“That’s because we haven’t been properly introduced,” he said cheerfully, with a honeyed Georgia accent. He wore stately flannel pajamas in a navy blue that disappeared in the darkness. His movements were easy and fluid, which felt a little ironic given that he looked like a senior citizen and I was walking with a cane. “Deacon Crosley,” he said, holding out his left hand so I wouldn’t have to stop using my cane. “I’m a photographer.”
“Scarlett Bernard,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Wait, I’ve seen your name before. You took some of the pictures at Will’s bar.”
“I did.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said honestly.
“Well, thank you, miss,” he said, pleased. Then he added, “If you don’t mind me saying, you sure look tired. Run hard and put away wet, as we used to say.”
“Yes, sir. It’s possible that I bit off more than I could chew today,” I admitted.
Even in the dim light from my flashlight, I could see his eyes twinkle a little. “But you had to find that out for yourself, didn’t you?”
Those words sparked something in my head, an idea I’d have to look at later. But at that moment, Will called from the back, “That’s far enough, Scarlett.”
I smiled at Crosley and stopped, closing my eyes and extending my circle as far as I could so that those who had waited to disrobe could get a little ways away for privacy. “Go ahead,” Will said gently, and the werewolves at the front of the pack began to step forward, out of my radius.
I’d never actually seen the pack on full moon night before. I knew that during the rest of the month, changing into a werewolf is a painful process that can take as long as four or five minutes. On the full moon, though, the magic calls them quickly, and the change is smoother. I watched the first row step away and crouch, and there was a moment that looked like water running over rocks, a sort of shimmering of skin and muscle followed by sprouting fur. It’s like watching something being born, I thought. Natural magic at its most terrifying.
Those wolves moved aside, stretching and shaking out their fur, and another group moved forward, and then another. Esmé turned out to be a lovely tan wolf that could have made a fortune shooting wildlife calendars. Miguel, the wall of muscle who had terrorized Molly almost a week earlier, was a muscular, rangy wolf with a dusting of black where most of the others had brown. Deacon Crosley was a grizzled gray wolf. He yawned once, displaying a mouthful of fangs that would make any predator proud.
They all trotted off into the darkness, deeper into the woods. I watched them go for a while, entranced. Before she’d gotten very far, Will called to Esmé, who paused and waited at the edge of my radius. Will walked Lizzy toward her, whispering something in a low, soothing voice. Lizzy nodded and took the last careful step away from me, and towards her life as a werewolf. I looked away, not wanting to watch her go through the change again. I can be cowardly like that. When I looked back, Lizzy was in her wolf form again, and Esmé was nuzzling her, nudging her, getting her to move. I found myself smiling.
Will came and stood beside me. “You did good work today,” he said quietly.
“Bullshit,” spat a voice behind us.
Will and I both turned. Lydia stood there, still dressed, the last werewolf beside Will to change. She looked very sane, but that was almost scarier than when she’d been twitchy. She was trembling with anger.
“What’s wrong, Lydia?” Will said patiently.
“I think this . . . person . . . killed Anastasia,” she growled, pointing at me. “You-all seem to be playing nice, pretending like everything’s fine now. But Ana’s gone.” Her voice broke on that last word.
Confused, Will looked at me. “I thought—Scarlett?”
Fuck it. “It’s true,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “Anastasia attacked me two nights ago. I think maybe she followed me home from your house.” I pulled down the collar of my jacket, showing them the bruises. “She tried to kill me. I stabbed her in the heart.”
Lydia let out a scream of anguish and dove for me, but Will stepped in front of her and held her back.
“Why?” Lydia screamed, her voice a raw gash on the night air. “Because she was on to you? Because she knew you have a cure?” I glanced around. The other werewolves had heard the commotion and returned, gathering in a loose circle just outside of my radius. Several of them pawed the air, agitated, but most stood silently, staring eerily at me.
“I don’t have a cure,” I said wildly. I could feel anguished tears threatening to spill over my cheeks. “Please believe me, I can’t cure anyone!”
“Eli!” Lydia screamed. “You cured Eli!”
There was a sudden tug of magic on my radius, and then a familiar voice said, “Cured me of what?”
Lydia whirled around. And Eli stepped forward out of the darkness.
I felt the steady pulse of magic in my radius, and I stared at him with my mouth open. He was a werewolf again.
He was a werewolf again.
By my side, Will subtly put a hand under my elbow to steady me. Eli walked toward us until he was right in front of Lydia. He was nude, but unaffected by it. “Hey,” he said to her. “Hi, Will. Scarlett.” He was careful not to let his eyes linger on me. “I’ve been running around the forest looking for you guys for hours.”
Lydia dropped to her knees. I couldn’t see her face, but whatever Eli must have seen made him stride forward and kneel down to hug her.