The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 7

  Howard’s backyard was nothing like the front. It was a green oasis. There was a covered patio complete with lounge chairs and a propane grill, flowerbeds filled with plants I didn’t recognize, and a square of grass the brightest green I’d ever seen. It should have been pleasant.

  But the propane reeked. The unusual plants made me want to sneeze. Birds sang too loud, and the palm trees rasped like crinkling paper. The television blared from the house next door. Down the street, two little boys squabbled over a toy airplane. In the next cul-de-sac, a sweating man trimmed bushes with a gas-powered hedge-cutter.

  “Have a seat,” Howard said. “I’ll just get this tea brewing.”

  I pursed my lips. I didn’t care for tea. But I didn’t feel like being alone either, so I sat on one of the lounge chairs and put my feet up.

  Howard started the grill and set a pot of water on the flames. He moved through the flowerbeds, plucking a leaf here, a blossom there. He hummed as he worked. A singsong melody. After a few moments, he laid everything on a table beside the grill. His voice rose as he crushed the flowers between his fingers and dropped them into the simmering water. He did the same to the leaves. Then he opened the mason jars and added a pinch of this and a pinch of that. His song ended with an abrupt motion of his hands. He extinguished the propane flame.

  A sweet aroma drifted to me. I breathed deeply. “Are you Seminole?”

  “Navajo, actually.” He smiled. “I’m a long way from the reservation.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  He stirred the pot. “I took a vacation, decided I liked the weather.”

  I laughed. “That’s not it.”

  “Part of it.” He sighed. “I fell in love with a beautiful Miccosukee woman. They suffered me to live with her for a time, but I wasn’t one of them, and the friction wore on our relationship.”

  “Why didn’t you go home?”

  “Sometimes you can’t. You know?” He shrugged, ladling tea into a mug. “Besides, I like knowing she’s nearby. We always return to our first loves.”

  He carried the mug to where I sat. I took it, sniffing. It smelled like a mountainside meadow.

  “It looks like blood,” I said.

  “There’s blood in it.” He nodded. “Powdered.”

  My stomach quailed. I reminded myself that I’d eaten blood soup once on a trip to Poland to visit my mother’s ancestral home. In my lifetime, I’d eaten many things out of the ordinary. This was no different.

  Blowing away the steam, I sipped from the mug. The taste of flowers hit first, but after I swallowed, the back of my tongue reported an earthy flavor, maybe mushroom. It didn’t taste like blood.

  “Good?” Howard asked.

  “Yes.” I took another sip. “What is it?”

  “A restorative.” He walked to the table and picked up the containers. “It has a calming effect. You might fall asleep.”

  Sleep would be nice, I thought, remembering I’d stayed up half the night before. I drank more tea. My shoulders relaxed. The cacophony around me faded into something less grating. Howard took his containers of powdered blood and mushrooms into the kitchen. I heard him clattering around. Then he came back out and sat next to me in one of the lounge chairs.

  “Still angry?” he asked.

  I smiled and drained my mug. “What is this stuff?”

  “Just herbal tea. We’ve given it to our children for generations.”

  “Uh-huh. What kind of blood do you put in your herbal tea?”

  “Snake.”

  I motioned around the yard. “Does everything here have medicinal properties?”

  “Not medicines as you expect. All plants are our brothers and sisters. They talk to us and if we listen, we can hear them. They want us to be well.” He stood. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  I was comfortable and didn’t want to get up. But before I knew it, we had pulled into the drive at my uncle’s house. I thanked Howard for the ride and waved from the porch. As he pulled away, a crushing loneliness overtook me. I did not want to go into an empty house.

  I sat on the porch swing. It creaked as it rocked. I thought about my lunch with Brittany and wondered if she would join me again tomorrow. I’d have to remember not to buy a sandwich. Thinking about the purple prints her lips left on her apple, I drifted to sleep.

  I awoke abruptly. The porch was shadowed, and the sky was orange. My stomach cramped as if wolf paws clawed to get out. My thoughts stuttered.

