Nocturne (16 page)

Lost in thought, Claire trailed behind her mother, reluctant to leave the forest. Things were harder underneath the trees. More dangerous. Even brutal.

But at least they were honest, which was a lot more than she could say for her human life.

Chapter Fourteen

THE CHILL THAT had been in the air turned into a true, aching cold over the next two weeks. The day before the dance, a bank of heavy, iron-gray clouds rolled in, and the weathermen excitedly predicted a few inches of snow by the weekend.

After school that Friday, Claire headed outside into the swirl of huge, feathery flakes. She bent her head against the falling snow. She stomped through the inch or so that was already on the ground, hurrying toward the parking lot and Emily's car. This weekend was going to be the most human, the most normal, that she'd had in ages, and she was going to enjoy every second of it. She and Emily were getting pre-ball pedicures, just the two of them.

The windows of Emily's car had been cleared off, and she could see Emily inside, her head bent over her phone as she texted furiously. Claire opened the back door and threw her book bag in.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Kate-Marie
Brown
is what," Emily griped. "She's ridiculous."

"Well, we agree on that." Claire shut the back door and opened the front, crawling into the passenger seat. No matter how long she dated Matthew or how many of the same parties they went to, Kate-Marie Brown and her inner circle of haute couture handmaidens still looked at Claire like she was as disposable as a paper cup.

"What'd she do now?" Claire asked.

"Okay, you know how I ended up getting that really fab black and silver dress?"

"Of course. It's amazing."

"Right. Well, somehow it came up in trig, and Kate-Marie freaked. I mean fuh-reaked. I guess she's wearing black jewelry and a silver dress, and she is not amused that I'm—and I quote—'jacking her color scheme.' How can anyone call dibs on a
color
? And why does she care, anyway? It's not like we're going to be posing for yearbook photos together."

"It's Kate-Marie," Claire said. "She thinks she can have whatever she wants. Do you want to go find a different dress, or do you want to suffer her wrath?"

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Are you joking? Kate-Marie might run some sort of high school empire in her head, but I don't give a crap what she thinks. And I hope you don't, either."

Claire shook her head. "Nope."

"Good. Then, let's go back to my house and do the manipedi thing."

Claire leaned back in her seat, feeling better about things with Emily than she had in ages. "Well, your house it is, then," she said happily.

By the time Claire got home, it was well after dark, and even the tips of the browning grass had disappeared under the snow. Emily had invited her to stay the night, but Claire hadn't wanted to push her luck quite that far.

She climbed the stairs and glanced down the hall at her mother's room. The door was shut, and Claire could hear her mother talking on the phone, though she couldn't make out what was being said. She turned and headed for her room. She wanted to try on her dress one more time, take a ridiculously long shower, and watch the
Late Show
in bed.

Her dress hung in the front of her closet, and just seeing the garment bag made Claire want to twirl around the room. She pulled it out, breathing in the crisp smell of silk and organza.

She yanked off the jeans and sweater she'd worn to school and slipped the dress over her head, shivering as the fabric slithered over her skin. The dress came to the floor, covering all but the tips of her shoes. She turned in the mirror, admiring the way the silk peeked through the overlay in the back. It was so
girly
.

With a sigh, she wriggled out of the dress and hung it back in its protective bag. She kicked her dirty clothes toward the laundry basket, wandered into her bathroom, and turned on the shower. Tomorrow night was going to be fabulous, and as far as she was concerned, it couldn't come fast enough.

When she got out of the shower, Claire heard her mother pacing the hall outside her room. She opened the door and stuck her head out.

"Mom? What's going on?"

Marie looked at her, and the expression on her mother's face startled Claire. Marie looked almost ecstatic. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, and there was a soft flush of pink in her normally bone-pale cheeks.

"Victoria has just had her baby," Marie announced. The excitement was coming off her in waves. "They are both fine, and Beatrice is as happy as I've ever heard her." She smiled broadly.

"That's great," Claire said, still mystified by the sudden change in her mother.

"I knew you'd want to know right away, since we'll be gathering tomorrow night for the naming. I assume you're ready to light the fire?"

Claire froze. Tomorrow night.
Oh, crap. No. This is not happening.

Her fingertips tingled unpleasantly as she tried to wrap her head around this sudden change in plans. She couldn't skip the ball to go to a gathering—it would look too suspicious. Not to mention how badly she'd be disappointing Matthew. The dance—the normal, human dance—was pretty much the only thing left holding them together. They'd both been looking forward to the ball for weeks. She wouldn't take that away from him. She couldn't.

"Is something wrong, c
hérie
? You look . . . shocked." Marie cocked her head to the side, studying Claire.

