“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?
Fine. I’ll go back down there and make her tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do about this.
Claire spun around and headed for the door.
“Claire?” Lisbeth knocked gently. “Everything okay in there?”
Damn. Claire glanced at the doorknob. Unlocked. Damn! “Uh, yeah, Lisbeth. I just knocked something over.” Claire hurried over to her bathroom, anxious to get another door between the two of them.
“All right, if you’re sure.” Lisbeth sounded doubtful.
“Yep, just getting in the shower,” Claire called, slamming the bathroom door behind her and locking it. She slumped against the wall, relieved. She took a deep breath, and thought about what her mother had told her the night before—that she had to pull herself back into human form, like stuffing the fur back under her skin.
She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. After a few seconds, she cracked open an eyelid and looked at her hands, which were still covered in fur. It’s not working!
Claire’s gaze fell on the razor sitting on the edge of the tub. I said I was getting in the shower. Maybe I’m not such a liar, after all.
Shaving the fur off the backs of her hands was easy, but her ears still had dark patches when she was finished. If she kept her hair down over them, they looked normal enough. Claire wadded up the damp clumps of fur in a pile of toilet paper and buried them in the trash can. She stared at herself in the mirror. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
Claire stomped downstairs, looking for her mother. On her way to the darkroom, she ran into Lisbeth, her arms full of laundry. The pile of clothes flopped out of her grip, landing on the floor. On top was a lavender T-shirt of Lisbeth’s, spattered with dark stains.
Lisbeth blinked twice and then looked at Claire. “I hope those wine spots come out in the wash.” She gathered up the clothes and held the bundle to her chest.
Wine? Claire wondered. Lisbeth never drinks.
“So,” Lisbeth said, her voice breezy. “Off to storm the castle?”
“I’m going to go talk to my mom, actually.”
“Not right now you’re not. She just left to go meet with some potential clients—said she wouldn’t be back until late.”
“What? How could she go when I just—” Claire barely caught herself in time. Not telling Lisbeth what was going on was harder than she’d thought it would be.
“When you just …” Lisbeth prompted.
“Never mind.” Claire turned around and headed back upstairs. I’ll just wait until she gets home. I can be patient. And then as soon as she comes in, I’ll make her tell me everything she left out—like how to keep from turning into a wolf in the middle of the freaking afternoon.
“Hey, Claire?” Lisbeth called after her.
“Yeah?”