  Tonight was a full moon.

  I paced, wringing my hands. What would I do? I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I had to run, had to go deep into the woods and hope nobody saw me.

  With a desperate whine, I hopped the railing, crossed the side yard, and entered the treeline. Dry brush crunched beneath my feet. I smelled water nearby, heard the hum of traffic on the overpass at least a mile away.

  I strode through palms and pine, hoping to be far from civilization before the change took me. Dusk masked fallen branches and gullies, but even in the deepening gloom, I could see. I felt like my senses were merging, like sight and smell and hearing were all one.

  After a time, I looked behind. My uncle’s house was dark, distant through the tree trunks. I should’ve left on the porch light, let it be a beacon back to my humanity. As an afterthought, I stripped off my shirt and hung it on a branch as a marker. I figured I would smell it even from a distance. It would lead me home.

  Then I pulled off my jeans and shoes. I piled them at the base of the tree. The symbolism didn’t escape me—I was leaving behind much more than my clothes. Tears streamed down my face. I felt like I was at a funeral. The death of me.

  With my back straight and my jaw set, I walked into the woods.

  EIGHT

  I continued walking in my undershorts and socks, passing from deep woods to fields of scrub. I sloshed through marshland and fought serrated plants with leaves that cut like razor wire.

  Miles later, I came across a dirt road. I stared in disbelief. I’d tried so hard to get away, and here were signs of people again. My shoulders slumped, and I covered my face with my hands.

  “Oh, God,” I cried. “If you’ll let me be a normal kid again, I promise to do anything you say. I’ll even go to church. Just don’t make me turn into a wolf anymore.”

  My muscles cramped in answer. A thousand pinpricks swept my skin, and I imagined coarse hair popping out. I tried to stop it. I tried to stay human, but I had no control. Without looking, without needing my eyes at all, I sensed the moonrise.

  I bowed my head. “At least, don’t let me hurt anyone.”

  I left the road and burst through a line of trees into a starlit field. It was like a hidden courtyard with tall pines on all sides. About halfway across, the pain in my legs dropped me. I curled into a ball and managed to remove my shorts. My face ached as my muzzle elongated. I panted through my teeth, struggling to take off my socks.

  My toes felt like they were whacked with hammers. My feet contracted and shifted into paws. After that, the socks pulled off easily. They tasted good.

  That brought a pang of guilt. I wasn’t supposed to be a wolf. I had failed.

  Dropping the wet sock, I looked around. My vision was clear even in the shadows. It was as if moonlight made everything glow. A variety of scents thickened the air. I smelled dirt and grass, flowers and trees. Beneath those scents, I recognized that of animals. Rabbits were everywhere. Deer ran to the east. In the surrounding stagnant water, I smelled fish and frogs.

  Farther away, I smelled wolves. That surprised me. I didn’t know Florida had wolves. But there they were—a male and the stronger scent of a female. I pictured them frolicking in the moonlight. The female smelled enticing. I wanted to go to her, but I fought to keep my head. They were wolves. I was the amazing wolf boy. They’d probably rip me to shreds.

  I walked in the other direction. At first, my hind legs couldn’t keep up with my front, but after a while, I caught the rhythm of my stride. I left the privac
y of the courtyard and followed the dirt road, wondering where it led.

  A breeze tickled my ears, making them twitch. I listened for the approach of a car, but none came. The road was deserted. At one point, it widened and curved away from a cliff. Man-made, of course. There were no natural cliffs in the Everglades.

  Bored, I turned off and headed deeper into the woods. Since I mastered the technique of walking, I decided to practice trotting. I felt clumsy and stupid. This must be why puppies are always laughing at themselves. I wasn’t in much of a mood for laughing.

  I crossed a field and entered a thicket. The trees were old and gnarled. Twigs and rotten logs covered the ground. I’d gotten a distance inside when I caught a whiff of something I couldn’t identify. I mean, I recognized rabbits because I kept one as a pet when I was little. I knew deer because we had plenty of them in the hills back home. This scent was new.

