Girls That Growl (8 page)

I approach her cautiously. "What's wrong, Shantel?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light. "You look like someone just killed your best friend." As soon as the joke's left my mouth I realize it's not all that funny.

In fact, it could be exactly her problem.

She looks up at me with mascara-stained eyes. "It's Trevor." She sniffs. "He's missing."

My heart sinks. Another football team member has disap-peared? On the very night the girls turned into werewolves? This is not good. Not good at all.

"Are you sure?" I press, sitting down beside her. "Maybe he just slept in. Or he has a hangover from that party you guys went to last night." I cross my fingers under the table, praying for a logical explanation, even though it's obvious there's not going to be one in this case.

Shantel shakes her head. "No," she says. "His mom called me this morning. Said he never came home last night. She was hoping he was with me."

Little did Trevor's mom know that was the last place she wanted her son.

"Did you see him after the game?" I ask. "I went up to him on the field for a minute to congratu-late him before we headed back to the locker rooms to change for the party. That was the last time I saw him."

Shantel pauses, staring off into space. "And that's the weird-est thing, Rayne. I don't even remember the party. After the locker room, it's, like, a total blank. I don't know if I drank too much or someone slipped something in my drink. But I woke up the next morning naked in my bed. And I was filthy dirty—my hands, my knees, my feet. As if I'd been running around on all fours or something. Really, really weird."

So Jareth was right. She didn't remember a thing about her metamorphosis. Which was probably for the best, now that I think about it. Especially if it turns out Shantel and the others chowed on her boyfriend as a post-game snack. That kind of thing would definitely scar a person for life.

"Don't worry, Shantel," I say, patting her on the arm, try-ing to sound unconcerned and comforting. "He probably just got wasted and passed out somewhere. I'm sure he'll call you any minute now."

"But what about Mike Stevens?" Shantel counters. "He's been missing a month now. What if whatever psycho killer killed him went after Trevor, too? What if the guy's like a modern-day Jack the Ripper, but instead of going after prostitutes, he goes after football players? Maybe 'cause, like, he didn't make the team long ago and is now seeking revenge?"

It's not a bad scenario for a made-for-TV horror movie and certainly would seem a lot more plausible to your aver-age person than the possibility of the two guys being eaten by rabid, cheerleading wolves. But I don't think it's healthy for Shantel to focus on either scenario at the moment.

"You're jumping to crazy conclusions," I scold. "And we don't even know that Mike Stevens is dead
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either. It's not like anyone's found a body. Maybe he just got sick of Massachu-setts and took off to Europe or something. You know, to, like, go find himself." I'm totally stretching here, but hope-fully she's willing to grasp at any straws at this point.

"You know, I'd like to go back to Europe myself at this point," Shantel blubbers, breaking into a fresh round of tears. "Everything's sucked so badly this year. I just want it to be over."

"Have you been to Europe? What countries did you visit?" I ask, trying to steer her into more comforting terri-tory. Maybe I can get her off the subject and calm her down.

"We went to Europe for our cheerleading competition this summer," Shantel says, sniffing, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "It was in the middle-of-nowhere England and we stayed at the cutest little village.

The local people were so sweet. Though so superstitious. They were always warning us not to go out at night. Which, of course, sucked." She rolls her eyes. "But the last night we all decided to sneak out once everyone had gone to bed. We met up with this really hot En-glish soccer player. You should have seen him, Rayne. He must have spent, like, years in the gym to get a build like that fine body of his. I swear, he looked exactly like a blond Brad Pitt. We were all totally in love. Anyway, he brought us to an amazing bonfire party in the middle of the woods. We all got so totally wasted. I don't think any of us remembered how we got back to the hotel. It was killer."

I stare at her. Tiny village in England? Night out in the woods that they don't remember? Could that be where they got infected? It has to be!

"Shantel, I've got to go," I say, rising from my seat. "But hang in there. I'm sure Trevor will turn up sooner or later. You'll see."

