Now of the Wolf

Now of the Wolf

A novel by Christopher Scott Wagoner

Chapter 1

Wet hair dripping beads of water down my back to the floor, I stand before the bathroom mirror. My hand wipes a swath of steam from the slick surface, revealing my mist framed reflection. Janelle tells me I'm pretty, but I don't believe her. My eyes disturb people. Fritz says they're cool, that he wishes he had yellow eyes. What a stupid thing to want, eyes like mine; sunlight blinds me. Even with the curtains drawn tight, the rays of light bleeding past the bottom edge sear them.

"Sylvie?" calls a feminine voice from the other side of my hotel room door.

My ears prick at the sound of Janelle calling my name, a name I have not had cause to use for nearly ten years. Knuckles rap on the cheap, thin wood.

"What?" I bark at high volume.

"S'il vous plaît, we have little time." The floor creaks under her shifting feet, he accented voice heavy with worry. "Are you done?"

"Almost," I say after ten long seconds. The words struggle back from memory, but it gets easier to recall all the time.

I stare at the mirror again and sigh. Sighing. Something a wolf would never do. A wolf would dip its head and curve its spine, pointing its tail to the ground. But humans sigh, and I'm human—more or less. Without joy I pick up the eyeliner and apply it like Janelle taught me. The first time I tried it got in my eyes and made them tear up, but Janelle made me keep trying until I got it right. The blush comes next. I apply it with a soft brush, the bristles sweeping along my skin like the fluttering of a butterfly's wing. Janelle says blush makes you pretty. It makes my face feel dirty. Once I add a bit of lipstick, one might not even notice my pronounced jaw muscles and ivory white, sharp teeth. Since putting make up on my body would be impractical, I've covered almost every inch of it. You can't see my lean, muscled form beneath the hooded sweatshirt and black jeans. My hands are still the long, bony, taloned things they have ever been, though, and they seem ghastly jutting out from my sleeves.

"Sylvie?" The knock comes again, more insistent. Growling, I reach for the knob and fling the door open.

I blink in the brighter light. Wade has thrown the curtains of our suite wide open, to help him as he reconstructs the massive pile of shredded paper on the floor. He's not much to look at, with his thick eyeglasses and thin build, but he's a trained soldier. Appealing light brown hair curls about his head like a fuzzy blanket. I grin at the memory of how he'd reacted when I tried to run my hands through it. Janelle had to take me aside and explain that it's just not appropriate to touch people without their permission. This was hard to swallow, because wolves touch each other all the time; Nips, snuffles, even running with the wind side by side, like humans hold hands. I turn my gaze from Wade before he notices me. I make him uncomfortable. The way he sweats, pants, and licks his lips around me led me to believe he had different intentions at first.

Not the first time I've made a mistake since coming out of the woods.

Nearby, Wade's friend Fritz stirs something in a bowl. My nose tells me it's pancake batter. Fritz. The Alpha, the leader of our pack, though he'd never say so himself. He's thicker than Wade, quick with a smile and quicker with the knife he always keeps sheathed at the small of his back. His mostly bare scalp bears a strip down the center, something called a mohawk. According to Wade, mohawks are dead, but I can't fathom how hair can be dead when it never lived in the first place. I watch the corded muscles knot and twist in his arms as he stirs the batter.

"Your first batch got cold, so I'm making you some new ones." He indicates the counter that borders our suite's kitchenette. A plate of pancakes sits there, along with a dozen links of sausage and a glass of milk. My nose wrinkles at the smell of the burned meat on the table.

"You cooked it." I sit down and pick at one of the sausage links, lips curling back from my sharp teeth.

"Sylvie," Janelle says as she comes up behind me "we've talked about this. Human girls eat cooked food."

She puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes gently. I turn to face her, my sour expression making her laugh for some reason. Janelle stands taller than I, with thick, wavy black hair that shimmers if the light catches it right. The soft curves and pretty face make me feel ugly. Her lips are thick and full where mine are thin, and her eyes are a normal, but beautiful, shade of green. Even her voice sounds nicer than mine, though she speaks with a funny accent Fritz calls French. It's no wonder he prefers her to me.