"It's . . . I thought there would be a little more time." She bit her lip. "The dance is tomorrow night. I can't . . . there's no way I can miss it. Everyone will talk."

Marie lifted her eyebrows. "This should not be coming as a surprise, Claire. You knew Victoria's baby could be coming at any time. The gathering is not optional. And part of being a werewolf is learning how to make humans believe unbelievable things. This is a very important moment for our pack—a little party with your human friends is no comparison."

Claire leaned against the door frame. Emily's party. Oh god, she was going to miss Emily's after party. Her stomach churned.

"What time is the gathering?" she whispered.

"We will meet just before midnight—the ceremony begins on the stroke of a new day." Marie crossed her arms. "And you will not be late. I am sorry that the timing is bad for you. Truly." Just before midnight. That would give her time to go to the dance, at least. She'd just have to come up with a way to bail on the after party without ruining her relationship with her best friend.

Claire looked up at her mother. Marie's expression was firm, final. There was no point in arguing with her when she looked like that.

"Fine. I'll be there."

"Good. I will be looking forward to seeing you succeed." Her mother padded back down the hall to her room.

Claire walked back into her room and stared out the window at the woods. She sent Matthew a text, telling him to call her as soon as he could. If she was going to have any chance of pulling off the dance and the naming in the same night, she was going to need his help.

Like, a lot of his help.

While she waited for him to call, she thought about Victoria. Wondered if she'd manage to pick a name—if she was still as nervous as Claire was about the gathering. Claire wished she had some sort of special skill for naming, the way Victoria did with the fire lighting. . . .

The puzzle pieces slid together in her mind.

Maybe there was something she could try. If she could somehow hear the baby, maybe she would give her some sort of clue. And this time, at least, she'd be using her extra abilities for the right reasons—to help the pack.

Claire dug up some warm clothes and crept down the stairs. Sneaking out was risky, but she didn't have much choice. There was no way she was transforming in the house again.

Ever. The freezing air slipped inside the collar of her fleece, giving Claire goose bumps. The forest was quiet in the snow. It took forever to get anywhere, since she'd had to cover the footprints she'd made in the powdery white blanket covering the lawn. Halfway to the woods, she realized that she'd left her phone on her bedside table, where she'd plugged it in to charge.

Damn.
If she missed Matthew's call—or if her mom heard the phone ringing and got suspicious about Claire not answering . . .
Damn.

She stood for a moment, the icy air pinching her ears with its sharp-nailed fingers, and weighed the risk of going back against her abandoned phone. She had already taken a huge chance by coming out at all—if she went back now, she might not be able to get out here again. She might as well go see what she could find out. That way, she'd at least have something to show for it if she got caught.

She bent her head over the path of her footprints and focused on getting herself into the safety of the forest as fast as she could.

In her practice clearing, she tossed off her clothes and transformed in a rush, trying to get into her wolf form before the cold seized her completely. As soon as she was changed, she focused on getting warm, using the wolf trick of holding the illusion of heat between her two forms. She thought about sunlight and about the hot sand of a white beach burning the soles of her feet. Slowly, her shivering stopped. Claire glanced down at her paws, which were tipped with deep-rose-colored claws. The nail polish had looked fantastic in her human form, but it looked ridiculous now that she was a wolf.

She shook herself. There was no time to waste. The longer she was gone, the bigger the chance that Marie would notice she had left. Claire sat down, her thick fur protecting her from the damp cold of the snow. She shook her head, hard, making her wolf ears flap and fluffing out the fur on her neck.

Feeling more relaxed, she shut her eyes and focused. She listened for Victoria first, since she was sure to be wherever the baby was. Claire tried to picture the little house where Beatrice and Victoria lived—the hospital would have meant too many hard questions, so Victoria had given birth at home. After a few moments, Claire heard a weary voice. It sounded as though it were filling the clearing, but Claire knew it was only in her head.

"She's so perfect," Victoria cooed. "Look at her little eyelashes! They're so curly."

"You're keeping her awake," Beatrice cautioned. "You should both be getting some rest."

"I know, I know. I just want to l
ook
at her."

Claire focused harder, heard the small grunting breaths of the baby. She concentrated on the sound. Listened for something. Anything. There was a pause, a tiny gasp, and then a mewling wail as the baby began to cry.

Startled, Claire lost focus and was suddenly very alone in the silence of the clearing.

Crap.

By the time she managed to hear Victoria again, the crying had stopped. The baby was still breathing a hitching sort of breath that sounded less than calm, though.

"Maybe she's hungry?"

