Moon Called : Werewolf Academy (Book 1)

Chapter 3

Mom leaves me staring after her as she speeds off in her car, alone on a pavement dotted with old gum. I’m holding a duffel in each hand, stuffed with clothes, toiletries, and my most prized possessions. Which includes a photo album and a dolphin necklace my grandmother gave me before she died.

Disbelief and hurt twist together in my chest as I grapple with this painful new reality. I dig into the side pocket of my duffel bag, pulling out a pair of sunglasses, and slip them on to shield my eyes. Before leaving the house, I’d slapped on a thick layer of foundation and powder to conceal the worst of the veins crawling beneath my skin. No doubt, I look like some ghost making a feeble attempt to appear cool, but it’s better than letting anyone see the truth of what I’ve become.

A beast.

Fighting back tears, I twist around and start to walk.

The train station is dark and empty, except for an elderly man sitting by the ticket booth, reading a newspaper under a flashlight. The coffee and souvenir shop is still open. Since I haven’t had dinner yet, I head to the coffee shop for some food.

I order a hot dog and pick out a soda before sitting down on the closest bench outside the shop. I’m safer here, beneath the lights and the employees’ wandering gazes. Believe it or not, Mom gave me some money for food and enough to catch a train. I’m certain she did that to ensure I’ll be able to get as far from her as possible without any hiccups, though.

Now, I’ll have to figure out how to take care of myself. On the ride over, I pushed my luck and asked Mom if she could call the werewolf place. That is, if we could find out what it’s called, to ask them what I’m supposed to do next.

She yelled at me and told me I could contact them from a payphone.

I wonder if their number is even listed.

I sigh, unwrapping my hot dog and taking a bite. A shadow falls over the pavement, and when I glance over my shoulder, it’s one of the employees at the souvenir shop shutting the doors. An uneasy sensation stirs in the pit of my stomach. Soon, I’ll be alone, swallowed in complete darkness. Curious, I peer at the man by the ticket booth. Will he be here all night?

Is it safe to assume he isn’t capable of anything devious?

I finish my hot dog and drink, grab my things, and search for the nearest payphone. With a bit of luck on my side this time, a phone book is right beside the phone on a stand. My hands shake as I pick it up and flip it open. “You can do this, Hails,” I mumble under my breath.

For a fraction of a moment, I consider not reaching out. To take the money Mom gave me, stay at a cheap motel for a day or two, and try to find a stay-in job or something. What about going to a shelter? But then what? What am I going to do if I turn?

What if I end up killing someone and end up in jail? Or worse, executed? I’ve heard of that happening before.

I can’t find the place. I curse under my breath, questioning if the old man can help me until an idea hits me.

I pick up the phone book again and look up Luca’s number. It’s easy to find, as his family is the only Greene listed in the area. A woman, presumably his mom, answers with an upbeat, way-too-chirpy voice.

“Hi, um, can I speak to Luca? Please?” I inquire, hesitant.

Except for the pounding of my heart in my ears, the silence stretches. Then she says in a stiff tone, “A moment, please.”

I have no idea what warrants that response by asking for Luca, but okay. Whatever. I wait, listening in as a TV plays a toothpaste commercial in the background. There are also two people arguing before Luca’s voice comes on. “Hello, Hailstorm.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, not bothering to find out how he knows it’s me.

“Now, you wait.”

“What do you mean, wait? What if I turn into some horrid creature—which technically, I’m going to—and eat someone?” I rattle on in a raised voice.

There’s a sigh. “We don’t eat people, Hailstorm. If anything, of all the cultures and beings out there, we are the most peaceful. Our magic is in tune with nature. We can’t siphon it if we are dark.”

“Magic?” I query. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Magic. Did you really think you’re going to turn into some ungodly creature, eat people, and call it a day?” He snorts a laugh. “Doesn’t work like that. If it helps, this is a gift. So, don’t screw it up.”

“Gift? Are you insane?” I’m hysterical. “Why me, Luca? Why? My life was perfect before you screwed it up. Before your stupid curse took everything away from me!” Technically, my life sucks, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Because, Hailstorm, our gracious moon huntress told me to.”

Luca leaves me hanging with, “Someone will reach out to you. You don’t reach out to them. That is, if you’re lucky and they don’t just leave you to die.”

I scoff. If I’m lucky, huh? Nothing about my whole situation screams luck.

I kick an empty can as I round the corner where an old, run-down ‘Moel’ is situated, according to the flashing sign. The ‘t’ is broken out.

The desk clerk at the motel is a middle-aged woman squeezed into a too-tight leopard skirt and a pink crop top.

“Room four,” she says, chewing clamorously on her gum as she hands me the key. “Clean up your mess before you leave.”

She goes back to paging through her beauty magazine, ignoring me as I struggle to reopen the glass door.

“Thanks for the help,” I mutter under my breath when I finally manage to get out.

Room number four is a disaster. The bed is a tangle of rumpled sheets and pillows are strewn across the floor. A sour smell wafts through the air as greasy plates and half-eaten food cram the kitchen sink. The trash bin overflows with wrappers and empty cans. In the bathroom, the toilet sits unflushed, with a pungent odor stuck in the small space, and mildew creeping along the tile edges. It’s obvious the room hasn’t seen a cleaning in weeks.

After a frantic cleaning spree, I discover that the TV is broken. Left with nothing else to do, I sink onto the floor beside the bed, bury my face in my hands, and cry.

At some point, I lie down on the floor, curling into a fetal position, wishing I could go back to this morning. Maybe if I hadn’t gone to school, I wouldn’t be here right now.

If only I had some way of knowing, I’d still have a warm bed and a place to call home. Even if my parents aren’t exactly model examples, I would still have hope.

I acknowledge that my current situation is detrimental, but I can’t come up with a solution, no matter how hard I try.

I don’t stop crying until somewhere past midnight, when my eyelids become heavy and I drift off.