Nocturne (7 page)

"Sure," Matthew said, and she wondered if she was imagining the edge of irritation she heard in his voice. "I can do that. What about Emily?" "I'll text her," Claire said, "which I need to go do right this second, 'cause if I'm not downstairs in exactly two minutes, I'm going to be cutting this way too close. Thanks for covering for me. You're the absolute best." It sounded like groveling, but she meant every word.

They hung up, and Claire sent Emily a text saying that she was stuck with her mom but she'd get to the party as soon as she could. She added some smiley faces and exclamation points, hoping that it would keep her desperation from showing, and sent it. She was already halfway down the stairs by the time she got the phone back into her pocket.

After a brief glance toward the basement, Claire slipped out of the house. In the woods, Claire stayed in her human form. It was earlier than she usually went into the forest, and the noises of the daytime animals settling down to sleep made her edgy. She was used to more quiet.

With her ears straining for any sign of reporters, Claire maneuvered her way into the clearing. When she stepped out of the pine trees, the sight of the tiny, blackened pyres made her throat tighten. They looked so ceremonial, the way they were so perfectly centered in the ring of trees. It was horrifyingly obvious that they weren't leftover campfires or lightning-struck patches, and Claire had no doubt that they would have been suspicious of the fires if Dr. Engle and his entourage had stumbled across them.

As quickly as she could, Claire scattered the burned sticks, tossing them into the underbrush. When the charred remains had been dealt with, she got down on her hands and knees and swept her fingers through the pine needles, mixing the ashes into them until it looked as natural as any other tiny clearing in the woods. The whole time she worked, she listened to the sounds of the forest, becoming more comfortable as the familiar night sounds took over. She knew the creak of a branch settling beneath the weight of an owl and could recognize in an instant the p
atter-swish
of a raccoon moving through the bushes.

She sat back on her heels and looked over the clearing one more time. Maybe she should transform, just to see if she'd missed anything. She'd be able to smell any big patches of ash she might have left. Without hesitating, Claire struggled out of her clothes, cursing the hook-and-eye closure of her shirt for slowing her down. She practically ripped the tiny pieces of metal apart, yanked the top over her head, and transformed before the fabric hit the ground.

She stretched out her hearing over the miles of forest, just as a precaution. Since in her true form she had the ability to hear over insanely long distances, she might as well use it. She scanned the forest. Without a specific person to focus on, it was harder to hear than usual. Her senses spun like an oldfashioned radio dial searching for a signal. And then, somewhere off to the southwest, she heard it.

A nasal female voice. "We're already in the trees—I am
not
hiking through there
in the dark just so that you can get a more 'authentic' shot,
Jim."
Shit. The reporters.

Claire gave a hurried sniff in the direction of the clearing. She could smell one imperfect bit at the far edge, and she hesitated.

It wasn't worth getting caught over.

Claire grabbed her clothes with her mouth and ran through the woods, praying that Dr. Engle and his entourage weren't coming the other way through the forest. She tried to listen—to see if she could hear the scientists—but she couldn't focus enough to hear and run at the same time. It was almost worse than running from something—at least then she'd know for sure where the threat was and which way meant escape. All she could do was run like hell and hope that she made it out.

When the trees thinned enough that she could see a deserted stretch of road, Claire practically whimpered with relief. Only the fear that someone would hear her kept the noise from rattling in her throat. Quickly, she transformed, tugging on her clothes. Claire pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. It was damp from where she'd held it between her teeth—she'd been more afraid of losing it than drooling on it.

It was eight thirty. The party would be in full swing, but she was pretty sure she was only about half a mile from Yolanda's. It was going to be a long walk, though, since she was wearing heeled boots and didn't have a jacket. Still, the party was the best alibi she could have, for Marie and the lycanthropists both. She toyed with the idea of calling Matthew to come get her, but that would be even harder to explain to everyone, and she'd already asked an awful lot of him for one night, anyway.

She smoothed her shirt over her jeans, wrapped her arms around herself, and started to walk. The rhythmic ringing of her boot heels against the pavement sounded too loud against the obsidian silence of the night, and Claire shuddered, chilled by more than just the wind.

