Claire De Lune (21 page)

“Okay.” Lisbeth’s voice was slow and thick with suspicion. “Well, where is she?”

“She, uh, she called and said she had to fly to Denver right away. Something about a big, last-minute shoot.”

Lisbeth crossed her arms. “Since when does your mother have a client in Denver? She’s never mentioned it.”

Sweat prickled on Claire’s forehead.
Be calm, be calm, be calm.
She shrugged. “I dunno. You know she doesn’t tell me anything. So, um, since she’s gone, I guess we can go ahead and eat whenever.” Claire tried to brush past Lisbeth.

Lisbeth’s grip on her upper arm startled Claire. “Not so fast. I want to know what’s going on. What’s
really
going on. You’ve been prowling around here for
weeks
, sleeping all hours of the day—you never tell me anything anymore. And your mother’s no better. When I mentioned that I was worried about you, she just brushed me off. I know we’re not actually related, but I love you, and I’m worried. Please, Claire, talk to me.”

Claire stared at Lisbeth, remembering all the hours Lisbeth had spent with her—helping with homework, teaching her to knit, listening when she griped about boys and school and her mother. She trusted Lisbeth and she wanted desperately to tell her what was happening. Maybe the two of them could figure out what to do, how to find her mother. The words tickled the
tip of her tongue, but she could never actually say them.

“Claire, please.” Lisbeth shook her arm, not bothering to hide her desperation. “You can trust me. I mean, what, do you think I’m the werewolf or something?”

She meant it as a joke, Claire could tell, but the secret shriveled and dried in Claire’s mouth like an autumn leaf. Maybe Lisbeth wasn’t a werewolf, but she was definitely keeping something from Claire. And that meant Lisbeth didn’t
totally
trust her. So why should Claire confide in her? When she looked back at the woman who had taken care of her for so many years, the lies came pouring out of her as easily as if she’d turned a tap.

“Lisbeth, nothing is going on. Really. Mom took off for a random work thing—just like she always has. It’s not like she’s ever given us a ton of notice, so I don’t see what the big deal is this time. And I talk to you plenty. Just because I don’t tell you every little thing about my social life doesn’t mean I don’t like you or anything. It’s not like you tell me everything about your life.”

Lisbeth blushed and dropped Claire’s arm.
Bingo. She knows I’m right about that.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s—let’s just go eat.”

“Sounds good, I’m starved.” Claire watched Lisbeth’s shoulders slump in defeat. A shower of guilt that felt all too familiar pattered down on her. “Maybe after dinner we could watch some TV or something,” she added.

“That would be great!” Lisbeth perked up at the suggestion. “I better go get the meat on the grill.”

When she’d left the room, Claire called her mother. It didn’t make sense that her mom wanted to know when Lisbeth was home, but still … The call went to voicemail and Claire’s heart sank. Her bad feeling about all this had just become really terrible.

After dinner Claire sat curled up on the couch with Lisbeth. She bit her cuticles and tried to look like she was paying attention to the sitcoms that blared on the screen.
If something had happened—if she’d been caught—the news would interrupt this crap.
The thought only half-comforted her. If her mother had run into the
seule
, the news wouldn’t know about that, now, would they?

Hours later, Lisbeth stood and stretched. “Ugh, that’s as much mass-market media as I can take tonight. I’m going to bed, Claire-bear. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. And don’t call me that.”

Lisbeth sniggered and headed for the shower. Claire walked over to the window and stared out at the dark lawn, willing her mother to come loping across the grass. The desire to sneak into the dark forest was so strong it made Claire’s bones ache. She couldn’t stop imagining her mother, caught in some sort of hideous trap or mangled by the
seule
. But no matter how badly she wanted to go, Claire couldn’t just ignore an order from a senior pack member. Some primitive compulsion
to obey emanated from deep inside her wolf-brain, keeping her trapped in the too-empty house. When she heard Lisbeth close her door, Claire wandered upstairs and watched the woods from her bedroom window.

For three nights, Claire kept her vigil. She gave Lisbeth fake messages from Marie, and hoped desperately that Beatrice would decide to do something.