"I can go down to the Bordello's in town and get her some raw venison," Fritz says.

Janelle rolls her eyes and sighs while her fingers continue to caress my shoulders.

"You're not helping, Fitzgerald," she says.

"Sorry." Fritz drizzles the batter onto the skillet with a steaming hiss. I try one of the greasy sausages and force it down. It's soft and spongy, like most cooked meat. I prefer ripping my meals right off the bone, warm blood splashing down my throat while my pack brothers and sisters snarl and bicker over the scraps. I did not lead the pack—one must be able to mate to be an Alpha—but I was never challenged for my portion of the kill.

My stomach gurgles loudly as Fritz places a stack of steaming pancakes piled four high before me. They're not meat, but pancakes are something humans—we—eat that I actually like. Especially with butter and syrup drowning the sweet bread until it's a swampy mess.

"Sylvie, dear," Janelle says, sitting beside me "you can't just live on pancakes."

"Why not?" I say between sticky bites.

"Well," Janelle says, biting her lower lip while she thinks. "They lack the proper nutrition."

I snort, and go back to my food. Snorting. Something both wolves and people do when they're annoyed. I'm still having trouble with words like nutrition. Supposedly nutrition means some food is better than others, but I already know that. You don't eat meat that's been dead too long, or drink filthy, brackish water. Sometimes I think Janelle keeps making things up just to confuse me, to make sure that she remains the Alpha female. Then I'm no threat to her.

I hear Wade cursing from the living room, using some of the cruder words that I find it easiest to remember. When I say them, Janelle sighs and tells me a young lady should speak better, but when Wade and Fritz say them I guess it's okay. Maybe because they're men? Something about that really rankles me, and I don't know exactly why. Or perhaps it's because they're older. I'm seventeen now, or so I'm told since I don't even remember my birthday, and it seems that when you're seventeen you aren't allowed to do a whole lot.

Wade tosses down a wad of paper in disgust and stomps into the kitchen. Fritz offers him a glass of juice which he snatches and drains in seconds, an orange droplet running down his chin.

"Tough going, buddy?" Fritz says with a grin.

"It's impossible, if that's what you're asking!" Wade sits on the other side of Janelle. "I don't even know if those files have anything useful to begin with. It could be a huge waste of time!"

"But we have to try, non?" Janelle twists in her chair to stare at the waist-high tangled mess of paper. "The Bildeburgs had been using that office for over a decade. If there were nothing to hide, why shred it all?"

I scrunch up my face at the mention of the Bills.

"If the Bildeburgs are so bad," I say around a mouthful "why don't the police just go and arrest them? That's what police do, right? Arrest bad guys?"

Fritz laughs, while Wade and Janelle exchange glances that seem a bit pitying.

"It's not that simple, Sylvie," Wade says. "You see, a lot of the people in charge of the police are in the Bildeburg group."

"They have a lot of political clout," Janelle says, drawing my crimson gaze to her. She taps her finger on the counter for a moment before going on. "That means they have a lot of power."

I sneer.

"I know what politics are. Fritz told me all about them."

"Oh, did he now?" Janelle swallows, gives Fritz a dark look, and then smiles at me. "What did he say about politics, sweetie?"

I take a deep breath.

"He says that politicians like the President and Congress are a bunch of idiots who spend all their time on their knees before lobbyists su-"

"Fritz!"

He winces as Janelle scowls at him. Spreading his hands wide, he shrugs.

"I just call it like I see it," he says with a small grin.

"Why do I even bother?" she says, sighing.

Janelle examines the clock on the wall. All three of them have been complaining about how they had to get rid of their 'cells.' Apparently a cell is something like the phone on the nightstand, but better. They had to get rid of the cells, because somehow the Bills can figure out where you are if you have one. Her hand goes before her mouth and she stands up with a start.