Claire could hear Victoria's voice, but it sounded fainter, farther away. The baby's breath rang in her ears, so new, so full of meaning, even though she was still wordless. It was as though she was nothing more than the air that puffed in and out of her just-born body.

As the sound surrounded Claire, an idea drifted into her mind.

If her breath was all the baby had, why not name her after it?

The rightness of it settled over her. Victoria couldn't just use the word breath. It wasn't even a name. It was something Lisbeth would name a kid. But she could look up some name meanings, find something that fit.

Suddenly excited about the possibility of actually being able to help Victoria, Claire changed back into her human form, gasping as the cold air caught at her before she managed to get her clothes back on. As quickly as she could, she walked back to the house, carefully erasing her tracks as she went.

She slipped in the back door and stood leaning against it, listening hard to the noises of the house. She didn't hear anything at first, but then the furnace kicked off and there was a soft
click-tap
from the depths of the house, somewhere in the vicinity of Marie's darkroom.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut and made a silent run for her room.

When the door was safely closed behind her and she'd changed her clothes to get rid of the snow smell, Claire grabbed her phone.

One missed call. C
rap.

Matthew'd left a short, call-me-back sort of message, but it was already nearly one o'clock in the morning—she'd been in the woods longer than she'd intended, and it was way too late to call him back now. She'd have to try him back in the morning. Kicking herself again for forgetting her phone, Claire sat down in front of her computer. At least she could finish the stuff for the naming. She pulled up a couple of baby-name websites.

In no time at all, she found exactly what she was looking for. The name hummed at the tip of her tongue, begging her to say it.

Chapter Fifteen

IN SPITE OF her late night, Claire woke early the next morning, too excited and edgy to sleep in. Emily and Amy would be at her house after lunch, along with Lisbeth, who'd been all too happy to agree to run the pre-dance hair-andmakeup show.

But it was only a matter of hours until everyone showed up, and Claire had a lot to do before they got there. She'd need clothes to change into after the dance, since she couldn't exactly go traipsing into the woods in a gown. She dug through her closet, scrounged up an old duffel bag, and stuck some dark sweats and running shoes into it.

Marie knocked on her open door just as Claire was tugging the zipper closed.

"What is that for?" she asked, looking at the bag.

"It's clothes for the gathering. I can't wear my dress in the woods." Claire stared at the confused look on her mother's face. She couldn't quite figure out what Marie was thinking—why she seemed so mystified. A horrible feeling gathered in her throat. It was like stepping into a lake that was vastly colder and infinitely deeper than she'd expected it to be.

"You are still going to the dance?" her mother asked. "I thought we'd discussed that. The naming is tonight." An odd little frown puckered her lips.

Claire could barely hear over the pounding in her ears. "I know. But not until later. I have time to do both."

Marie crossed her arms. "The naming is extremely important."
So is the Autumn Ball.

Not that her mother seemed to notice—not that she seemed to care.

"There is much to set up for tonight. I still need to find some ginseng, the wood is not ready for your fire—"

The mention of the fire was enough to send a tingle through Claire's still-whole left ear. She knew how to light it—could do it like breathing—but there was so much at stake. . . .

Marie shook her head. "I had hoped you might help me, but if you cannot or will not abandon this"—she paused— "ev
ent,
then I will do it on my own." Her mother sighed. "Lisbeth is coming over, I suppose?"

Claire swallowed. "Yes. She's going to help me and Emily and Amy get ready."

"Fine. I'll leave her a camera—I suppose you might want to take some photographs. I'll be leaving in a few hours to start the preparations. If you need anything, I'll be available by cell phone. Otherwise, I guess I will see you in the woods." Marie reached up and straightened the collar of her shirt.

"You're . . . You're leaving?" Claire's cheeks stung like she'd been slapped. It had been obvious that her human life was becoming less and less important to her mother, but her mother knew how much this dance meant to her—or at least, she
should
know. But she was already halfway out the door.

It wasn't as though Claire expected her mother to be like the other moms she knew—for one thing, her mother had always been distant. And when Claire discovered what secrets Marie had to keep, she'd begun to understand why. Still, when they'd grown closer in their wolf lives, she'd thought at least some of that might trickle down into the human parts of their lives. Instead, it seemed like Marie barely even noticed Claire when she wasn't covered in fur.

Her mother twitched a shoulder in Claire's direction. "I have much to do in order to fulfill my responsibilities to the pack. It has to come first. For all of us. Always." Claire sat down on the bed, the air punched out of her lungs by the force of her mother's words.

Concern flitted across Marie's face. "I am not leaving in order to hurt you, c
hérie.
I must do it, in spite of the fact that you feel wounded. I must do it because I love you, and I want to keep you safe. Putting the pack first is the best way to keep you safe. You understand that?"

