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Charlie stomped out of Briar’s house, the crumpled notice clutched in his hand. He didn’t have to look at the sheet of paper to know what it said. There was his name, right beside the Briggs boys and June Powell and that asshole Butch Murphy. His temper was like a firestorm inside him, egged on by the residual heat of desire. 

The day was still bright and sunny as Charlie stalked across the lawn to his front walk, but his mood was black. Briar had to have told someone. No one else knew about him. She had lied to him, right to his face, and he had believed her. 

And then he had made the epic mistake of touching her. She had been generous and passionate in his arms, but it had all been a farce. Briar the Liar, he thought, giving his mother’s prize rose bush a thwack with his cane as he went by. He shouldn’t have expected any different. 

He banged through his front door and was brought up short by the sight of the mountain lion in his entryway. He and Rick and his father had shot her during the summer he was twelve after a long and merry hunt. Adolphus Schmidt, who had done the taxidermy, had styled her with her lips drawn back in a growl to show off her sharp teeth. 

That wasn’t how she had died; she’d been cowering into a rock face, no longer able to escape the pack of dogs that had stalked her through the woods. She hadn’t been doing anything wrong, just hunting in the woods that were her home. She just wanted to be free. 

What would they do to him, if they knew? Would they hunt him down the same way? 

The edges of the crumpled notice in his hand felt sharp and dangerous.

Charlie turned to go to his room when his mother came rushing out of the kitchen. He had a moment to wonder why she was home at this time of day before he saw the tears in her eyes and knew—she must have seen the notice as well. 

Without stopping to speak, she rushed up to him and threw her arms around him. “Oh, my baby. My baby. We’ll get through this together,” she sobbed into his chest.

Charlie could count on one hand the times he had seen his mother crying. Even after his accident, she never showed him any pity—it was all smiles and encouragement and, when those failed, stern determination. Charlie’s heart sank. If this was how she felt about the possibility of him having powers, how would she feel when she knew the truth? 

He felt a new surge of anger at Briar. If she hadn’t told someone; if she had kept his secret, like she promised, then he wouldn’t be holding his weeping mother in his arms. 

“Mindy, come on now,” said his father’s voice. Charlie looked up and saw that his father was standing in the doorway to the dining room. Behind him, Uncle Rick sat at the table, scrutinizing another copy of the notice. “Let the boy breathe. Why don’t we talk about this before we panic.”

Charlie was already panicking. He couldn’t tell them the truth. They would be horrified. But would that mean he had to give up transforming into a mountain lion? The idea of spending the rest of his life trapped in his prison of a body when he knew that all he had to do was shift and he could have all the freedom and excitement of being an animal … the thought had his stomach twisting in knots. 

He wanted nothing more at the moment than to escape. But his mother, who still had tears streaming down her face, was drawing him into the dining room and forcing him to sit. She couldn’t seem to settle down, though—she paced the length of the room, wringing her hands. 

Charlie’s father sat next to him, his face serious. “Son, I take it you saw this notice.”

Charlie held up the crumpled notice in his hand. His father nodded, seemingly at a loss for where to begin. 

“It’s a violation of your fundamental rights!” Uncle Rick burst out, thumping the table with his fist. “Telling American citizens that they have to obey some cockamamie government bull.”

“Now, Rick,” Charlie’s father began, but Rick took no heed. 

“Look at this, look,” he said, pointing at the text at the top of the notice. “‘All the persons listed below are requested to report to the medical offices of Dr. Henry Porter to submit blood samples.’ Blood samples? Why? And what gives them the right to demand it? I swear, these government types are ruining America. Ever since the war, it’s nothing but busybodies telling free men how to live. Well, I say screw ‘em, Charlie, screw ‘em.”

“Oh, I think that’s a little unreasonable,” said Jimmy, Charlie’s father. “We should find out what they want the samples for first.”

“We know what they want the samples for,” Mindy said, worry shaking in her voice. “What else could it be? They are trying to find out what’s going on in this town.”

“By taking our blood? That’s not right.”

