or anything, though now I was beginning to wonder if I could use my heightened senses for crime fighting. I chuckled at the thought of the whole pack dressing up in makeshift costumes and solving crimes as if we were superheroes. Then, satisfied that everyone was safe, I headed to bed.
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"Why would someone do that to a poor, elderly woman?" Leah's voice cried from downstairs. I looked at the alarm clock beside me: 1:30 am. Must've taken longer than they thought it would. I thought. "I don't know, but we'll catch him, don't worry." My father assured her, though he sounded just as disturbed. Soon, I heard the shutting of a door, their bedroom door, and all voices disappeared to soft, sad whimpers. What were they talking about? I wondered.
As silently as I could, I walked down the steps, into the living room, hoping for clues of why they were so distressed. There, on the coffee table was a folder, a folder I knew contained crime scene photos. Since I had night vision, I easily scanned the photos without the need for the overhead light. What I saw was utterly horrifying.
An elderly woman was displayed, outstretched on the floor. Her blood had been used to create rune symbols I didn't recognize. Everything seemed foreign to me. Well, almost everything. On the walls, painted in blood was a phrase that curdled my own blood:
"Qui audet resistere eius lex aeterna. Qui nobis resistere audeat mori"