By the time the sun crept over the horizon after the third night, Claire had collapsed onto her window seat, frightened and exhausted. When the first bright rays touched Claire’s face, a fierce determination swelled inside her. Why should she be the good little listener she was supposed to be? It wasn’t getting her anywhere and it wasn’t helping her mother.

Screw the pack order. Screw my mother’s command. If she’s dead—
Claire forced herself to think the word—
it won’t make any difference, anyway.

Claire flipped on her computer and looked up Victoria’s address. It was halfway across town, but there was no way she could ask Lisbeth to drive her there. She’d have to bike it. Claire drummed her fingers against the edge of the keyboard. It was like teetering on the edge of the high dive. She knew she could jump—she knew she
should
jump—but the animal part of her brain screamed at her not to do it, not to endanger herself so foolishly.

Claire’s muscles twitched with indecision.
Go. Stay. Go.
Stay. Okay, I’m definitely going. But if Mom’s okay, she’ll be freaking furious with me. Crap.

Outside, the forest waited, wearing an early-morning haze like a nightgown. Matthew’s dad might already be out there, checking his traps again. The idea shook Claire to the core. She had to go—if he wouldn’t waste any time, Claire couldn’t, either.

After she scribbled a bogus note to Lisbeth about where she was going and blew the dust off her bike helmet, Claire took off down the sloping driveway.

This is so stupid. If I’d gotten a car for my birthday like every other sixteen-year-old, I could still be in the air-conditioning.

By the time she pulled into Victoria’s driveway, her shirt was soaked with perspiration, and the smell of fear and exhaustion wafted up from the damp fabric.

Claire rang the doorbell, and then looked at her watch.
Holy crap. How did I get here in twenty minutes? It should have taken an hour to ride here!
She’d have to be more careful. When she was scared it was too easy to do things faster than a normal human could.

Victoria opened the door.

“Oh, Claire, I should have guessed you’d come.” She pulled Claire inside with her free hand. In the corner of the room, Beatrice looked up from her knitting.

“I’m sorry,” Claire panted. “It’s just—my mother still hasn’t come home. I know you said it’s no big deal, but I think she
was looking for the
seule
. If she’s hurt, if something’s happened to her—we have to find her.”

Beatrice glanced in the direction of the TV. The
BREAKING NEWS
banner scrolled across the screen. “Have—you haven’t seen the news,” she said, her eyes trained on the pastel square of yarn in her lap. “Claire—your mother has been caught. I am so sorry.”

“Caught?” The word twined around Claire’s throat as she said it, choking her.

“Yes. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before they force her to reveal her identity, and then Dr. Engle will administer his ‘cure.’”

Beatrice’s hands trembled when she spoke, and that was the last thing Claire noticed before the floor swirled up to meet her and everything went dark.

“Claire. Claire! Wake up.”

The fingers that pinched her cheek were gentle, but Claire slapped the hand away from her face without thinking. Beatrice’s eyes glowed with concern.

“Sorry,” said Claire, instinctively ducking her head low. The old woman sniffed and turned away. Claire had been forgiven, this time. “So, what are we going to do?”

“You must go home, and you must wait.” Beatrice lowered herself back into her chair and picked up her knitting needles. “Once we have a better idea of what Dr. Engle plans to do, the
pack will meet to discuss our next move.”

Claire scrambled to her feet. Her still-weak knees wobbled, and she grabbed the back of the couch for support. It was only the hot anger, shooting up her spine like a lightning bolt that kept her vertical. “They—they have my mother.” Claire’s voice faltered. She forced herself to look at the face of the familiar, beautiful wolf on the TV screen. Her mother paced in the tiny cage where they held her, her ears laid flat against her head.

Claire looked at Beatrice in disbelief. “They have my mother! Everyone already knows what they’re planning to do to her—they’ll give her their freaking ‘cure’ at the full moon! The longer we wait, the less chance we have of getting her out. Waiting will kill her.”