“Dr. Pinkerton took Charlie’s blood once a week all summer,” Jimmy pointed out. 

“So, okay. The army’s got Pinkerton’s records, right? Why do they need to do more testing?”

“Maybe to look for something specific?” Jimmy suggested. “Or they need fresh samples. It doesn’t matter anyway. Charlie’s not like the rest of those people. He doesn’t have a power.” 

His mother was watching him. “Is that right, Charlie?”

Charlie looked from his mother’s tear-stained eyes to his father’s tight face.

They had never said so, but Charlie knew that his injury had been a terrible disappointment to his parents. They had worked so hard over the years, scraping to make ends meet so he could afford uniforms and equipment for the baseball team. Then they’d nursed him back to health after his accident. He could see they were afraid of the possibility he might have a power. The last thing he wanted was to cause them any more heartache. 

He thought about Will, who wished he could take back the pain he had caused his parents. And Norine, who looked down on people with powers. Lucy, who wished more than anything she could go back to being normal. 

“No,” he said finally. “I’m just the same as ever. ”

As one, his father and uncle exhaled in relief. 

“Well, that’s good,” Rick said, leaning back. “Take it from me, Charlie. When the army comes sniffing around, it’s best to just keep your head down.”

“We’re lucky they got here when they did,” Jimmy argued. “That rockslide was much more serious than we could handle.”

“More serious than you could handle, maybe. But I’m a mountain man, I’m used to taking care of my own.”

“Oh, Rick, don’t get all puffed up. You just don’t trust the army,” Jimmy said.

“Damn right, I don’t,” he said. “Don’t you remember how they treated the miners when we went on strike?”

Charlie remembered that Rick had taken part in a strike during the 1930s. The army had been sent in to break up the strike, and Rick had been arrested because he was one of the organizers.

Rick continued. “And now all those guys—guys like me—who were members of the Communist Party twenty years ago are being accused of being Soviet spies. Why should I trust the army? They’ve never done right by me.”

“You’d be speaking German right now if it weren’t for the United States military,” Jimmy said. “Don’t you appreciate that at all?”

“Sure I do. I fought the Jerries, same as you did. But that was different. This Sen. McCarthy’s waging war on his own people.”

Jimmy threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “This isn’t about Communists, Rick! If it weren’t for the army, these kids might have died a few months ago after they inhaled that fog. Dr. Pinkerton couldn’t do anything to help them. We thought we were going to lose them.” 

His voice broke slightly as he said it, and Charlie felt guilty again for causing his parents so much worry. Being in the hospital after the Firelight Festival had brought up bad memories for him, but he hadn’t considered what his parents must have suffered to see him in a hospital bed again.

Rick refused to be moved. “Well, I say you should refuse to be tested,” he said to Charlie with a satisfied nod. “It’s your right.” 

“What could it hurt?” Mindy argued. “If Charlie is normal, then we have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, that settles it,” said his father. “We’ll go into the clinic tomorrow and get you all checked out.”

“I think I’ll go now,” Charlie heard himself say. He couldn’t stand to be around them any longer. “Best to get it out of the way, you know.”

Charlie’s father clapped him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, son. Show them you aren’t afraid of what they’ll find.”

“I’ll go with you,” his mother said, already on her feet.

“No.” He couldn’t put her through that again, having to see him poked and prodded by yet another doctor. Besides, if she was with him at the clinic, she might see or hear something he couldn’t explain away. “I can handle it. Besides, they’ll probably take one look at my leg and conclude I’m not worth the trouble.”

His mother bit her lip, as if holding back her argument. Instead, she gave Charlie a long hug. 

“Fine then, I’ll start dinner without you,” she said as she pulled away. 

She fixed him with another long look so intense he nearly squirmed. 

Finally, she smiled. “But don’t think you’re going to get out of doing the dishes.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Charlie

When Charlie got to the clinic, he found Dr. Porter out front. Charlie liked the young doctor. He had always been even-tempered, no matter how much Charlie griped about his treatment. So it was a surprise to find him pacing the sidewalk in a towering temper.

