“Where were you last night?” Marie-Rose stepped into the bindings of her cross-country skis next to me and lowered her sunglasses.
“What?” I worked the zipper of my jacket and then pulled a knit cap on over my sloppy ponytail.
“I woke up and you weren’t in our room,” she said.
“Oh.” I pushed away from the staging area and started gliding down the trail, toward the rest of our gym class. Several of the girls, who’d skied since they were toddlers, were already disappearing around the first bend. Our teacher, Mrs. Einhorn, waved at the stragglers like us to hurry up. Some kind of former Winter Olympian, the lady had us students outside a lot, when most of us would have preferred to run laps in the gym.
I’d never really skied very much, but after a few weeks of Mrs. Einhorn’s instruction, I’d gotten the hang of it. Marie-Rose, whose family owned a ski chalet somewhere, was an expert in both cross-country and downhill. If I hadn’t known her, I might have hated her for her perfectly prissy, annoyingly cute matching pink ski coat and pants. My own skiing get-up was a mish-mash of what I’d brought with me and a few things I’d purchased in town.
“Come on, where were you? And don’t say the bathroom,” Marie-Rose said, catching up to me. “I checked.”
I adjusted my hand on my poles and pushed harder so I could take advantage of the slope of the hill. “You were asleep when I came back,” I said.
“Yes, I was tired of waiting for you. So, tell me.”
We both tucked slightly, riding the downward momentum. “You asked me to keep you out of trouble, so I’m keeping you out of it. I’m doing things on my own.” I didn’t mean for the words to sound harsh, but the look on Marie-Rose’s face showed me I’d failed.
She stroked harder with her legs, passing me on the straightaway and then attacking the lead of the other girls. Breathing was difficult in the frigid air, but I kept pushing myself, wanting to catch my roommate. The trail led around more trees and to another incline. At last, I caught her on the hill.
“I thought you wanted to be alone,” Marie-Rose said, as we huffed our way upward.
“I was just following your instructions. You told me—”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble! Can’t you see that I’m worried about you?” She dug harder, passing me on the hill for the moment.
“Haven’t you heard? Trouble is my middle name.” I smiled grimly.
We’d caught up to the other girls now, and Marie-Rose threaded herself through the pack like a pro. Our breath poured out in white clouds as we coasted down the slope toward another flat section.
“You don’t have to worry about me, okay?” I told her.
She grunted. “How can I not when every risk you take affects me?”
I didn’t see how that was true, and it kind of pissed me off that all Marie-Rose seemed to care about was that I might get her into trouble. I’d been right not to trust her with everything going on with Austin. She’s probably keel over if she knew I’d seen him.
“Your recklessness is very selfish, you know,” she continued.
My mouth dropped open. Recklessness? She had no idea how hard I’d worked to keep myself in check at stupid Steinfelder thus far. Blood rushed to my cheeks, but rather than saying what I really wanted to, I lowered my chin and skied harder.
Within a few minutes, I’d left Marie-Rose far behind. Fueled by my anger, I pumped my arms and nudged my tired legs onward. I wanted space and distance and quiet. The snow started to fall gently down all around me, slowing the trail, but I kept skiing, gazing up at the big white sky and marveling at the beautiful evergreen trees lining the path. I couldn’t hear anyone else anymore—no chatter from the girls, nor the sound of their skis on the snow. I could only hear the forest.
But then I saw a flash of something moving in the trees. Something all white that blended in with the snow. Drawn to investigate, I stopped and snapped off my skis. Without even thinking, I was suddenly following the creature through the spruce trees.
I thundered down a barely noticeable trail, wanting—no, needing—to get to this thing. Thoughts of Steinfelder gone from my mind, I barely felt my ski boots and heavy clothes as I tore after my target. My breath came in jagged gulps as I dodged the trees and ducked around bushes in my path. The movement of the thing was erratic, terrified, and that only made me want to catch up to it more.
My body was on autopilot, but all my senses were engaged. I paused to sniff air, trying to catch its scent. And the thing raced ahead, a flash of white against the white, white snow and the pale tree trunks. I rushed on, sure I was close. Before long, I reached a frozen pond, barely skidding to a halt in time.
There, on the other side of the ice was an alpine hare, chest heaving, eyes nervous. I’d been chasing a bunny.
“Holy crap,” I muttered, plopping down onto my butt in the snow. “What is wrong with me?”
But I knew. “He can’t be right. He can’t be right,” I chanted like a mantra. I sat there, breathing in and out, fighting against the realization that was coursing through my body. I had chased after a hare. I had tried to catch prey.
I shuddered. “I’m sorry, little guy. I probably gave you a heart attack,” I called out to the hare, who was statue-like on the other side of the pond, waiting, watching. “It’s not normally like me to do that.” I rose to my feet. “I’m just a regular girl, okay?” I dusted the back of my snow pants off, trying to pretend that I wasn’t freaking out.
The hare’s nose twitched a few times, and then he dashed away into the brush.
My head pounding, I moved slowly through the trees, back toward what I thought was the direction of the trail. I could hear the voices of the other girls in the distance, so I was pretty sure I was headed the right way. But more than that, I could smell them. Perfume, sweat, sunscreen, shampoo. The scents radiated out to me like a beacon. My wolfy senses were fully engaged.
By the time I got to the edge of the path, tears were welling in my eyes. Austin was telling the truth. It was just a matter of time before I was a slave to the moon. Before I wouldn’t let that alpine hare live to hop another trail.
