A shriek erupted from the other side of the circle of deck chairs, buying Claire time to think of something half-intelligent to say.
“Oh, ewwww! I am so serious—I don’t want to hear any more.” Yolanda Adams slapped her hands over her ears and turned away from the group.
“What?” Claire asked.
Dan Maxwell glanced at her. “The last guy who got killed by the werewolf ? Turns out it crushed his skull. One of the other ER nurses told my mom about it. His brains were oozing out all over.”
“Dude, shut up.” Matthew shook his head. “Didn’t you just hear Yollie say she didn’t want to hear about it anymore?”
“Right,” said Emily. “Like there’s anything else to talk about in this town.”
The werewolf was all over the news—in the last month alone, it had killed three people. No one went out after dark anymore. Werewolf attacks were the sort of thing that happened once in a while in Eastern Europe, maybe, or rural Japan, but in the United States they had become as rare as an outbreak of cowpox.
Emily turned to Dan. “Even if Yolanda won’t listen to your gory details, I’m always up for insider information.” She grabbed a handful of pretzels and arranged herself next to Dan. Emily made it look so easy. Claire watched her best friend flirt effortlessly with a guy who wasn’t even her type. Emily only got serious about guys who wore a lot of black, looked sort of unwashed, and were totally into art.
Claire turned back to Matthew, wishing that she had Emily’s confidence around guys. She glanced at the empty plate beside him.
“So, um, have you tried the salsa yet? Lisbeth makes it from scratch.”
“No, but that sounds great. Come on, I need another drink, anyway.”
Matthew grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her over to the food table. The press of his warm skin against her palm made Claire dizzy, even after he’d let go.
“You probably hear enough about werewolves at home, huh?” she asked him, scratching her earlobe. Again.
He shrugged. “Dad’s spending so much time at the lab and on TV, he really hasn’t been around much. He’s dying to get into Lycanthropy Researchers International—he’s been getting a lot of crap from the media about how he’s not as qualified as the other members of the Federal Human Protection Agency. He’s convinced that this new case is going to be his ‘big break.’” Matthew sounded irritated.
Claire raised an eyebrow. Dr. Engle was leading the hunt in Hanover Falls for the werewolf. It was part of his job for the FHPA—the whole agency was all about researching werewolves and stopping attacks on humans. Claire had seen him on TV a ton, especially lately. He always said the same thing during interviews: “I am honored to be able to help my own hometown in its hour of need. Hanover Falls is currently the FHPA’s top priority, and I will make sure it stays that way until this situation has been resolved.” Then he would adjust his tie. Every time. He creeped Claire out.
“My mom isn’t home much, either,” she offered.
Matthew looked at her, his warm brown eyes locking onto hers.
“Yeah, she just had that big shoot in Greece, right?” he asked.
Claire nodded, amazed that he’d remembered. Her mother spent at least one week every month, usually more, traveling for her photography. Travel magazines, art-book publishers, galleries—they all wanted Marie Benoit behind the camera. Claire didn’t mind all the trips. Things were actually easier, more relaxed, when her mom wasn’t home.
“Okay, everyone, time for cake!” Claire’s mom called, sticking her head out one of the back doors.
She stepped out, holding the door for Lisbeth, the latest in the long line of au pairs who stayed with Claire while her mom traveled. No one else had lasted more than a year, but Lisbeth had been with them since Claire was thirteen. Claire loved Lisbeth, even though she wished her mom would realize that she was too old to need someone around all the time. It was one thing for Lisbeth to be there when her mom took long trips, but surely Claire was old enough to come home to an empty house in the afternoons. But if her mom didn’t think that sixteen was old enough to get a car, then she probably wouldn’t listen to Claire’s ideas about how much supervision she needed from Lisbeth, either. At least having Lisbeth meant not having to ask her mom’s permission all the time, and Lisbeth wasn’t nearly as strict.
Lisbeth walked onto the patio carrying a giant chocolate cake with Happy 16th Birthday, Claire in white icing. A ring of candles burned around the top.
Everyone turned to look at Claire, breaking into a halfhearted rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” Claire forced herself to smile, even though she was completely mortified.
Claire leaned over and blew out the candles.
“Did you make a wish?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah.” Claire nodded, unable to look him in the eyes, since her wish totally revolved around him.