  I stopped, lifting my nose. A rustle came from the branches above. I looked up.

  I was standing directly beneath a Florida panther. My fur stood on end. The cat leaned forward as if to pounce, gold eyes shining.

  A growl rumbled in my throat. I didn’t mean to do it. I’d rather keep quiet and tiptoe away. I growled again, louder this time, and even to me it sounded menacing. The panther settled back on its branch. Evidently, it wanted no part of a wolf.

  I gave a snort of acknowledgement, kind of a sneeze, and kept walking. My shoulders tensed, and I expected to be struck down by the weight of the beast, claws sinking into my back, fangs at my throat. I kept my gait unhurried, listening. The panther did not pursue.

  By the time I got out of the thicket, the whole thing seemed hilarious. Who did that cat think he was? Did he actually expect to beat a super-sized wolf? I was twice as big. I grinned, allowing my tongue to loll to the side.

  As I walked on, I passed a pungent, muck-filled gully. Mud sucked my paws. I danced and laughed with the sensation of moisture squishing through my pads.

  A new scent grabbed my interest. Rabbit. I leaped, and it hurdled forward, daring me to chase it. I zigzagged over a field, filled with the thrill of the run, the exhilaration of the hunt. The rabbit sped before me, silvered by moonlight, fear thrumming in its veins.

  I pounced and caught it. The small creature hung limp from my jaws, heartbeat like a drum roll, and I wanted so much to eat it. My prize. There was nothing like a fresh-caught rabbit dinner, as my uncle would say.

  Humans don’t eat this way, a voice whispered in the back of my head. Humans eat Big Macs and pizza with extra cheese. I recognized the words, but try as I may, I couldn’t remember what they meant.

  It didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry, and the fun was in the chase, anyway.

  I dropped the rabbit. It hit the ground running and took off through the grass. I watched it go, and then trotted into the trees.

  The moon was low when I found the shirt. It hung from a tree like a flag, wafting a familiar scent. With a bounding leap, I snagged it with my teeth and pulled it down. It was stiff with dried sweat, rich with complex odors. I rolled on it, squirming on my back.

  That was when the change hit. I yelped as every muscle in my body knotted and cramped. My skin felt on fire. I struggled to my feet, shaking myself, and felt a liquid sensation as my ears slid down the sides of my head.

  What was happening? Where was the moon? Panic swept me and I howled, howled with all my remaining strength. Dry heaves cut short my cry. Foam erupted from my mouth. My muzzle retracted. I fell to my knees, choking, gagging, certain I was about to die. Then my spine straightened and took the pressure off my throat.

  I gasped and groaned, then rolled onto my back. I remembered who I was. Even more, I remembered everything that happened throughout the night. I hadn’t killed, hadn’t hurt anything, human nor beast. I may be a monster, but I could control myself.

  I found my clothes, dressed, and stumbled to the house. I ached all over like I was getting the flu. The light of pre-dawn showed an empty driveway, so I went in through the front door. I tossed my clothes into my closet and hopped into the shower. Cuts covered my arms and legs, and they burned with the first touch of water.

  As I toweled off, I heard my uncle come in. I tugged on a fresh pair of jeans and hurried to the kitchen to greet him. “Morning.”

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Have a nice night?”

  “The best.” He grinned. “How about you?”

  “Nothing special.” I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed. I noticed the scratches on his neck were gone. He must be a quick healer. That reminded me. “I got into some trouble at school yesterday. Broke a guy’s nose.”

  “I heard. You’re kind of the talk of the town.”

  “Again?” I grimaced, remembering old Mrs. Binkley saying everyone knew I had moved to Loxahatchee.

  “Did you used to get into scuffles at your old school?”

  “I was usually on the receiving end. I mean, I’m not a wuss or anything. But I was into science and I got good grades, so that made me a target.”

  He nodded. “There’s always been a thing between jocks and nerds.”

  I sighed. Yeah, I was a nerd once upon a time. What was I now?

  “So you like science?” Uncle Bob asked.

