Wicked Hungry (14 page)

What’s going on? It must be some kind of protective spell to keep unfriendly eyes from seeing that we have magic books. But that’s not everything; where else did I see something like this? A book that shimmered as I looked at it from the side?
Piper.
In his office. What is an assistant principal doing with a magic book?

Then Carolina smiles at me, and suddenly everything else fades away. There is just Carolina and the forest.

I am lost and running, forever, with her.

J
onathan elbows me, hard, in the ribs.

“What?” I say, confused.

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “The girl is talking to you.”

“Who? What, you mean Carolina?” I ask, blinking.

Enrique snorts.

Jonathan nods. “She just asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry?” I say, looking at her again. Her emerald eyes are huge, and they speak to me of the wild. But I try to focus on her lips instead.

“It’s okay,” she says, smiling. “I was just asking if you found everything you were looking for. But seeing what you’ve got there in your hands, you probably have what you need to start.”

I nod. “Really, I think we have plenty to keep ourselves busy.”

“Look,” she says. “If you need any help, call me.”

“But I don’t have your number,” I say, feeling stupid.

She takes a pen and writes seven digits on a post-it. “Here. You can have my cell. It’s a prepaid my dad bought me when we moved here from Salem.”

Her fingers brush my hand as she gives me the paper. Her fingers are warm, hot even. I pull out my cell phone and add a contact: “Carolina, 737-9872.”

We are almost to the door, when she calls out again. “Hey, it’s nasty outside. Take these plastic bags.”

She hands them to us, and Enrique’s Ouija board and our grimoire go into the bags.

“Thanks,” I say. “That was really...nice of you.”

My face feels hot now.
What
is
wrong
with me?

“No problem, Stanley. And hey, call me anytime. My parents and I are horrible insomniacs. Real creatures of the night.”

“Will do,” I say, waving like an idiot.

“See you tomorrow,” Carolina says, and then we’re out the door, into the rain.

How come we couldn’t see or hear the storm inside the door? Even looking at the door gives me the creeps. The silver sigils move as I look at them, or is that the water running down the door? Lightning flashes, but I still can’t see through the windows or the glass door. Enrique and Jonathan huddle next to me, Enrique holding the Ouija board flat to his chest.

“Dude, I wish I had recorded that on camera: ‘That was really...
nice
of you.’”

“Are you mocking me, Jonathan?”

“No, man, that was awesome. You were like, wicked suave wolfman on the prowl.” He brings his face up, and makes this little howl.

“All right,” I say, “You can shut up now. I feel better.”

“You feel better?” Jonathan asks. “Because with this rain, my friend, you sure don’t smell any better.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Enrique says. “Jonathan is right. You smell like wet dog.”

We run home, fox, wolf, and jaguar, three friends, together.

T
he plan is to meet in Enrique’s room after dinner. Jonathan lives like three blocks away, but we figure his mother will let him come over. She likes Enrique and me, or it sure seems that way, the way she fusses over us. Let me tell you, a couple of hours of watching anime and playing games at Jonathan’s house, fueled by his mother’s cookies and chocolate milk, can turn any teenager into a dangerous monster.

But tonight we’re meeting at Enrique’s. His mom is just as bad – she gives us Mexican sweet bread,
pan dulce
, and these Mexican Coca-Colas that are sweeter and more syrupy than the American ones. And they come in these cool retro glass bottles. Playing Guitar Hero in Enrique’s room with a stomach full of Mexican Coke and sweet bread is also a lethal combination.

But tonight Guitar Hero is not in the plan. I can’t wait to look at the grimoire with my friends, and I know Enrique wants to consult the Ouija board. And I want to run. It’s Jonathan who comes up with the brilliant plan.

Sleepover.

My parents are not thrilled at this last-minute idea. They’ve heard a lot about the importance of not being enabling parents, which, of course, contradicts everything they used to believe as hippies. So they feel bad saying yes, and they feel bad saying no.

Unfortunately, though, they’ve discovered the m-word. The dreaded
maybe
. So tonight, when I tell them about a sleepover at Enrique’s house, they tell me
maybe
that’s not the best idea.

