Claire De Lune (6 page)

Claire’s mouth fell open. No one was allowed in Marie’s darkroom. Ever. Not even Claire.

Lisbeth shrugged. “It surprised me, too.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for waking me up.” Claire stretched.

Lisbeth headed over to Claire’s closet. “I’m doing a load of darks—I’m gonna grab your dirty stuff to fill it up.”

“No!” Claire jumped up, throwing off her sheets. She’d stuffed her smoky clothes underneath a massive pile of shopping bags, but Lisbeth had a nose like a bloodhound.

Lisbeth put a hand on her hip and stared at Claire. “What? Why?”

Claire took a deep breath. “I don’t think I have any dark stuff dirty, that’s all. Anyway, I should probably start doing my laundry myself, you know? I mean, I’m sixteen—I don’t need someone else to fold my T-shirts.”

A little wrinkle of suspicion grew between Lisbeth’s eyebrows. “You’re sure there isn’t maybe something in your laundry you don’t want me to find?”

Claire swallowed hard. She stalked over to her closet and yanked out the laundry basket. With her heel, she nudged the door shut.

“You want to go through my pockets? Fine. There’s nothing there, Lisbeth. I can’t believe you don’t trust me.” She was wound so tightly that it made her voice shake. She thrust the basket at Lisbeth.

“Okay.” Lisbeth held up her hands like a surrendering criminal, leaving Claire holding the laundry. “Sorry. After three years of pulling wadded-up tissues and Diet Coke bottle tops out of your jeans, I’d love a break. It just seemed sort of sudden, that’s all. I’ll be watching the news if you need help.”

That was too close. As soon as she leaves I’ll find a better spot to—

Something in Lisbeth’s voice stopped Claire midthought. “The news? Is something going on?”

Lisbeth looked at Claire, her eyes scared and sad. “There
was another … attack last night. Three doors down from the Engles’ house. That—that monster killed some guy by his back door and then snuck into the house and killed his wife.” She shook her head. “I don’t for the life of me know why people don’t just stay inside with the doors and windows shut like the City keeps telling us to. Anyway. It’s been on the news nonstop all morning. The police don’t know what to do, and the FHPA just keeps saying that it’s an ‘ongoing investigation,’ whatever
that’s
supposed to mean.

“When I think how close we were yesterday … we drove
right by it
. I just hope they catch that thing, and soon.”

Claire watched the door long after Lisbeth had left. How could there have been another attack? Who could have done it?

It couldn’t have been anyone in the pack. We were all together last night.
Claire yanked a pair of shorts out of her dresser. On her vanity, her cell phone lit up. Claire picked up the phone and looked at the screen. Matthew. Her thumb hovered over the
SEND
button.
What am I going to say to him?—Yeah, I’m fine, glad it was the neighbors and not you? I had a great night, and guess what, I’m a werewolf ?—Oh my God, no wonder my mom hates his dad so much! Dr. Engle’s freaking
hunting
her.

The voicemail alert flashed, and then the phone went dark in her hand. Of course, Emily would probably call any second, looking for details about her date with Matthew. Claire dropped the phone back onto her vanity and pulled on her
clothes, throwing her hair back into a messy ponytail. At least her ears had quit itching. They were as smooth and pink and normal as they’d been every other day before her sixteenth birthday. Which just made everything she’d seen last night seem even more like a bad dream.

She hurried into the hall, headed for the back stairs that led down to the basement—and the darkroom.

Claire knocked on the thick oak door as softly as she could. Her mother appeared, her hair slicked back into its usual tight bun. A tiny, cupboardlike room was all Claire could see behind her mother—and another door, this time painted black, like the walls and ceiling. Overhead, a dim red bulb glowed, like a warning.

“Come in,” her mother said and stepped back into the tiny room. “And shut the door behind you.”

Claire crowded close to her mother and did as she was told. The room was so small that the doorknob poked into her back and its little twist lock dug into her spine. Her mother led her into a huge room, lit entirely by the same ruby light. Rows of metal tables lined the walls. Wire shelves held bottles and jugs of the chemicals that smelled so familiar—her mother’s scent. Some moms wore Chanel, Claire’s mom doused herself in developing fluid.