Glad to find someone as irritable as he was, Charlie called out, “Evening, Doc.” 

Dr. Porter looked up, running a hand over his neat, dark hair. “They kicked me out of my own clinic,” he said without preamble. “They’re using my equipment, and my office, and my data, but do they want me to be there? Of course not.”

“Who’s they?”

“The team from the army. Some guy who looks like he could crack coconuts on his head. Bunch of baby-faced soldiers taking over my equipment as if it belongs to them.”

Charlie pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Dr. Porter was proving to be just as capable of curmudgeonly rants as his late grandfather. “Doc, what can I expect from these tests?”

“I don’t know,” said Dr. Porter, who threw up his hands and started pacing again. “They’ve cut me out of the whole process. I would have cooperated with them willingly. I would love to corroborate my grandfather’s findings.” 

“What findings?” Charlie asked sharply.

“About the BBC. Blue Blood Cell. Sorry,” he said, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. “I’m ranting. I’m frazzled. Ruth is in there getting tested right now.”

Charlie shifted, putting a little more weight on his cane. “I don’t see any flames coming out of the windows, so we’re probably okay.”

Dr. Porter snorted out a laugh, then shook his head. “Oh, I’m sure she’s giving them a fine demonstration. Do you know what she told me? She said she doesn’t care what kind of tests they run on her, or what everyone says about her. She says her power is a gift.” The doctor’s eyes took on a dreamy look, and his grimace was replaced with a small smile.

Charlie got the uncomfortable feeling the doctor was remembering something about Ruth that was better left unsaid. He cleared his throat. “What were you saying about the blood cells?”

Dr. Porter’s brows drew together. “Yes. Well, it’s preliminary at best. My grandfather didn’t share this part of his research with me. He administered regular tests all summer, and his findings were … surprising. It seems that your illness after the Firelight Festival left you with an extra blood cell.”

“A … what?”

“An extra type of cell, I should say. And there’s another factor. You all have O-negative blood. It’s a rare type in the general population, but Mamie and several of her sisters were O-negative and most of the people in this town have at least a little Watkins blood.”

“But not everyone with O-negative blood got sick, right? My mom is O-negative too.”

“No, there’s a definite age range, and I don’t know why. And, why do some people with the affected blood type manifest powers, while others do not?” 

Dr. Porter’s eyes had gone dreamy again, but this time it was apparently caused by science rather than lust. “It can’t be environmental, because we’re all drinking the same water and eating crops grown in the same soil. You haven’t experienced anything odd? Oh, I don’t know, strange sensations or urges?”

“No,” Charlie said quickly.

“During our last appointment, I noticed an improvement in your muscle tone.”

“I’ve been doing the exercises you gave me,” Charlie lied. “They’re really helping.”

“Good, good. Have you been seeing any change in your scar tissue?”

Charlie thought about the way his ruined leg stretched and twisted to form a healthy paw when he transformed. “Some,” he mumbled, then changed the subject. “So that’s why my name was on that list in town? Because I have O-negative blood?”

“Well, I’m not certain, but I would imagine they used the list of people who were sick after the festival. After all, the army was here then too.”

Charlie started. He’d been too ill after the Firelight Festival to take notice of who surrounded him. “So this list—this is the list of everyone who was sick? That the army helped care for right after the fog?”

Dr. Porter looked it over. “Yes, that’s everyone,” he said. Then his eye flicked over Charlie’s shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking two long strides and pulling Ruth into his arms.

“I’m fine,” she said, burrowing into his arms. “Better than fine. Although … you weren’t attached to the curtains in the back office, were you?”

“Curtains? What did they make you do?”

“Oh, not much,” she said, smoothing her hands down his chest. “They wanted to see if I can shoot sparks and make fire at the same time. Turns out I can! But some of the sparks got away from me. Besides, I didn’t like those curtains anyway, they were too heavy for the room. I’ll make you some new ones.”

“Let’s get you home,” Dr. Porter said. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

She gave him a slow, secret smile that was hot enough to make Charlie blush. “Now that you mention it, I could probably lay down for a while.”