It’s time to get creative with the truth. Not tell a lie, exactly, but phrase things in ways that will please my post-hippie parental units.

It’s time to be persuasive.

“Mom,” I say, looking her straight in the eyes.

“Dad,” I say, making excellent eye contact.

By now, they are both shocked and listening fully.

“Yes, son?” my parents ask me together.

“It’s Halloween,” I say.

They nod.

“It only happens once a year. And I know in the past I’ve always trick-or-treated with Josh and you, Mom, or helped you, Dad, pass out the candy. But I’m in high school, now.”

“You don’t want to spend Halloween with us anymore?” my brother asks.

I shake my head. “It’s not that. It’s just that Enrique and Jonathan are my best friends. They’re kind of like the only friends I have.”

“What about Karen, or those girls from last night—Meredith and Carolina?” my father asks.

“Male friends, Dad. Not girlfriends.”

“Are Karen and Meredith and Carolina your girlfriends?” my mom asks, a big smile on her face.

“Stanley has a girlfriend?” my brother asks.

You see the type of thing I have to put up with? But it’s worth it if I get to look at the grimoire and see Enrique use that Ouija board.

“Wow,” Dad says. “Our son has grown up.”

“Our Don Juan,” my mother says.

“Don Juan,” Josh says. “Don Juan, Don Juan, Don Juan.”

“Shh, Josh,” my mother says. “Let your brother talk.”

“As I was saying,” I say, “Enrique and I ran really fast today, and the track coach wants us to be on the track team!”

“Your knee, Stanley,” my mother gasps.

But my father shushes her. “How fast?” he asks eagerly.

“Forty-eight seconds for each of us.”

“Wow,” my dad says.

“Stanley is fast?” Josh asks.

“Very fast,” my mother says.

“Wow,” Josh says.

“So we need to do research together, and we also wanted to run and trick-or-treat together. It’s an important part of our training.”

“The trick-or-treating?” my mom asks, looking confused.

“The running,” I say.

“
Maybe
,” my father says.

“
Maybe
,” my mother says, nodding.

“
Maybe
it’s not such a bad idea after all,” my father says.

“
Maybe
your father is right,” my mother says.

My parents seriously need some assertiveness training.

“So I can go, then?”

“As long as you finish all your homework over there,” my mother says.

“Honey,” my dad says. “He’s got the whole weekend. And anyway, how much trouble can he get into next door?”

My little brother runs off. From the other side of the house I hear him calling out for his cat: “Max. Max!
Max!
Where are you?”

In my room I stuff clean clothes into my backpack. In between them goes the grimoire, still wrapped up in its plastic bag. It’s hard to say why it’s remained unopened since we came back from Natural Magic. Maybe I’m scared to find out what’s between its pages.

I call up Enrique.

“
Bueno,
” he says.

“It’s me, Stanley.”

“You coming over?”

“Yeah, my parents finally agreed to it.”

“Then get off the phone and get over here. You’re wasting my minutes.”

“Hey, my minutes, too.”

“I don’t see you working to earn yours.”

“You sound upset,” I say. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t talk right now. Just get over here soon, okay?”

He hangs up on me.

I put the phone in my pocket and my backpack on my back. Outside, it’s a dark and stormy night, perfect for what we have in mind. Or perfect for a bunch of trouble.

For a moment, I wonder if maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe it would be better to have a talk with my mother about what’s going on instead of talking to Enrique’s dead great grandmother.

But enough maybes. I’m starting to sound like my parents. My mom loves and understands me, and she believes in magic, but if I told her I was a
werewolf
, she would love me and understand me all the way to the mental hospital. Then she would ask for the most natural treatments available, and if I could take herbs instead of pharmaceuticals.

But I wouldn’t see my friends anytime soon, if ever.

Now she’s waiting for me at the door.

“You’ll call me, if you need anything?”

“I’ll just open the window and shout over to our house.”

She smiles. “I know it’s just next door, but still...”

“Mom, I’m fifteen years old. You act like I’m a little baby.”

