Claire De Lune (2 page)

Lisbeth walked onto the patio carrying a giant chocolate cake with
Happy 16th Birthday, Claire
in white icing. A ring of candles burned around the top.

Everyone turned to look at Claire, breaking into a halfhearted rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” Claire forced herself to smile, even though she was completely mortified.

Claire leaned over and blew out the candles.

“Did you make a wish?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah.” Claire nodded, unable to look him in the eyes, since her wish totally revolved around him.

The patio door burst open and Claire looked up, relieved for the interruption. Dan’s mother tore into the yard wearing bloodstained hospital scrubs.

“Mom?” Dan sounded confused and annoyed. Mostly annoyed.

“Get your stuff,” she panted. “We’re going.”

Claire’s mother stepped forward. “I’m sorry, is something wrong?”

“Yes. The news just came over the police dispatch at the hospital—someone thinks they spotted the werewolf at the edge of the woods.
These
woods.” She gestured over the brick wall that surrounded the Benoits’ backyard. Her hand shook
as she pointed. “In broad daylight. The police are patrolling until the FHPA squad comes. I’m sorry, Ms. Benoit, but I can’t let Dan stay here. It’s too dangerous.” She looked at the rest of the group. “It’s too dangerous for all of you. You all need to go,
now.
”

Right on cue, several cell phones around the pool started ringing.

Emily looked up at Claire, her phone glued to her ear.
It’s on the news,
she mouthed.
My mom’s freaking.

Cars screeched into the sweeping drive of the Benoits’ house and the guests grabbed their stuff. Claire scratched at her hands and shivered as she watched everyone stream into the house. A strong hand gripped her upper arm and she jumped.

Matthew stood behind her. A grin played across his face as he pulled her behind the pool house. He was so close, Claire could feel the heat from his skin.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Nah. Why should I be? The chance of a werewolf attacking in broad daylight—it’s practically zero.”

“But that’s why everyone’s freaking out, right? Because if someone actually saw a werewolf during the day, it might mean it would actually strike before dark?”

“Claire! Come inside, please,” Claire’s mom called from the back door.

The thread of electric energy running between Claire and
Matthew faded.

Argh! No!

He stepped back, tucking a lock of Claire’s hair back behind her ear.

“I’d better go,” he said. “I had a great time. A really, really great time.”

She nodded. “O-okay. Thanks.” Her voice shook. “Be careful getting home.”

“Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine. Call you later!” He smiled and darted around the pool house.

Claire leaned against the wall, dizzy with happiness.
Oh my God! He said he’d call! Oh my God!
She wrapped her arms around her damp bathing suit and twirled around.

“Claire,” her mother called from the door. “Everyone’s leaving. Claire?”

After the party, Lisbeth was too freaked about the werewolf to deal with the mess outside, but, of course, Claire’s mom was too bothered by the mess to let it be. She cleaned it up herself, her lips pursed, while Lisbeth hid in the kitchen doing dishes. By dinnertime, the tension in the house was thicker than the frosting on the birthday cake.

Claire sat at the kitchen island between Lisbeth and her mom. Half-eaten sandwiches lay in front of them—rare roast beef for Claire and her mother, and a vegetarian-friendly grilled cheese for Lisbeth. The news was running another special
expanded edition about the werewolf sighting, which was pretty much just them saying,
“We don’t know anything else, but we’ll tell you as soon as we do. In the meantime, here’s everything we do know, again,”
over and over and over. Claire ignored it, but her mom’s eyes were glued to the screen, watching as a police sketch artist held up a rendition of what they thought the wolf might look like.

Lisbeth picked at the remains of her sandwich and patted the back of her sunburned neck. “I’m worn out. I’m gonna slather on some aloe and go to bed,” she announced. She leaned over and pecked Claire on the head. “Happy Birthday, sweetie. Sixteen. Wow.” She sighed. “I better hurry up and find a guy to sweep me off my feet, or you’ll head off to college and I won’t have anyone to take care of but your mother.”

It sounded like she was joking, but Claire could see the concern that crinkled up the corners of Lisbeth’s eyes.

Guess the thing with that guy from her yoga class must have flopped.

“Nah, you can come with me and fold my laundry in the dorm.” Claire stuck her tongue out at Lisbeth. Next to Claire, her mother snorted.