Chapter Six

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Claire stood at the end of Yolanda's driveway. The front door to the house had been left ajar, and a strip of yellow, music-filled light sliced across the lawn like a beacon. Claire edged her way into the party, overwhelmed by the rush of heat and the crush of bodies. The rooms on either side of her were dark. And loud. And crowded. Down the hall was the kitchen, where she glimpsed a dented silver keg sitting in an enormous tub of ice.

She headed in that direction, scanning the faces for Matthew or Emily, nodding to people she recognized and trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of beer and desperation and excited sweat that filled the house. Yolanda came out of the den, where the flickering blue glow of a gaming system flashed across the faces inside. She spotted Claire and threw her arms around her neck.

"You're here! Oh, I'm so glad. Matthew said you had to do something with your mom. Oh my God, you're freezing! Did you walk here, or what?" Her eyes were sparkling, and her teeth were bright against the smooth, dark skin of her face. This was Yolanda in her element, throwing the best party of the year, flitting from person to person like a butterfly in a roomful of flowers.

Claire untangled herself from Yolanda's hug. "It's just really hot in here, I think. Sorry I couldn't get here sooner. Hey, have you seen Matthew or Emily?"

Yolanda pursed her lips, thinking. "They were in the living room a while ago. You might check there."

"Thanks." Claire wound her way back to the living room, where the pulse of a bass beat shook the pictures on the walls. In the corner next to the stereo, a couple of people with flashlights were joking around, sweeping the beams of light over the group in the middle of the room. One of the glowing strands darted across Matthew's smiling face. Claire took one step forward before realizing that he was dancing with Amy and Emily, the three of them goofing around on the dance floor like they were the oldest friends in the world. None of them were looking over their shoulders. Not looking for her, not worrying about anything. A ripping sensation tore through Claire's chest as she watched the three of them. She should have been the one out there with Emily and Matthew. But it wouldn't be the same. Things wouldn't be that easy if she were with them. Amy could be Emily's friend without hiding anything—without worrying what would happen to Emily. And Matthew didn't have to keep any of Amy's secrets.

Claire took a step back and collided with someone.

"Claire! Hey, you made it!" Doug Kingman slapped her shoulder. "Matthew's in here somewhere. Have you found him yet?"

"He's, uh . . . dancing." Claire nodded in the direction of the dance floor. Maybe if she acted like it was no big deal, it wouldn't be.

Doug shook his head. "That boy
seriously c
an't dance. You need to get over there and save him from himself."

Before Claire could protest, Doug grabbed her elbow and dragged her into the throng of people.

Matthew spotted them coming, and his face lit up. He hurried over to Claire, picking her up and spinning her around.

"Hey, babe. I'm glad you finally made it." His smile was genuine, and so was the kiss he pressed against her mouth.

Amy appeared next to them, smiling, her hair a tumble of sexy-messy curls.

"Hey, Claire. I'm so happy you're here! You missed all the drama—there was an
incident,
and Matthew and Emily had to rescue me."

"Robert Gorman found his way into the party. He roped Amy into dancing," Matthew explained. "I don't think she really knew what she was getting into."

"Oh. Ew." Claire tried to look sympathetic. "Well, I'm glad Matthew saved you, then."

"Hey! What about me? I was a knight in shining armor too. Or, a princess in shining armor. Whatever. You know what I mean." Emily swayed a little bit at Claire's side. She was drunker than Claire had thought.

Amy rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Claire and shook her head in Emily's direction. She leaned closer to Claire.

"Matthew said you were going to be late because something came up with your mom. That's such a bummer. What happened? Is everything okay?" She was trying so hard to be nice. But keeping Emily safe was hard enough—Claire couldn't imagine spinning enough lies to hide her secrets from another friend.