  “I like puzzles. Like to piece things together. Science is the ultimate mystery. If you can figure it out, you can know everything.”

  “That’s some goal, knowing everything.” He motioned. “Looks like you got a five o’clock shadow.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “A beard.”

  I ran my hand over my face and felt stubble. Honest to God stubble. I had a beard. I bit back a whoop.

  How could I explain this?

  But my uncle didn’t seem to think my sudden hairiness strange. He turned to the sink, making his coffee. “There are some disposable razors in the medicine cabinet if you’re interested.”

  “All right.”

  I returned to the bathroom grinning, staring at myself in the mirror. I had a beard. This was one side effect of being a werewolf I could get used to.

  I knew how to shave. I’d been shaving once a month since I was fourteen, although I never really had to before. I finished the job with only one nick on my chin.

  Uncle Bob knocked on the bathroom door. “Get a move on. It’s time to leave.”

  I went to school in high spirits, in spite of not having slept nor eaten. In the hallways, kids still moved out of my way, but I found it funny. The talk of the town, that’s me.

  Brittany glanced my way during World History, but made no move to switch seats. I understood. I was still the new kid. I felt lucky she acknowledged me at all.

  By lunchtime, I was ravenous. I got into the food line. The room echoed with voices. The lunch patrol broke up cliques of kids. Then someone sat at my table in the back.

  It was Brittany.

  My heart skipped, and my mind halted. What should I eat? I had to find something she would approve of. With my eyes on her, I pulled items off the ledge at random, loading my tray. I bumped into the person in front of me, trying to get them to hurry.

  When the cashier told me I owed ten dollars, I paid without looking. Part of me warned that I had just spent my food allowance for the next week.

  Brittany smiled and patted the table in front of her, inviting me to sit. The room seemed suddenly quiet. I felt lightheaded, my stomach leaping like we were having a secret rendezvous instead of lunch in a crowded cafeteria.

  “Hi,” I breathed as I slid in across from her.

  She looked at my tray. “Hungry?”

  I looked down. I’d bought pizza, French fries, a ham and cheese on rye, and an apple. And Jell-O. Three servings of Jell-O. I felt my face color. “You can have some, if you want.”

  She snagged a fry. “Yuck. Tastes like cardboard.” She took another.

  Smiling, I took a bite of pizza. “I didn’t get breakfast this morning.”

  “I never have breakfast. I�
�m too busy getting Butt Crack off to school.”

  “Who?”

  “My little brother.”

  “Oh,” I said around mouthfuls. “What’s his name?”

  “Butt Crack.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  She looked at me. “Butt. Crack.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s such a pest. You know how brothers are.”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “Lucky you,” she said. “I have an older brother. He works as a graphic artist in Jacksonville. That’s what I want to be. My sister is married and has a two-year-old daughter. She named her Miley. Do you believe it?”

  “I thought that name was copyrighted.”

  She opened her yogurt. “I think everyone should have their own name. Like the Indians used to do.”

  “Oh, like Fat Goose in Tree.”

  She laughed. “I’m so glad you understand.”

  Her laugh was like the tinkling of a fairy. I could listen to it all day. She watched me for a moment, making me wonder what kind of dumb expression I had on my face.

  “You’re pretty smart in World History,” she said.

  “It’s just a matter of memorizing dates.”

  “Yeah, but Napoleon? Give me a break.”

  I shrugged.

  “I had a really cool teacher in American History last year,” Brittany said. “She taught us about the Salem Witch Hunt and voodoo and things.”

  “Do you practice voodoo?”

  “No.” She smiled, drawing out the word. “What’s really interesting is what they do with bits of hair and fingernails. That’s DNA. Only they hadn’t discovered DNA in those days, so how did they know to use it?”

  “Well, I—”

  “One word.” She leaned forward. “Aliens. We were obviously seeded here by creatures from another world. Or at the very least, we were visited by them.”

  “Right,” I said trying to follow the conversation.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “On the contrary,” I said. “I’ve watched enough Doctor Who to know anything is plausible if you say it with enough conviction.”