Claire nodded painfully. Wounded, as her mother had so ably observed. She understood perfectly, but that didn't make it hurt even a little bit less.

"Good. Call me if you need me. I will be waiting for you in the forest with much anticipation." With a quick little smile, Marie disappeared down the hall, leaving Claire aching at the foot of the bed.

Her cell phone rang, breaking the wringing sadness that had seeped through her, as dark and silent as ink.

It was Matthew.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice dull.

"Claire? You sound weird. Are you sick?"

His words came out in a rush, but as soon as Claire heard them, an idea sprang up in front of her. A way to make it all work—and maybe without infuriating Emily.

"No, not yet," she replied. "But I'm going to be."

"Huh?" he asked, confused.

"Some stuff happened last night, and things are going to be a little more . . . complicated than they were before."

Matthew sighed. "Story of your life, right?"

"Pretty much," Claire confessed, though it stung a little bit to admit that in the face of what had just happened with her mother. "So, here's what's happening."

She gave him the brief version—that Victoria had had her baby and that the naming, the absolutely mandatory naming, would happen just after the dance. When she was supposed to be at Emily's crowning-glory-of-her-high-school-years after party. But his questions about how she was feeling had given her the perfect idea for a way out.

She would have a great time at dinner, a fabulous time at the dance, and then, just as things were drawing to a close, she would bring on a fake . . . something. Stomach flu. Migraine. Broken bone. Whatever it took to get her out of Emily's party. Matthew could drop her off by the woods, and then she'd be home free.

"Do you mind?" she asked, twisting a loose thread from her comforter between her fingers.

"Not really," he said. "That's part of the job, I guess."

He sounded like she'd just asked him to come with her while she bought tampons.

"Do you"—he paused—"need me to stay or just to drop you off?"

The worry in his voice made Claire grimace, and she was glad he couldn't see her face. The tension between them bobbed to the surface of their conversation like ice. But the last thing she wanted was to have a big fight with him now, when she needed his help so badly.

"No—I mean, thanks, but I think the best thing is if you go to the party. You know, make a big deal to Emily about how sick I got and how really upset I am that I'm not at the party. You could even tell her that I tried to come but you and Lisbeth wouldn't let me." The more she talked about it, the more she convinced herself that it was the right plan.

"Oh." Matthew sounded relieved, but Claire ignored it. "Yeah, I guess I can see that it would work better that way." He paused. "Wow. It really has gotten complicated, hasn't it?"

"Like you said, story of my life." She thought of what Marie had said just before she'd left. "And it doesn't look like it's going to be getting any simpler, either." She was half-talking to herself, but the heaviness of the silence on the other end of the phone caught her attention.

"I'm beginning to see that," he said slowly. "But anyway"— he perked up—"at least we can go to the dance, right? It's going to be great."

"I can't wait," said Claire. She glanced at the clock. "Speaking of which, Emily and Amy and Lisbeth are going to be here
soon
."

"And I have a corsage to get." Matthew's voice was getting more excited by the second, and Claire knew she'd made the right choice by refusing to bail on the dance completely. "I'll see you at five thirty, okay?"

"I'll be ready," Claire promised.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Lisbeth came crashing into the house, armed with a bag full of curling irons and hot rollers and wicked-looking bobby pins. Panting, she dumped them onto Claire's bed.

"Please tell me you have makeup," she begged Claire.

"Yep," said Claire. "All lined up and waiting." She pointed to the cosmetics on her vanity.

"Oh, thank God. Well, let me get this stuff plugged in, and you can start with your makeup while it heats up. When are Emily and Amy getting here?"

Claire shrugged. "Any time. And the guys are picking us up at five thirty."

Lisbeth's jaw dropped. "Three heads of hair need to be done by five thirty? Yikes. I'm not exactly a pro at this, Claire. More like a well-equipped amateur. Interested bystander, even."

Claire picked up an eyeliner pencil. "Yeah, but Emily's hair's short, so it won't take long, and Amy's hair will probably look perfect when she gets here, anyway." Claire knew she sounded pathetic, but she didn't care.

Lisbeth froze, a curling iron in each hand. "Whoa. I thought you two were friends."

Claire focused on tracing the edge of her eyelid in the mirror. "She wants to be friends. She's friends with Emily, but it's just . . . complicated."

Lisbeth came up behind her and squeezed Claire's shoul der. "I'd love to tell you that it gets less complicated as you get older"—she wrinkled her nose—"but it really doesn't. Whatever happens, though, however it works out, I'm always on your side."