"Oh. Yeah. Fine. Just, you know, one of those stupid parent things." Claire waved a hand, as though she were only being vague because the details were so boring. She hoped that Amy would take the hint and drop it. She so didn't want to spend the rest of the night ducking Amy's questions about what Claire liked to do in her spare time and avoiding the I'llshare-if-you'll-share sort of confessions that she knew would follow. In another reality she'd probably really like Amy, but her world just wasn't big enough for that. The curiosity in Amy's eyes gave way to hurt, and Claire grew tense, her toes curling against the soles of her shoes. Amy looked over at Emily and said in a half-joking way, "So, she's
your
best friend—is she always this wildly communicative?"

Claire felt a little muscle in her jaw jump as she clamped her teeth together. "It was no big deal, that's all."

Emily looked at Claire and bit her lip. Claire could see it in Emily's eyes—the memory of last year, of all the other years, when Claire would have complained to her in excruciating detail if a Marie-related incident had made her hours late for a party.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn!
Claire struggled for a way to rescue the situation—to make Emily forget that she'd even been late. Amy cleared her throat and linked her arm through Emily's.

"Being saved from a potential stalker makes me superthirsty. Come get something to drink with me?"

Emily squinted down at her cup. "Yep. I like that idea."

Claire sighed. At least Emily getting drunk was probably a pretty good way to make her forget about Claire's weird late arrival.

Well, "good" isn't quite the right word for it." Effective," maybe.
God, I sound just like my freaking mom. Fantastic.

Amy and Emily wove their way toward the kitchen, and Matthew caught Claire's hand and dragged her back into the crowd of dancers. She wove her fingers through his, trying to shake off the awkward, bad-friend moment.

"C'mon. Let's dance." He pulled her tight against him, his clean, cinnamon-laced smell making her sigh happily.

It only lasted a few seconds.

Someone near the front window yelled, "Cops!"

"Shit. Let's go." Matthew grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the hall.

Claire's heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline flooded her veins, making her want to change. The light in the hallway hit them as she struggled to remain in her human form. Getting arrested would be bad, but transforming would be deadly. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay smooth skinned.

Around them, the party was half chaotic escape attempts and half drunk-and-ignorant partying. Since Claire and Matthew were sober, it was pretty easy to wind their way through the mess.

"Where are we going?" Claire asked as they broke into a jog.

"Garage." Matthew's face was grim as he pushed open a door and the cold, dank smell of cinder blocks and motor oil washed over them. "I figured this might happen, so I parked two blocks over," he said, his voice echoing a little bit. "We can cut through the backyard if we hurry. The cops never come in right away, 'cause then they have too many people to deal with. They give the people who are mostly sober a minute to make a run for it, and then they just haul in the really drunk ones." He sounded like he'd done this before.

Claire hoped he was right. And she hoped Emily and Amy were getting the hell out of the house too. Once she and Matthew were outside, her senses took over. She heard the whine of the sirens, saw every welcoming hiding place. Faintly, she heard the crunch of hard-soled shoes on the gravel walk at the front of the house.

"They're almost to the front door," she whispered, her pulse thudding in her ears.

"Then we'd better get a move on."

They darted across the lawn in the shadow of an evergreen bush and jumped over the picket fence into a neighbor's yard. Claire turned toward Yolanda's and saw people streaming out the back doors like rabbits scattering, hopping in crazy patterns, hiding in stupid places. She wanted to wait for Emily, to make sure she was okay, but getting caught would mean too much for Matthew. His scholarship hadn't come through yet, and Claire wasn't going to be the one responsible for ruining his chances at UCLA.

Her senses sharpened, begging her to run. Her fingernails itched
to become claws, and the dull edges of her human teeth ached to turn
sharp and pointed. Struggling against the pull of transforming, Claire
forced herself to look away. She grabbed Matthew's hand, and the
two of them dashed around the neighbor's house, across a street, and
through another set of yards. In the last one a golden retriever came
around the corner, and Matthew jumped a mile. The dog's ears went
back,though, when it caught Claire's scent, and with a quiet whine it
slinked back around the corner with its tail dragging on the ground.

Submissive, her mind said first.

And then, pre
y.