Beatrice didn’t look up. “Time spent planning is not wasted. And also, we are not certain what effect Dr. Engle’s experiments have upon a true werewolf. Even if we are unable to rescue her—which is likely, given the sort of security Dr. Engle is using—it’s still possible your mother may survive his treatment. We must take the time to explore all of our options.” She took a deep breath and met Claire’s gaze. Tears glittered in the corners of her eyes. “Please know that this is not a decision I have made lightly, Young One. The safety of our pack comes before everything else. If it means the sacrifice of one, then we must accept it even though it hurts. I will not risk everyone’s future for your mother’s sake,” she said, stroking the blanket she was making. “And your mother would do
the same thing, would make the same decision, if she were in my shoes.”

Claire looked over at Victoria, hoping she would speak up, would change Beatrice’s mind. Victoria leaned against the wall. Her shoulders were hunched, every muscle in her body leaning toward her middle, protecting the tiny baby that grew there.

They’re scared. They’re scared for the baby and so they’re going to let Dr. Engle destroy my mother
.

“It’s not the pack you care about at all, is it?” she spat. “You’re scared for yourselves and you’re just going to let them have my mother because of it.” Claire stared hard at Victoria. “What would you do if it was Beatrice—your own mother—that they’d captured?”

“I know how hard this is for you, Claire. Marie is like a sister to me.” Victoria’s voice broke. “But just because your mother did something she knew wasn’t safe, that doesn’t mean she’d want the rest of us to endanger ourselves. I’m sure of that.”

A growl caught in Claire’s throat at Victoria’s words. How dare she hint that Marie had acted irresponsibly? “My mother was trying to save us, all of us, and she risked her own life to do it. If you’re too
weak
”—she spat the word—“to help me, I’ll go find help somewhere else. I’m sure Zahlia will do it.”

Beatrice’s left eye twitched when Claire mentioned the dark wolf, and Claire knew she’d hit a nerve.

“Zahlia may be brave, but she is also loyal to the pack,” Beatrice said gently. “Even if you will not obey me, I would think twice before asking her for help.”

Manipulative bitch.
Claire spun and headed for the front door. “I’m not interested in taking lessons in loyalty from someone who obviously knows nothing about it.”

Claire slammed the door hard enough to make the hinges ring and slung herself onto her bike. The helmet she left lying in the grass like an upended turtle. She was protected by the speed and strength that had pumped through her on her way through town, and the heightened senses that meant she could hear cars coming long before she could see them, could smell the people on the sidewalk before they ambled out in front of her. Helmets were for humans. Claire was
loup-garou.

T
HE
lOOK LISBETH
gave Claire when she stormed into the kitchen was pure worry. “Where on earth have you been? Have you lost your mind, riding around in this weather? There’s a heat advisory out, for God’s sake. And you’re
purple
. Did you even think to take any water with you?” Lisbeth didn’t wait for her to answer. She thrust an enormous glass at Claire. “You sit down right this minute and drink this. What
if you’d gotten heat stroke? Your mother would never forgive me, Claire!”

The words came automatically. “Sorry. I—”

“You can apologize later. Drink that, and then go get in a cool shower.” Lisbeth yanked a mug of tea off the counter, sloshing pepperminty water on the floor. While she was wiping it up and muttering something about
job security
under her breath, Claire took her water and slunk upstairs.

She locked her bedroom door, and then went into her bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run cold over her shoulders. Claire stood under the icy spray, feeling the anger in her gut pull into a tighter and tighter knot until it was a little ball of blue-white rage.

She tried to call Zahlia, but her voicemail picked up. Fine—all she had to do was find her address and go over there.

It was not as easy to figure out where Zahlia lived as it had been to locate Beatrice and Victoria. By the time Claire had an address—an apartment in a sketchy part of town—her hair had dried. It was too far to bike. She’d have to take the bus. Claire dumped a handful of quarters into her pocket.
Always be prepared, right?
As casually as she could, Claire went downstairs and rummaged in the kitchen for some lunch.

Lisbeth stood in the doorway, glowering. “I hope you didn’t have any plans today, missy, because you are not leaving this house until your mother gets back from her trip.”

Her words brought a rush of bile into Claire’s mouth. How was she supposed to get her mother home if she couldn’t leave the house?

“I said ‘sorry,’” Claire started.

“Not good enough this time. Besides the fact that you scared me half to death, I had something I really needed to take care of this morning, but I was too busy waiting for you to go anywhere. You’re sixteen years old now. Old enough to start taking other people into consideration once in a while.”