Claire spun around slowly, staring at the vast room. Camera equipment covered the wall behind her. Lenses and cases,
camera straps, tripods, and, of course, the cameras themselves, lay cased in gray foam.

Marie gestured to a tall wooden stool. “You may sit.”

Claire perched on the edge of the seat and dragged one toe across the concrete floor. A million questions all crowded together in her head, but being in the darkroom was like going into a country where she didn’t know any of the customs. If what she said wasn’t right—if she asked the wrong thing—she might get kicked out. The quiet settled over her, surrounding her. She felt trapped.

Her mother picked up a pair of tongs and swirled a blank sheet of glossy paper down into its first chemical bath. “I suppose Lisbeth has already told you what happened last night—the Engles’ neighbors?”

“Yeah.” Claire swallowed hard.

Marie sighed and dropped the tongs back onto the table with a clatter that made Claire jump.

“Our pack—we have been trying to find the cause of these horrible deaths. But we must not be exposed while we do it. It makes searching … difficult. And the longer these things go on, the more dangerous our lives become. The constant chattering of those
people
”—she spat out the word—“on the television … It just makes everything worse.”

Claire was pretty sure that by “people” her mother meant Dr. Engle.

“This is not the first time that our kind have been
threatened. We will find out who—or what—is causing this. You do not need to concern yourself with this. There must be other things you’re wondering about? Questions you have?”

“So, Lisbeth really doesn’t know about any of this?”

Marie shook her head sharply. “Of course not. Lisbeth knows I have a job that takes me away at a moment’s notice—a job with odd hours, strange comings and goings. I couldn’t leave you here alone when I was off in the woods, any more than I could when I went to Dubai. Lisbeth … filled in the gaps. I know it will be hard for you to keep this from her, but you must find a way to do it.”

The reality of the situation slammed into Claire. It was like being kicked in the chest. Claire forced back the moisture that crept into the corners of her eyes. She hated lying to Lisbeth. And now she was going to have to do a lot of it. Anger flooded through her, drying the tears that clung to her eyelashes.

“You’ve been hiding this from her, from us, for years.” Claire’s voice shook.

Marie shrugged. “You know I am not close with anyone. I find it easier that way. Not everyone does. But werewolves and humans—we were not meant to be friends, Claire. I believe things go better for those who remember that.” She turned away, reaching for another jug of fluid.

Claire clenched her fists. “How can you act like this is no big deal? First you tell me I’m a—that I’m not even freaking
human
. And now you want me to lie to everyone, and I’m not even supposed to care?”

“I do not appreciate that tone. I know this has come as a shock to you—”

“Well,
that’s
the understatement of the century.” The words came out soaked in sarcasm.

“Enough!” Marie’s calm exterior finally gave way. “This is not a death sentence. It is an honor. And if you cannot stop the sass long enough for us to discuss it, then this conversation is over.”

“Fine!” Claire slid off the stool with a
thump
. “I’ll just get out of your freaking
space,
then.” She slammed out of the darkroom and stormed up to her room.

Claire yanked on the first bathing suit she found and raced out to the pool, throwing herself into the deep end. The taste of chlorinated water pushed the flavor of salt tears out of her mouth, and she began to swim, clawing furiously at the water. She went back and forth across the pool, until she lost count of how many laps she’d completed. She swam until her arms ached—until exhaustion slowly overtook the rage that glowed in her chest.

When Claire finally crawled out of the pool, her legs shook underneath her. She collapsed, dripping, onto one of the lounge chairs and lay there panting. Eventually her breathing slowed and she drifted into a half doze.

* * *

A warm hand shook her awake.

“Claire?”

Claire opened one eye. It was her mom.

“What?” She sounded more sullen than she’d meant to.

“I want to apologize. I am so accustomed to things that it all seems—well. I should have been more prepared for your reaction. I am sorry.”

Claire squirmed. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you. But I
am
freaked out.”

“I know. And I am sure that you have many questions.”

Claire nodded, picking at the woven fabric of the lounge chair. “So, are there any others—you know, like us, around here?”

Her mother toyed with her watch. “No. There are no other packs nearby. In fact, Judith and Katherine come all the way from Rochert every moon, because we’re the closest to them. Occasionally, we can scent that
une seule
, a wolf without a pack, has traveled through. But they rarely stay more than a few days.”

