Her mother’s jaw stopped midchew and she looked away from the replay of another interview with Dr. Engle. Claire’s chest tightened under the full force of her mother’s dark eyes.
“No, of course not. I’m angry at that ignorant, pompous quack. He’s the reason Lisbeth was too scared to be out earlier.” She ripped off another corner of her sandwich and chewed fiercely. “He’s appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner—testing that stupid ‘cure’ of his without even confirming that his subjects really are werewolves. Ruining lives so that he can hurry to impress a group of scientists and hiding behind the government to do it—he makes me sick!” She threw the remnants of her sandwich onto her plate and strode over to the kitchen door.
Matthew’s dad was working on a drug that supposedly cured lycanthropy. It somehow ate the disease out of the werewolf’s brain so that it couldn’t transform anymore. During a TV interview Claire had heard Dr. Engle explain how it worked, but it had been way technical and confusing—even the interviewer looked kind of lost. All she really got was that it had to be administered at the full moon, but when they were in human form.
No one really cared how it worked, just that it did. Once a werewolf had been treated, it stayed in human form, forever. The Austrian werewolves he had tested it on were left in a permanent coma. They were still in some locked wing at the Vienna University Research Center, but pretty much everyone agreed it was a well-deserved punishment for attacking humans.
“But the Austrian attacks stopped after he injected the werewolves,” Claire pointed out. She glanced over at the television. Dr. Engle had the same golden-blond hair that Matthew did, but his face was sharper—all planes and angles.
Marie gripped the doorframe. Tension rippled across her back. “And you assume that there is no other explanation for that?” She spoke without turning.
Claire swallowed the wad of sandwich she’d stuffed into her cheek. “I, uh, hadn’t thought about it. I guess there could be.”
“That, my love, is his trap. Many fall into it. I hope that you won’t make the same mistake. I am going to have a bath now. Please put your dishes in the sink when you’re finished.”
Claire’s mother slipped up the steps while Claire toyed with the crust of her sandwich and listened to the mindless drone of the newscaster. Dark spots the size of pinpricks sprang up on the backs of her hands. She scratched at them with the tines of a plastic fork.
Claire sighed and trudged upstairs to find the cortisone cream.
*
A hand shook her shoulder.
“Claire. Claire!”
She cracked open one eye.
“Mrrrhmph,” she mumbled, as Lisbeth shook her again.
“I brought you up a tray. It’s nearly noon.”
Claire pulled the covers over her head and nestled farther down into the bed. She heard Lisbeth walk a few steps and waited for the door to close, already sinking back into sleep. That is, until the covers were jerked off her. Lisbeth stood at the end of the bed, her arms full of fabric and a grin spread across her face.
“Your mom will be home in an hour—you need to be up and dressed by then. She wants to take you shopping.” Lisbeth sat down on the end of the bed and snatched a triangle of toast off Claire’s plate. Claire watched Lisbeth examine it for any sign of contamination from the strips of bacon before she crunched into it.
“Hey, I thought that was for me!” Claire sat up and made a halfhearted grab for the toast.
“Hey, yourself.” Lisbeth took another bite. “Cook’s treat. You’re lucky I brought it up here at all, missy.” Her face turned serious. “I figured you’d be tired after the commotion yesterday. I’m sorry your party ended that way.”
Matthew’s promise to call her echoed in Claire’s memory. Actually, I think it ended pretty well. “Yeah, well, at least everyone came in the first place, right?”
Lisbeth ruffled her hair. “That’s very positive of you, Claire-bear. Ya gotta go with the flow, right?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Lisbeth, no one says ‘go with the flow’ anymore. You sound like some long-lost hippy. And don’t call me Claire-bear.”
Lisbeth stuck out her lower lip and pretended to be hurt. “I bring you brunch in bed, and all I get is abuse. Fine, I’m going back downstairs.” She leapt off the bed.
Claire threw a pillow at Lisbeth, who ducked it expertly and laughed as she slipped out of the room. Mom will be here in an hour. Claire sighed. Nothing like being at the beck and call of someone who barely remembered you were alive.