"Thanks, Rayne," she says, staring down at her hands."Ihope so. I really hope so."

Me, too.

+++

“And so then Shantel says that they went to England for a cheering competition and ended up partying in the woods and they all blacked out. It's got to be where they were infected, don't you think?"

Mr. Teifert shifts on his throne. The drama class is doing
Camelot
this semester and so the auditorium stage has been transformed into a medieval kingdom. He thinks for a mo-ment, then nods slowly.

"That seems like a logical explanation," he says. "But werewolves!" He shudders. "Can't have those running around town. We'll have to put them to sleep as soon as possible." He rises to his feet. "Thank you, Rayne. Job well done. We can take over from here."

What? Did he just say—?

"We can't put them to sleep!" I cry, jumping up to my feet. "That's like cruelty to . . . pep squads!"

"We'll use humane euthanasia, of course," Teifert says, not seeming the least concerned at the idea of the impending cheerleader genocide.

"But don't you think someone would notice if the entire cheerleading squad turned up dead?" I demand.

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"We'd make it look like an accident," Teifert says with a shrug. "A bus crash, maybe a drunk-driving incident after a party. I mean, it's not like Veronica Mars is going to show up and start asking questions."

He snorts at his oh-so-clever pop-culture reference, then turns serious. "Look, Rayne, these girls are monsters and can cause serious problems for our community. Look at what they did last night!" He passes me a newspaper. The front-page headline is "Vandals!" and the accompanying photo illustrates the word very effectively. The wolves evidently wreaked havoc on the entire town, breaking into department stores and destroying makeup counters, tearing through the local chocolate factory, and de-vouring all their goods. Ditto to three convenience stores— cleaning them clear out of HoHos and Ding Dongs. Hope-fully, all this ravaging burned a lot of calories or these girls will
so
have to go on Atkins to fit into their size-two uniforms.

"Wow," I murmer. "I had no idea they did all this."

"Not to mention that they don't even have their shots," Teifert adds. "You want them running around town infecting more and more people? Pretty soon our town will be one big werewolf pack."

"But still!" I put the paper down. "They're not just were-wolves! They're teenage girls! And no matter how ditzy they are, they don't deserve to die."

"Look, Rayne, Slayer Inc.'s job is to police our commu-nity's supernatural element. To slay when necessary those who step out of line. These are not vampires living in secluded communities, keeping to themselves and not interfering with human life. They're a pack of wild dogs running around de-stroying everything in their path. I don't think you fully under-stand the danger here. They could break into your house. Kill your mother. Or worse, turn her into a werewolf. And then what would you do? Imagine finding out your mom's now a real bitch 'cause you were soft on fur."

"I know," I say, slumping into my chair. "I mean, I under-stand what you're saying. We can't let them continually ravage the town every full moon. But at the same time, there's got to be another alternative to just killing them."

"Like what?"

"Like ... an antidote. I mean, that town in England. The one the cheerleaders stayed at after their competition. If that's where the biting occurred, maybe the townspeople know some way to reverse the curse."

Teifert is silent for a moment, then he nods. "Very well, Rayne," he says. "If you'd like to go to England and find out if there is a cure, Slayer Inc. will support the move. After all, we have a month before the next transformation. But if you can't find anything on your travels, then we will be forced to proceed with our plan."

"Great!" I exclaim. "Thank you so much. You won't be sorry. I'll find the cure. We'll get them back to their old fur-free selves."

"I hope so, Rayne," Teifert says, wearily. "Because I'm not sure our town can take another night like last night."

Right. Once again it's all up to me, Rayne McDonald, to save the world.

How do I get myself into these things?

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+++

After school, I head to the beach. I find Jareth there, wearing brightly colored Bermuda shorts and lying on a Corona beach towel. Oh, how cool. Not. I still can't believe my beautiful crea-ture of the night has suddenly become tackier than a bottle of Super Glue. But how do I tell him he's lost all sense of style and dignity? Especially when he looks so radiantly happy?