The thought went through Claire like an electric charge. A painful shudder rolled over her. She could feel her fur, painful under the confines of her skin. Pushing its way out.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, frantically scanning the yard.

"What?" Matthew hissed.

"I—I—" The words caught in her throat. "Don't look at me! I'm going to change. Just—just leave me alone." She had to find a place to hide, but she didn't want him dragged in by the cops in the process.

"What,
now?"
A horrified look crossed his face.

She didn't answer him. She couldn't. Claire bolted behind a little barn-shaped storage shed at the far corner of the yard. She wasn't even close to being hidden, but it was the best she could do.

She tossed off her clothes, pressing herself close to the rough wood, willing herself to stay human. The fur crept out along her hands as they cramped themselves into paws. Her nails lengthened into claws.

And that's when she heard the footsteps.

"Claire?" Emily's voice rang out across the yard.

Oh, no. Oh please, no.

"She's—she's not here, Emily."

Claire could hear Matthew step toward Emily, heading her off.

"Is she hiding back there? Are you guys hiding back there?" Emily's words were half-slurred. Claire could tell from the direction of Emily's voice that she was looking at the shed, where Claire stood, caught between her two forms, struggling to get back into her human limbs.

If Emily saw her, there would be no way around the consequences. The pack would kill her best friend, and it would be all Claire's fault. Because she lost control.

That is not going to happen. I am not going to let that happen.
She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she could jump the chain-link fence without anyone seeing her.

"No. Claire took off ahead of me. I'm—I'm meeting her, uh, somewhere."

God, he's a terrible liar.
Claire licked at her whiskers. She'd never heard him trying to cover for her before, but Emily was bound to see through this. Even if she was drunk.

"Emily?" Amy's voice came from somewhere far off and to the right. "This way! Come on, run!"

"Oh! Sorry, Matthew. Gotta go. Um, good luck." The thud of Emily's footfalls receded into the distance. Claire lay panting behind the shed, the fading rush of adrenaline sending shivers through her limbs. She took a long, whistling breath in through her nose—gaining just enough control over herself to change back into her human form. She did it quickly, yanking on her clothes just as Matthew's head appeared around the corner.

"Damn, that was close." His eyes were wide, and there was a tremor in his voice.

"I know. She almost—" Claire's voice broke, and she sagged against the splintery wood. "You should have left. I told you to leave!"

Matthew's jaw tightened. "She would have seen me anyway. I didn't know what else to do—what else to say." His voice shook. "But she didn't see. You're . . . you again, and she's off hiding in the bushes with Amy."

Claire just shook her head. Emily had been feet—f
eet—
away from finding out exactly what Claire was. And Claire would never be able to live with herself if the pack came after Emily because of something Claire did—because she was so stressed that she hadn't been able to stop herself from transforming.

It was never going to happen again. She would do whatever it took to make sure that Emily stayed safe, even if it meant keeping Emily at arm's length. Just the thought of it made Claire lonely, but it was better than the alternative.

Matthew interrupted her wandering thoughts. "I know it's been a rough few minutes, but we are sort of running from the cops here, remember?"

"Right. Sorry." She could see his car from here. It was parked just on the other side of the bland, two-story house in front of them. They crossed the yard, the crunch of fallen leaves loud under their feet. Matthew hit the button to unlock his car, and they both slid inside.

It was over. They'd made it. Matthew drove them out of the neighborhood, taking a convoluted way around Yolanda's block to avoid the cops.

Shaking from the adrenaline, Claire leaned against the window. A stray wolf hair shimmered on the leg of her jeans, and Claire plucked it off, opening the window just a crack and dropping it into the cold October air. Getting rid of the evidence.

Matthew drove her home. The tension in the car was so thick that Claire could barely breathe. When she got home, Claire hurried upstairs before her mother could see her. She didn't want to explain why she was flushed, and if her mother knew—smelled—that something Claire had done posed a danger to the pack, there would be hell to pay. That was the only time Claire's human side really mattered to Marie—when it endangered the precious, protected bubble of her wolf life. And Claire was never going to let that happen.