“You want me to keep you here like Josh?”

I shake my head. “I meant to say that I appreciate how you treat me like a teenager and not like a little kid.”

I hear a soft, tentative meow down below me, but I’m paying attention to Mom. I’m afraid she’s having second thoughts now.

She smiles again. “There you go, that’s what I call growing up. See you, and don’t stay up too late.”

“We’ll be fine, Mom, don’t worry.”

I’ve got the door open now, just a little, and it’s letting in the cold and the wet. But there’s another little meow, and I look down. Max is there. For a moment he looks at me, and we lock eyes, and I think we’re friends again.

It’s a wonderful moment. I’m all ready to call out to Josh to tell him I’ve found his cat and everything is going to be okay.

But then my stomach rumbles, my face twitches, and everything changes.

I swear I reached down to
hold
the cat, not to
harm
him.

But he hisses at me and he’s out the door into the weather before I can blink.

“Crap,” my mother says as she looks out into the dark.

The door remains cracked open, letting in cold air. I need to get over to Enrique’s, but my mother is looking at me.

“What?” I say. “He’ll come back in. He’s a house cat. He’s afraid of outside.”

She shakes her head. “What just happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw this flicker in your eyes. You changed for a moment, and then Max bolted.”

“Maybe it was just the streetlights flickering...”

She tries to stare me down, but I stare right back.

“You really think Max will be all right?” she asks, breaking the staring contest.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I say.

She nods, biting her lip, as I wave goodbye. Then I’m out the door, holding my backpack in front of me, running hunched over from our side porch to Enrique’s front door. It’s maybe sixty feet max, but I’m slipping and sliding all the way, and lightning flashes above, lighting up the sky. Before I can even ring the bell, Enrique ushers me in.

“
¿Quién es?
” asks Enrique’s mother.

“
Es Stanley, Mamá,
” he shouts to her, in the other room.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

He puts a finger to his lips, shakes his head, and brings me upstairs into his room. Jonathan is already there, sitting on the floor, and the Ouija board is out, illuminated by the flickering flames of two candles.

“What’s going on?” I ask again, after Enrique has shut the door and turned the bolt.

“They’re out there,” Enrique says, pointing to his window.

“Who?” I ask, feeling stupid.

“Shamblers,” Jonathan says. “Got to be. You can tell just by the way they move.”

“Hold on,
zombies?
What are you talking about?”

“You heard what Morgaine said,” Jonathan says. “Most of those kids at school, taking the supplements ... they’re not like us. They aren’t turning into animals. They’re just...”

“Turning into zombies?” I ask.

He nods.

I move towards the window, but Jonathan grabs my arm. “Uh-uh, you
don’t
want to look out there. It will just get them interested. They got all animated when they saw me and Enrique looking.”

“How many are there?” I ask. “What do they look like?”

“They keep on drifting in,” says Jonathan. “Last I checked there were eight or so. They’re dressed like vegan anarchists, but they don’t move like them. They’re all jerky. Spastic.”

“Is Zach there?”

Jonathan shrugs. “We’re not sure. But someone has to be controlling them.”

“You think they’re watching us?” I ask.

“I
know
they’re watching us,” Jonathan says.

“Can I take a little peek?” I ask.

They exchange a look. “If you think it’s worth the risk, Stanley,” Jonathan says. “Just be careful.”

I take a quick look and see half a dozen kids dressed in black. They’re motionless, and then they start to jerk and quiver. Can they sense me looking at them?

They’ve chalked something on the street. It takes me just a moment to read it.

“LANSFELD, IT’S TIME FOR A CLEANSING.”

I sit down on the floor.

“Wow,” I say.

“That’s not all, either,” Jonathan says, and nods at Enrique.

“My jaguar,” Enrique says. “Feel it.”

He holds it out and I put my fingers on it. It’s hot, almost burning, and glows softly in the dim light of the room.

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “We need to call my great grandmother, now. And consult the book. You brought the book?”

I nod. “I have it right here.”

“Good,” he says, smiling for the first time since I arrived. “Then sit down next to Jonathan and we’ll get this thing started.”