Lisbeth rolled her eyes. “I’ll let that go because it’s your birthday.” She leaned into Claire. “See you in the morning.”

“’Night.” Claire stopped scratching the backs of her hands against the rough underside of the granite countertop. She snaked one arm around Lisbeth for a quick hug.

Marie tore another bite out of her sandwich and nodded at Lisbeth without taking her eyes off the news. Claire felt Lisbeth stiffen beside her—just a little—before she turned and left the room.

Claire fished an ice cube out of her glass and held it against the prickling itch in her ear.

“Are you still mad at Lisbeth about the cleaning thing?”

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.

Her mom was gone so much, and even when she was home, Marie spent most of her time locked in her darkroom, or pacing her office while she negotiated an even more astronomical salary for her next shoot. Still, it would be worth getting out of bed if it meant going shopping. Claire picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled at it, then tossed it back on the plate and walked over to her closet. She threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, then hurried into the bathroom to get ready.

She was running the flat iron through her hair one last time when muffled music started floating out of her laundry basket.

“Crap!” Claire yelped. She dug through the pile of dirty clothes until she found the jeans she’d been wearing yesterday
morning. Plunging her hand into the pocket, she yanked out her cell phone, glancing at the caller ID. Her heart pounded as she flipped open the phone.

“Hello?” She blushed at how breathless she sounded.

“Claire? Sorry, were you still asleep?” Matthew asked.

“No, I’m up. I just couldn’t find my phone.”
Oh, way to go, Claire. Now he thinks you’re a ditz.

“Cool.” He paused. “So, I was wondering—do you maybe want to come over later? We could hang out here and watch a movie or something.”

Claire bit her lip to keep from squealing.

“Yeah,” she said, “that sounds good. What, uh—what time?”

She did a celebration dance around the room while they made plans. As soon as they’d hung up, she tore down the stairs and slapped, barefoot, across the marble floor into the kitchen.

“Lisbeth!” She called.

A blond head peeked around the corner. “What? You’d better be ready, your mom’ll be here any minute.”

“You have to drop me off at Matthew’s house later, okay? I mean, I can go, right? To watch a movie?”

Lisbeth grinned, but a little worried line appeared between her eyebrows. “Matthew? Isn’t he older than you are?”

“Only by a year.”

Lisbeth put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at Claire. “Isn’t he a Pisces? They’re not very compatible with
Geminis, you know.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Enough with the astrology crap. Just—can I go, or what?”

“Okay, you can go, but when he gets all emotional, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lisbeth shook her head. “Now go upstairs and”—she stopped midsentence—“hey, why are your hands so red?”

Claire shoved them deep into her pockets. Overnight, the pinprick rash had gotten worse—it was on her ears, too. The scratchy denim hem rubbed against her wrists and it felt like heaven. “I think it’s poison ivy. I already put some stuff on them.”

The back door swung open. Claire’s mother stepped into the house, her satiny-dark hair damp with sweat. “It’s scorching out there, again.” She looked at Claire. “Are you ready to go shopping?”

Claire nodded, kissed Lisbeth on the cheek, and hurried into the cool interior of her mother’s waiting Mercedes. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Of course,” her mother said. “Your sixteenth birthday—it’s important. A mark of change. We should celebrate.”

T
HREE
STORES AND
four big shopping bags later, Claire and her mother slid into a booth at one of the restaurants attached to the mall. It was like the world’s most upscale diner—hamburgers and tuna melts, but made with Black Angus beef and ahi tuna, served on ultramodern plates. The waitress took their order—two hamburgers, rare, with fries—and glided back to the kitchen.

Under the table, Claire scratched furiously at her hands.

“So, do you have any plans this weekend?” her mother asked, sipping at a glass of iced tea.

Claire played with the straw that the waitress had set next
to her Diet Coke. She’d nearly told her mom about going to Matthew’s—no less than five times since they’d left the house, but her mom hated Dr. Engle so completely. …

Lisbeth’ll just tell her if I don’t.
Claire swallowed hard.

“I’m going to Matthew’s later to watch a movie,” she said as casually as she could.

The waitress appeared next to their table and slid two plates in front of them. Her mother looked at the food in silence. To stop herself from saying anything else, Claire stuffed a huge bite of hamburger in her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother’s face. Instead, she stared at the hamburger bun, watching as the juices from the meat turned the bread rose-pink.