JUSTIN

“So,” Dad said, arms crossed flat across his chest and face as immobile as that of a Greek statue, “Please enlighten me, Justin, as to what you are doing on my deck at five in the morning, with no shoes and nothing but a towel to spare your dignity.”

I knew from experience that speaking the truth was often times easier than lying; conversely, lying was made easier when the liar believed, even only partially, he was speaking the truth. Unfortunately, telling the truth would simply not be feasible in this situation, but I was still prepared to tell as much of it as possible.

“I was just about to take a shower. That’s why I’m naked. But we were out of towels upstairs, so I had to get some from the laundry.” And it was true; there was nothing more I would have liked at the moment to stand for an hour beneath a gush of soothing, steaming water.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Justin. Where were you last night, and why didn’t you come home?”

“Yes, let’s.” The new voice echoed from behind me. I spun, still jumpy from the remains of last night’s adrenalin.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, adjusting my grip on the towel. Talking to Dad, man-to-man, was one thing, but I couldn’t think a more embarrassing situation then being lectured by my mother whilst unclothed. Then I noticed familiar blotch on the fabric; a gritty red smear where my hand had gripped it. I shifted out of the light, attempting to conceal the drying blood, but the effort was fruitless. Dad, still waiting for a response, was the first to notice.

“You’re bleeding, Justin. Why didn’t you mention it? Hold up your hand.” I did so obediently, revealing the four gouges my claws had excavated in my palm just after the evening’s moonrise. Upon hearing the word ‘bleeding,’ Mom hurried her pace down the stairs and was busily searching the medicine cabinet for disinfectant. I saw my chance and leapt.

“I was about to mention it, but you and Mom had to insist on an interrogation. Why do you think I was going to take a shower? The other hand’s hurt too, by the way,” I added as Mom began dabbing a puffy, white cotton ball with rubbing alcohol.

“It’s not an interrogation, Justin. Your mother and I are concerned for your safety; and apparently, with good precedent.”

I hissed as the cotton ball made contact with the raw flesh. The injuries had healed exceedingly well, compared to their severity when I had first attained them, but hours of sprinting through the woods had done nothing for the healing process. Wounded forelimbs are not meant to be used as landing pads.

“Your dad is right.” Now it was Mom’s turn to lecture me. “We can’t have you coming home at ungodly hours, especially not with dirt-covered cuts the way you have now. Give me your other hand.”

I obeyed reluctantly. It was understandable that there would be dirt in the cuts, and, I decided later, it was also understandable that Mom and Dad would be concerned. But I felt a massive headache approaching, throbbing with the pain in my hands and the beat of my heart. The wolf was making a comeback.

“Look, I’ve been up close to twenty-four hours now. Can’t I just go take a shower and relax?” Without waiting for a response, I swiped my hand away from Mom’s hovering swab and pulled the towel closer around my waist. “I’m going.”

“We’ll talk more later,” said Dad. His tone promised it. “Be back down by eight at the latest.”

“Eight?” I was almost baffled. “That’s only three hours away.”

“And your job is four hours away. Yes, Justin, you’re still going to work today. The world doesn’t stop for you when you want to stay out all night. There are consequences, and working when you’re feeling lousy is one of them.”

I didn’t pause to argue. The consequences, as Dad called them, could be disastrous. “I’m taking a shower, and then I’m sleeping.” I left the room. “Wake me up.”

*****

I stood under the steaming water, letting the soothing fluid rinse the dirt from my face and cleanse the grime from my fingertips. I closed my eyes and felt a flash; déjà vu. I had transformed—if that was what one called it—once before. That was twice in eight weeks this had happened. Twice in two months; two moons. The dirt was gone now, flowing down the drain into some municipal holding tank, but the reddening scars on my palms remained. They might heal, I realized, but they would never fade. A set of thin white lines to remind myself of what I am; fitting, I thought. Thin and white, like shafts of moonlight.

The water pressure hiccupped slightly, causing the chain to rustle from its customary spot around my neck. The chain, I thought, that must be the key. I remembered vividly how the moonlight had danced on it so crazily, eight weeks ago during the first transformation. And in desperation, I grasped the chain and attempted to tear it from my body. For a moment it held fast, the silver links biting into the flesh around my neck, droplets beading its surface like sweat. I pulled harder. We were both at our limit. One of us was about to give.

The water sputtered again, this time followed by a dramatic drop in temperature. I shuffled sideways out of the freezing stream, but the shock was enough to snap me back to reality. The chain wasn’t ‘magic’ or ‘cursed,’ and breaking it wouldn’t solve any of my problems. In fact, the only thing I could accomplish by snapping it would be to destroy my relationship with Alaya. And the last thing I needed now was relationship problems. I held the silver links at eye level, investigating each one individually. None of the links seemed to be broken, but the clasp, having borne the greatest strain, had warped into an awkward shape. If I removed the ornament now, there would be no guarantee that I could ever wear it again.

The water remained cold; shower time was apparently over. My knees buckled after one step, and I grasped the sink for support; I was more exhausted than I’d assumed. Two hours to sleep, four hours at work, and I can blow off the rest of the day, I reminded myself. If only I could keep my eyes open long enough.