Marie-Rose slid up next to my abandoned skis as I emerged from the trees. “Oh, Shelby. Don’t cry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not you. It’s… nothing.” I wiped at my eyes.
At that moment I knew, more than ever, I was alone with my secret. Alone until my werewolf boyfriend came to the rescue. I really hated the thought of counting on anyone to save me. I was used to getting myself out of sticky situations, taking care of myself. But I couldn’t ignore the facts:
The moon’s pull would strengthen.
My hunger would grow.
And then everyone, even Marie-Rose, would be at risk.
***
I forced down the watery chicken soup and dumplings they force-fed us for lunch that day, my mind reeling with worry. What was going to happen to me? What if Austin didn’t get me out of there? How much time did I actually have left before I was a full-on werewolf?
I was still hungry after the lame meal, of course, so I hid in a bathroom stall and scarfed down the last gingersnap from my hoodie’s pocket. For the moment, the sweet, spicy taste took my mind off the horrible feelings I was having and lifted my mood. I had almost stopped feeling sorry for myself by the time I took my seat in Mrs. Lemmon’s European history class, my least favorite hour of the day.
Marie-Rose slid a sharpened pencil across my desk and gave me a smile. She obviously thought all my angst was because of our earlier fight. Though I had plenty of my own, I accepted the pencil with a smile and opened my notebook, ready for the upcoming torture. I wished I’d thought to save half the cookie for Marie-Rose. It wasn’t her fault that she was terrified of getting in trouble. And if she knew what trouble I was in for, she’d freak for sure. It was better for us to make up and for me to pretend everything was normal, even though it was so not.
Mrs. Lemmon swept in a full minute after the bell and slammed her bag down on the table at the front of the room. “Ladies!” she snarled. “I am very disappointed in your theme papers.”
Her sharp blue eyes flashed from behind deep folds and her eyebrows pulled together as if on a drawstring. Since Honeybun had come into my life, I kind of hated plastic surgery, even if it had been the source of my dad’s fortune. That said, Dad’s wonder drug, Re-Gen, would have worked wonders on old Mrs. Lemmon’s wrinkles.
The old bat seemed to guess I was studying her. She poked a shriveled finger in my direction. “Shall I start with you, Miss Locke?”
I shrugged and Marie-Rose elbowed me in the gut. “Um, sure?”
Mrs. Lemmon stooped over my desk, her gray wool skirt touching my rashy hand. “I think you would have done a much better job on Napoleon Bonaparte if you’d actually opened the text book. He died an exile on the isle of St. Helena.” She released my paper, which floated down to my desk. No one in class needed binoculars to see the red ink glaring from the top page.
“Er, thanks.”
She retrieved another paper from her desk. “And Miss Genereau,” she said, maneuvering herself in front of Marie-Rose’s. “In a treatise on the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand, you might have mentioned that his death sparked World War I.”
Marie-Rose slumped in her chair. I could tell she was hoping that Mrs. Lemmon wasn’t going to let Maman know of her failure.
“There is but one triumphant effort in the entire stack.” Mrs. Lemmon took a seat on the edge of her desk and held up a paper with a bright red “A” marked on it. “It belongs to Miss Patricia Sherman.”
The whole class turned to stare at the slight, curly haired girl at the back of the class. The daughter of a Chicago stockyard tycoon, Patricia didn’t say much in class, but you got the feeling she was always listening. On hearing her name mentioned, she turned a rosy shade and pretended to doodle in the notebook on her desk.
Mrs. Lemmon began to read aloud:
“Johanas Steinfelder, distant cousin of Sigismund of Habsburg, founded Steinfelder castle in 1440, during the Old Zurich War and before Sigismund was excommunicated by the ruling pope. His riches were acquired by his battles in nearby lands. Included in his conquest were parts of Bulgaria, the river valley in the Carpathian Mountains, and the small country of Muldania. His battle insignia, the steed rearing in attack, is well known throughout Europe as a sign of an ancient brotherhood and can be found on many artifacts throughout Steinfelder castle.”
Muldania. My brain sorted through all the history texts I’d read in Lemmon’s class, trying to come up with where I’d heard that country mentioned before.
Mrs. Lemmon droned on, oblivious to Patricia’s reddening face and the bored yawns of the rest of the class. “The chateau, fortified with stone and iron battlements, was considered impervious to attack, but the duke was ever vigilant, fearing retribution from the forces he’d decimated in Muldania. The duke died here in 1494, an old man lost in visions of evil creatures who were out to exact revenge.” The old lady set down the paper on Patricia’s desk and moved to the map on the wall. “The only question unanswered is why the Duke had set out to conquer such far away lands. And that, so far, has remained unrecorded in history books.”
She pointed at the border between Romania and Yugoslavia and it suddenly hit me. Muldania. Austin’s homeland where he said his dad had just purchased the ancestral castle. The duke had had some part in driving the werewolves out. Of driving us out.
Wait a second. Why exactly was I here at Steinfelder? I wracked my brain for how Honeybun had found out about this school. It suddenly seemed too great a coincidence that the duke had tried to eradicate werewolves and that I’d ended up at his chateau. What had Austin said about there being forces working to expose the werewolves? What if someone at the school was doing just that? Maybe this whole time they had been using me to bait Austin and would kill him here, continuing the work of the duke.
Even if whoever the spy was didn’t know my wolfy secret yet, I felt like both Austin and I were in big danger if I didn’t get out soon.