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“Good,” said the doctor, and the warm light was back in his gaze. “Charlie … good luck in there.”

Charlie nodded, but didn’t start into the clinic. The taste of guilt was one he tried to avoid. He had said cruel things to Briar, lashing out because Norine had taken him by surprise. 

But if what the doctor said was true, Briar’s name hadn’t been on that list because she hadn’t been under the army’s care after the festival. Instead, she had been alone in the woods, deathly ill with no one to take care of her. 

He rubbed a hand over the guilty ache in his chest. He was going to have to apologize. 

He hated apologizing.

Inside the clinic, Charlie was surprised to see a young soldier with poker-stiff posture at the desk where Mrs. McClure usually sat. 

The soldier glanced down at the rigorously organized desk and pulled a dossier out of a pile. “Charles Huston?”

“Yes,” said Charlie, wrinkling his brow. “How did you …?”

“Have a seat,” the soldier said dismissively. “We will notify you when we are ready to begin your testing.”

Charlie remained standing. “What sort of testing are we talking about?”

“I am not authorized to provide you with that information. Please take your seat—”

“Hey, Charlie,” a voice called through the open doorway that led to the exam rooms. Charlie turned and saw that Will was lying on a cot. “Come back here and keep me company.”

“You are not authorized—” said the soldier.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie said. “But do I really need authorization to talk to a friend?”

“Mr. Briggs has already broken protocol by insisting that Miss Fields be allowed to accompany him.”

“Meg, you in there too?” Charlie called, moving toward the door.

“Hi, Charlie,” Meg called out in her musical voice. “Come on back and join the party. We’re getting our blood drawn.”

“You’re getting your blood drawn. I’m having an anxiety attack,” Will said, and Charlie grinned. 

Will wasn’t afraid of heights or snakes or spiders, but he was terrified of needles. When the whole town got their polio vaccines back in May, Will had fainted dead away. 

“Why don’t you come back and they can stick you instead?” Will called from the treatment room. 

He found Will and Meg side by side on identical cots, holding hands while Will gritted his teeth and Meg serenely ignored the multiple vials an eager tech was removing from her arm. Will smiled at Charlie in greeting, but it wasn’t hard to see the signs of strain around his eyes. 

Meg and Will were as close as Independence Falls got to royalty: two beautiful young people from good families who dedicated their time and energy to the community and had been devoted to each other for as long as anyone could remember. They were a unit, WillandMeg, as solid and indubitable as the granite forming the ground beneath their feet.

But something had rocked them now. Charlie could tell from the way their hands were gripped together that their cheerful demeanor covered up deep concern. 

He thought about his conversation with Lucy that morning. “How you doing, Meg?”

She glanced up at Charlie. Her lovely smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Hanging in there. It’s been an interesting couple of days.” 

Will shifted protectively toward Meg, then yelped. 

The technician who had been about to draw Will’s blood sat back and sighed. “Please sit still, Mr. Briggs.”

“How am I supposed to sit still when you keep jabbing me with that poker?” Will said indignantly.

“Don’t be such a baby, Briggs,” Charlie said, his voice gruff. “I remember a time I took a shot from a needle much bigger than that one.” 

Charlie wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Will somehow went paler. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up now.”

“I assume you are referring to the Great Moose Hunt of ‘42,” Meg said. She smiled at the tech as he removed the needle from her arm and taped a wad of cotton over her wound. “Thank you, Private Frederick. I appreciate your steady hands.”

The tech, who was dressed in a military uniform, went bright red. “It was a pleasure, ma’am. You’ve got really nice veins,” he said, then seemed to realize that wasn’t the most flattering statement. “What I mean is, they’re very … productive.” 

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly flustered. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, as you must be an expert in veins.” Meg’s smile was warm and generous. “I appreciate your service today. And I’m thrilled to have this hand back,” she said, and laid her hand over Will’s so she was holding his hand with both of hers. The soldier took in Meg’s smile and Will’s glare, and all but bowed on his way out of the room. “Now, what were we talking about? Oh yes, Charlie, you were going to tell us a story.” 