All the images from the night before flashed through Claire’s mind. The memory of Matthew’s arm wrapped around her shoulders sent a rush of heat through her. It also sent a question sailing out of her mouth.

“So, how come there are no men werewolves in our—uh, pack?”

Her mother’s head snapped up. “Oh,
chérie,
I thought I had—” She sighed and leaned back against the patio table.
“There aren’t any males of our species. Anywhere. There never have been. All werewolves are women.”

Claire’s eyes shot wide-open. “But—they’ve caught them before. I’ve seen it! Those Austrian werewolves that Dr. Engle tried his cure on were male.”

Her mother shook her head sadly. “Innocent, all of them. Everyone is so anxious to believe in a cure that they believe his claims. Have you never realized that he has no photos of his ‘patients’ in the form of a wolf ? He has evidence of misshapen teeth, of chests with enough hair that they seem furred.” She sighed. “Mortal men misunderstand the symptoms. They misdiagnose. People expect such strength, such … bestiality to be the realm of males. This ignorance has helped us to stay mostly hidden for so many generations.”

“But then how do we, I mean …” Claire felt the heat of blood rush into her neck, crawl up her cheeks, kiss her hairline. She stared at the ripples on the surface of the pool, unable to meet her mom’s gaze. “Werewolves must, uh, reproduce, somehow?”

Her mother laughed. “Do not be embarrassed. It is a normal question, one I asked my own mother. We mate with human men.”

Claire twisted uncomfortably in her seat when her mother said the word “mate.”

Her mother sighed. “It is a weakness. Because we need men to create another generation, we must live near them. It creates
a great risk for us. Our, er, relationships are often short-lived. That is the safest way.”

Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. It took all of her willpower to ask the next question. “So, my dad … ?” The stories flashed through her head. All her life, her mother had told her that her father had been a kind man, a scientist, killed in a plane crash two months before Claire had been born.

“For that I must apologize. I had to explain somehow. I knew your father only a few weeks, but because of the morals, the beliefs of the human world … The depth of our relationship … It was a lie. In this world we werewolves are driven to lie a great deal, Claire. More than most humans do. I am sorry.”

Claire’s stomach twisted, and she tried to swallow back the bile that filled her mouth. She scrambled to her feet.

“Are you all right,
chérie
? You look pale.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Claire ran into the house.

She stumbled into a seldom-used bathroom. Hunched over the toilet, Claire reeled. All the lies her mother had told her spun through her head. That there weren’t any pictures of her father because he couldn’t stand to be photographed. That his family had disowned him, and wouldn’t speak to Claire or her mother. None of it had ever been true. The hole in her heart every Father’s Day, the little ache she felt every time she saw Emily’s dad joking around with her—it had all been for nothing.

The reality settled around her like a cage. The silky gray
fur on the back of her hands last night, the warm blood of a fresh kill—this was her identity. And, really, it always had been. Claire leaned her head against the cool marble of the bathroom wall. Nothing she’d believed about her life had ever been true.
So when I was with Matthew last night, was that just another lie?

Still shaking, Claire crawled back up the long staircase to her room. She flopped down on the little cushioned bench in front of her vanity and stared in the mirror. The wild, freaked-out look in her eyes just made her feel more like an animal.
Which I am,
she reminded herself.
I’m a werewolf.
She couldn’t get enough air. Her heart started to race as she struggled to fill her lungs. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her palms. The itching she’d felt yesterday came back worse than ever and she stared in the mirror, horrified to see fur slowly pushing its way out of her skin, covering her ears and the backs of her hands.

“Oh, no. Nonono,” Claire moaned.

This can’t be happening. It’s not even night!
Anger surged through Claire as she stared at the thick fur.
I will not let this happen. I don’t care what family I was born into, I’m not doing this.
She leapt to her feet, knocking over the bench. Her mother had never shown up to dinner covered in fur—there must be something she hadn’t told Claire—some way to hide it.
How could she leave out the fact that I might randomly turn into a fur-covered freak? It’s not the full moon anymore! Oh my God, this is going to happen to me all the time, isn’t it?