Something had changed.
A tendril of smoke drifted up from her pile of kindling, and Claire froze, watching it. The misty gray curl rose into the air like a hot breath, then broke apart and disappeared. Nothing caught fire, but there had been smoke. And that meant something had happened. A wild little giggle rose in her throat, and she had an insane urge to dance around the clearing.
Because even though something had been holding her back from starting the fires, the smoke scribbled across the sky told her that she might not be an incomplete wolf.
She wished she knew exactly what she'd done differently, so that she could push it further, into actual flames.
She straightened up and cracked her back. The moon had moved farther than she'd expected across the sky. It was so late that it was practically early. She'd come back and try again, but right then, she had to get home. Claire crept up the stairs toward her bedroom. She could hear Lisbeth snoring—all she had to do was slip into her room and pretend that she'd been there all along. She tiptoed over the creaky board in the eighth step and steadied herself against the wall with her fingertips.
She took a deep breath and nearly choked. She reeked of smoke—the smell of success. Her throat was raw with it, and her eyes stung every time she blinked. Miles away, deep in the forest, the stack of dead twigs lay, rigid, like victims of some bizarre crime.
Suddenly, Claire heard the nearly inaudible swish of a door opening, its bottom edge brushing over the thick carpet. She froze. Over the last few months, she had gotten too used to being the hunter. She had forgotten the immobilizing terror of being the prey.
"Claire?" Her mother's voice whispered from down the hall. Claire could barely hear her over Lisbeth's snoring. "Come in here. Now."
What the hell was her mother doing here? She wasn't due home from New York until tomorrow. The tone in Marie's voice was unmistakably punishing.
Damn, am I actually going to be in trouble for this?
She blew out the breath she'd been holding, crept past Lisbeth's door, and headed for her mother's room.
Marie sat on the edge of her bed, looking displeased. Her slender arms crossed over her chest. Even though it was the middle of the night, she looked impeccable, her crow-black hair wound into its usual sleek bun, her clothes smooth, and her makeup unsmudged.
"You're home," Claire said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. It just made her sound guilty.
"As are you. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Her mother's foot jiggled impatiently.
"Um, sort of late?" Claire answered.
"It is very late." Her mother's voice was clipped.
Claire hung her head, trying to look as submissive as possible. "I was out practicing. It's been raining since you left, and I had to wait until Lisbeth went to bed—"
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Practicing what?"
Claire bit her lip. She didn't want to lie to her mother, but she really didn't want to admit that she hadn't quite managed to light the fire.
Even if it is only a matter of time. The next time I get to try, it'll be right there.
"All the stuff for the ceremony. I just want everything to go okay at the new moon."
Her mother's posture relaxed a fraction. "I suppose I can understand that. And I appreciate your commitment to your role. But I still don't like you being in the forest alone so late without anyone knowing where you are. Werewolves are not invincible. You know that as well as anyone."
Her mother's reference to last summer hit home. It all came rushing back—the horrible, panicked anxiety Claire had felt when her mother had been captured—the suddenness of the memory half-drowning her.
"I know we're not invincible. Matthew knew I was going to be in the forest tonight. And I had no idea you were coming home from New York, or I would have told you where I was going too." Her voice had started to rise, and she caught herself—the last thing she needed was to wake Lisbeth.
Marie's expression softened. "Well, it's good to know that you took some precautions. I—I suppose I might have overreacted a bit. I was not expecting to find your room empty, and I—" She hesitated, spots of color appearing high up on her cheekbones. "I suppose I'm not used to worrying about you this way."
Claire scrubbed her sleeve across her tired eyes. It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get. "Okay. Well, I'm glad you're home. I'm going to take a shower."
"Yes. Of course. Good night, then."