“Yes, the Great Moose Hunt of ‘42,” said Charlie, settling into a chair. “Will and I, two lads of twelve, convinced my dad and Rick to take us along on their annual hunting trip.”

As he told the story, with occasional interjections from Will and questions from Meg, Will gradually relaxed enough to seemingly forget about the needle in his arm. By the time Charlie was hitting the good part, where his Uncle Rick shot the head off a rattlesnake then jabbed Charlie with a hypodermic needle filled with anti-venom, Will was getting his own bandage. 

“So there I am, covered in blood and puke, and my uncle has just stabbed me in the butt with a needle the size of a fountain pen. There’s lightning everywhere, we’re all soaked to the skin, and all our camping gear is rolling away down the mountainside.”

Will finished off the story. “And Rick, that old codger, he just whips you up on his shoulders like he’s carrying a sick calf. And he says, ‘We might not live through this, boys, but it sure is fun!’”

Meg managed to sound amused and concerned at the same time. “But that could have been really dangerous. A rattlesnake den …,” she shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”

“We were dumb,” said Charlie. “We should have known better than to be digging under rocks like that. It’s a good thing Rick always carries anti-venom.”

“Well, I’m glad for that,” Meg said. “I’ll be right back,” she said, patting Will on the hand as she disentangled her grip. 

Will looked around. They were alone for the first time. He cast his voice low. “I thought I told you to stay out of this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice,” Charlie grumbled in return. “The army is testing everyone who was sick after the fog. It would look more suspicious if I tried to avoid it.”

“I know, I know,” Will said, blowing out a breath. “That’s why we’re here. Upright citizens and all that.”

“What does the mayor have to say?”

Will shook his head. “She won’t give me a straight answer. I’ve tried to talk to her a couple of times, but she’s always closeted up with Col. Deacon. Even the secretaries don’t know what they’re doing in there.”

“Maybe Deacon has some information about why all of this happened,” Charlie said. “Top secret stuff they can’t share with the general public. And they need to test us to see what’s really going on.”

“Maybe,” said Will. 

Will looked like he wanted to say something more, but the same tech who had drawn Meg’s blood came in with a fresh syringe. “Mr. Huston, can I have you lay down on the table?”

“Sure, no problem,” Charlie said, deliberately injecting a little swagger into his voice. “I spent a few weeks with an IV in my arm, so a little needle doesn’t scare me.”

The tech peered down at Charlie’s legs, as if he could see Charlie’s scars though his pants. “Yes, I read your file. Severe damage to the left tibia and fibia, muscular necrosis in the gastrocnemius and soleus. You’re lucky you kept the leg.”

“Luck’s relative,” Charlie snorted as he settled into the cot.

 “Well, you’ll be excused from the physical tests. I’m going to take several vials of blood,” said the technician. 

The sleeves of Charlie’s red flannel shirt were already rolled to the elbow, so the tech just smeared his skin with iodine before poising the needle above his joint. 

“What are you testing me for?”

“Count the tiles on the ceiling,” said the tech. Charlie didn’t look away from the soldier’s watery blue eyes. “Fine,” the man said, and slid the needle beneath Charlie’s skin. 

Meg hadn’t been lying—the man’s hands were steady and smooth, and Charlie barely felt it as the syringe filled with blood. 

“Your sample,” said the tech as he switched out the ampule, “has been requested by Col. Deacon as a precaution in a matter of national security. The United States appreciates your cooperation.”

“Dr. Pinkerton drew my blood every week for months. What do you think you’ll find that he didn’t?”

“The United States appreciates your cooperation,” the tech replied. 

Charlie knew his choices. He could slap the man away and steal the vial of his blood that was bubbling to full even as he watched. He could fight his way past the guard in the lobby, using his cane as a weapon, and maybe he might make it out the door. 

If he could get away, if he could transform, if he could disappear, he could leave his whole life behind and live out the rest of his days as a cat.

Or he could stay. He could let them test him. He could pretend that nothing had changed, that night in the fog. 

Will watched him closely. 

Charlie flicked his eyes up and started to count the tiles on the ceiling.