"Rayne!" he cries, scrambling up to greet me. I jump back to avoid being hugged by a six-foot sand monster. I mean, I'm happy to see him, but have you ever had sand in your un-derwear? It's so not worth the affection.

"Hey, Jareth," I say, opening my black umbrella and holding it over my head to avoid any late-afternoon rays. Some of us vampires still have standards.

He looks hurt at the hug rejection and I immediately feel bad. This is my boyfriend, the love of my life.

So why am I feeling so icky around him lately? Why can't I just be happy that he's happy? Why does he suddenly annoy me so much?

And the worse thing is, we're stuck together! Forever. This isn't like a regular BF/GF kind of thing where we can break up and never speak to one another again. Jareth gave up everything to be with me—to become my blood mate. And we are supposed to be together forever with no chance of a divorce! Scary. So very scary.

But whatever. I can't think of this now. Not when Oakridge High cheerleaders are chomping on football players. Relationship stuff can be figured out at a later date.

"So," I say, seating myself daintily on a beach chair, care-ful to avoid as much sand as possible. "I think I know where the cheerleaders became infected."

"Oh?" Jareth asks, plopping down on his towel, back to business as well. At least he's not so sunstroked that he can't concentrate on the task at hand. After all, he was once the guy who led a vampire army.

"Where is that?"

I tell him what Shantel told me, about the cheering com-petition in England, the small spooky village, and the bonfire in the woods they don't remember leaving.

He nods thoughtfully, grabbing handfuls of sand and streaming them through his long fingers. He does have very elegant hands. Though they're tanned now, instead of their former beautiful, pasty white.

"It makes sense," he says at last, "that there is some kind of pack over there. But why would they infect American cheerleaders?"

"Well, why not?"

"True Lycan packs are very much like vampires and live under the same kinds of rules. The packs have to remain small and unobtrusive. In fact, I believe usually the only way to become a Lycan is to be born one."

"So then why . . . ?" That's so weird. Why would a pack of Lycans want to infect a squad of cheerleaders, only to send them on their merry way?

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Jareth shrugs. "I don't know. But we need to find out. And fast."

"Can we go to England? Check out the village and see what we can learn?" I remember how jealous I was when Sunny went to England last year to find the Holy Grail and turn herself back into a human. I can't help but be excited that now it's my turn.

Jareth strokes his chin. "Yes, I think that's a good idea. We'll stay the first night in our sister coven.

You'll get to meet some of the English vampires this way. And they should know where we can find the pack. I'll charter the coven plane for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" I scrunch up my face. "But we have practice—" I stop, realizing how dumb I sound.

I've only been a pseudocheerleader on assignment. Now that I've figured out the mystery, there's no reason to keep showing up in uniform.

Still, that said, the girls are depending on me. Cait's de-pending on me. And Shantel. Until they can get someone else, I'm an essential part of the pyramid.

"Jareth, let's go on Friday night instead," I propose. "I've got. . . things to do. And after all, we have until the next full moon to figure this out. There's plenty of time."

Jareth shrugs and agrees, luckily not asking why. 'Cause how embarrassing would it be to tell him the truth?

That I can't go on saving the world if it means neglecting my duties as a cheerleader.

11

The next day after school we have cheerleading practice. And let me tell you, it's more than a bit weird to chill with girls who you know have a habit of turning into wolves, devouring football players, and going house on your home-town each full moon. But since I know they can't remember all their extracurricular activities, I have to remind myself that in all actuality, I'm pretty darn safe.

Poor Shantel's practically comatose over her lost BF and can barely concentrate on her moves. I really, really hope it doesn't turn out that she ate the guy. That's the kind of thing that could really mess up a girl.

Cait looks even worse. She's shaking like a leaf and keep-ing her distance from the other girls. Not that I blame her. Seeing your teammates transform into a pack of dogs doesn't exactly help create a circle of trust. Still, doesn't she get that we have to play it cool? We don't want the cheerleaders suspicious. They keep asking her what's wrong and she can only stammer nonsensical answers in reply.