Downstairs, the front door banged open.

"Claire? Helloooo! We're here!" Emily's voice climbed the stairs ahead of her. She came into the room, even more loaded down with bags and boxes than Lisbeth had been. Amy trundled in behind her, half-hidden behind an enormous garment bag. Emily dropped her stuff and practically fluttered over to Claire.

"I'm so excited—can you believe it's finally to
day
and we're actually going to a dance together? I could barely sleep last night. Oooh—is that the eyeshadow you're wearing? I love it!"

Lisbeth laughed, shaking her head at Emily's usual no-onegets-a-word-in-edgewise entrance. Still, Emily's excitement was contagious, and Claire felt her own anticipation rising.

"Hi, Claire," Amy said. There was a sort of thrilled hesitation in her voice, like she was reaching for something hot— like she was afraid she might get burned. "Thanks for having us over to get ready."

"No problem," Claire said, toying with her mascara. "We'd better get started, though, or we'll still be half-done when the guys get here."

"Amen," said Lisbeth, swooping over to Emily with a handful of rhinestone-studded hairpins.

After nearly an hour, Lisbeth escaped downstairs, claiming she'd earned a tea break, though Claire could tell that she was just trying to give the three of them a little time alone.

"So, is everything ready for the party?" Claire asked Emily.

A pleased and proud look swept across Emily's face. Claire felt herself shrivel just a little bit. Even if she managed to get Emily to believe her fictional illness, she would still be missing the most wild and exciting thing Emily had ever done. No matter how amazing the naming ended up being, it was going to cost Claire to be there. It was going to take something from her human life.

"Oh, it's ready all right. The breakables and valuables are stashed in the back of my mom's closet, the kitchen's full of plastic cups, and the freezer is full of ice." She dropped her voice. "I got a couple of the football players to agree to bring the keg—I mean, I am woman, hear me roar and all that, but those things are freaking
heavy."

Amy laughed, her tumble of blond curls shaking around her shoulders. She'd asked Lisbeth to keep her hair down, and it looked gorgeous—Lisbeth hadn't done much more than smooth her curls and put some shiny stuff on the ends. But it was still amazing. Jealousy dropped a mean-eyed veil over Claire as she stared at the gleaming ringlets.

"Well," she said, wrenching her attention back to Emily, "I'm sure it's going to be amazing."

"It better, because if—" Emily raised a warning finger, and in the process she bumped her makeup bag on Claire's nightstand, sending tubes and brushes everywhere. "Oh, damn!" She scooped up the ones that were still on the nightstand and then disappeared, rustling the bedskirt as she dug around for whatever might have rolled under the bed.

"Hey, Claire, did you get a dog that you haven't told me about?" Emily's voice was muffled.

Terror shot through Claire, making her cold to the tips of her fingers. She'd been so careful—what had she forgotten? Amy looked up, an interested expression glowing in her eyes.

"Nope—why?" Claire kept her voice as calm as she could, but there was a tiny tremor in it that she couldn't quite hide. Thoughts whisked through her as quickly as clouds tearing across a stormy sky. How bad was it going to be? Could she fix it? But the one thought that wouldn't go away was the idea— the knowledge—that Emily was standing at the edge of a lifeor-death cliff, and Claire was the one who'd led her there.

The guilt was grinding. Crushing. Claire's lungs burned in her chest.

"Well, this was under your bed." Emily emerged from underneath the bedskirt, a tube of concealer in one hand and a tuft of shadowy-gray wolf hair in the other.

Immediately, Claire remembered the night she'd transformed in her room—backed herself up to the bed, terrified by the boxed-in feeling. She'd probably been shedding like crazy, and though she thought she'd cleaned up any evidence she might have left, she hadn't bothered to vacuum under the bed.

"Oh, yeah. That's from Lisbeth and Mark's dog, probably. Didn't I tell you? They got a chow. They named it Karma, which I think is freaking ridiculous, but he's really cute. She brought him over one day. When mom was out, obviously."

The lies dripped from her lips without any effort—as easily as snow fluttering down from the sky. Of course, the moment the words had left her mouth, she realized the error she'd made. Lisbeth was
at the house.
If Emily asked about the stupid, non-existent dog that Claire had just created, she'd be in even hotter water than she already was. She held her breath. Prayed that Emily would buy it and then drop it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amy staring at her. Actually, it was more like Amy was trying to bore holes through Claire's head so that she could see what Claire was hiding inside it.
Shit.

Emily dropped the tuft of wolf fur, wrinkling her nose. "Ew. I hate chows. They're so mean!"

Claire searched for a new subject. Fast. Something safe, something nonsuspicious, something like . . .