When Meg came back, Will asked, “Well, is that everything?”

“I believe so,” said a soldier as he ticked off a list. 

“Good,” Will said as he swung off the cot. 

Meg reached out to help Will to his feet, and he looked at her oddly but interlaced his fingers with hers. 

“I’m happy to comply with requests of the federal government. As a representative of Independence Falls, I’ll assist you in any way I can.” He offered his hand to Charlie. “See you soon,” Will said, giving Charlie’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing his grip. 

With Will and Meg gone, the clinic seemed especially quiet. Charlie could hear the man at the front desk banging away at Mrs. McClure’s prized Remington, and wondered what he could be typing right now. The results of Will’s and Meg’s tests? What would his own results say? “I can’t do anything,” he heard himself saying to the tech. “This is a waste of time.” 

“That’s not my call, sir,” said the soldier. 

“Whose call is it?” Charlie asked.

“Not mine, sir,” said the man, and Charlie gave up on conversation. 

He stuck to that line—“I can’t do anything”—through the psychological tests that followed. They showed him inkblots and asked him questions about his mother. By the time they were done with him, Charlie felt like he might be going crazy with boredom.

As he left the clinic, he walked past Dr. Porter’s office and saw Col. Deacon sitting behind the doctor’s desk. He had files spread around him, and he appeared to be taking notes in a rapid hand. 

What was he looking for? What had he already found? 

It wasn’t until later, after he had gotten back his truck, that Charlie pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. It was the note that Will had slipped him in the clinic. It said “Briggs Mine, midnight.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Briar

Briar sat on her windowsill, knees pulled up to her chest, face tipped up to gaze at the quarter moon. The bedroom behind her was dark, but for the faint glow of her alarm clock’s radium-tipped hands. Her eyes were dry now, but they still burned with the residue of tears. 

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since the cheese sandwich she’d thrown together before she started washing her car. But she made no move to go down to the kitchen. It almost seemed better to starve than it was to take something from Aunt Patrice.

The scene between her, Norine, and Patrice that afternoon in the kitchen had gotten ugly fast. Norine had magnanimously offered to forgive Briar if Briar admitted she had made up her powers. Briar refused. It would be a lie, and she was done lying.

Patrice scoffed when Briar insisted that she had a power. As far as she was concerned it was just another lie, just another attempt to draw attention to Briar. It didn’t take long for her to start into her familiar litany of complaints. Briar was a drain on the family, an unwanted burden. If she couldn’t even be polite to her cousin, then she didn’t need to stay in this house. 

Frustration rose up in her, just thinking of it. Briar had hoped that, once she was able to work full time, she could contribute to the household and Patrice wouldn’t resent her so much. But she couldn’t seem to keep a job. She couldn’t afford to leave, but she also couldn’t afford to stay unless she figured out a way to pay Patrice rent. And with the rockslide blocking her way out of town, there was nowhere else for her to go. 

And if she couldn’t pay Patrice rent, then she didn’t have any right to the bread in the pantry, the milk in the fridge. Not even the soda she had given to Charlie. 

And that little interlude had cost her more than a soda.

She was mad at him. Of course she was. But she was worried for him too. She knew she hadn’t revealed his secret, but who had? And more importantly, what did the army want with him? 

Sighing, Briar rested her head on her knees. The feel of satin greeted her cheek. She was wearing a nightgown she had made from a pattern because it reminded her of the sort of thing Blanche DuBois would have worn in
A Streetcar Named Desire
. The wide, lacy straps exposed her back and shoulders, and though the nightgown fell to her toes, the silky fabric molded to her body. 

It was chilly in the window, so she had wrapped herself in her biggest, warmest shawl. This one was nubby and brown, full of dropped stitches and uneven rows, but Briar loved it. It was the first thing she had ever made. 

It made her think of her first years in Independence Falls. Though Patrice never warmed to her, Briar had felt safe here from the very beginning. The town was peaceful and charming, and tucked so high in the mountains Briar had felt as if she could hide away from the world. She didn’t need to worry about violence and trauma; she could spin her little fantasies and be something like happy.