"Sacre Merde! It's ten minutes till nine! Sylvie is going to be late for school."

Wade puts down his fork and looks at her as if she's not too smart.

"This isn't going to work, you know." His blue eyes dart to mine for a moment. "She'll never be able to fit in."

"Encouraging, much?" Fritz says, his nostrils flaring so widely his mustache is wriggling. He's speaking sarcastically, which he does a lot. I decide Fritz is trying to stand up for me.

That's something else I can't get used to. Wolves stand up for the whole pack, not for individual members. Fritz treats me like he's shown me throat, like I'm the Alpha instead of him. Janelle calls it being nice, and I have dim memories of singing songs about being a nice person in the orphanage. There are other memories too, of how we should all be thankful to a half naked man hanging on a letter T. I asked a nun once why he didn't just get off of it, and she said he was nailed to it. I wanted to know why if he was all-powerful he just let it happen, but the answer she gave didn't make any sense. Something about how he'd died for my sins.

I'm not sure what my sins are, but I don't think they've caused me any problems yet.

I'm drawn back to the now by the argument. These three fight with their words. A lot.

"Don't you understand what's going to happen?" Wade asks, nose twitching. "The other kids will call her a retard the first time she acts funny."

"That," Janelle says with a hiss, eyes slitted and full of danger "is NOT a nice word, and hardly one I wish Sylvie to learn or use."

"I'm more worried about the boys," Fritz says, a toothy smile spread wide beneath his mustache. "She'll have to fight them off with a stick."

"Why would I need a stick?" I ask, mouth twisting into a frown. "I have teeth and claws, and you've been showing me Bruise Lee moves."

All three of them stop talking and stare sheepishly in my direction. I think they forgot I was standing there, listening.

"See what I mean?" Wade says, dropping his hands into his lap. "She's going to get picked on."

"The boys aren't going to attack you, Sylvie dear," Janelle says, pursing her lips and fixing me with a warm gaze. "It's just a figure of speech, like 'raining cats and dogs.'"

I nod, mind going back to the time I'd heard her say that phrase.

"This is the only shot we have, Wade," Fritz says, slapping his friend on the shoulder. "I know you're just worried that Sylvie will have a rough go of things, but you need to chill!"

I snort, nostrils flaring as I regard Wade. He's more worried about himself than me, I'm sure of it.

Wade sighs and shakes his head. His nose wrinkles and he gestures at me.

"Weren't you going to do something about the way her hands look?" he asks.

"Of course," she replies.

Janelle slips metal rings and fingerless gloves on my hands to try and conceal their strange appearance. Each of my fingers has an extra joint, but I think it's the nails that makes her uneasy. When they first found me in the woods, Janelle thought my nails were just ragged and long with neglect. She went through two pair of clippers and one pair of scissors before using a metal file to get them as short as they are now. They're still long and pointy, but they look even at least.

""Viola," Janelle says, displaying my hands for Fritz and Wade.

"Not bad," Fritz says.

"What about her claws?" Wade sniffs, shaking his head. He does that a lot where I'm concerned.

"Oh ye of little faith," Janelle says, producing a vial of red glossy liquid.

"I hate that stuff," I say.

Janelle cocks an eyebrow, smiling gently.

"It stinks," I say.

"Oui," she says "polish does not smell very good, but it's a necessary evil."

"Necessary evil?" I try the words out on my tongue. My speech has grown a lot better. I can remember many of the words I used to know, and have even learned new ones. "Isn't evil the same as bad? Do you really need to be bad, sometimes?"

"Uh," Janelle scans the faces of our companions, maybe hoping they'll be able to provide me with an explanation. Wade's shoulders slump and he turns to stare into his coffee. Fritz scratches the back of his head and stares out the window. Janelle sighs. "We are running late anyway."

"But you never answered my question," I say, not moving.

"I need to think about it, Sylvie dear. Just get your backpack, please, so we may be on our way."

"What about her nails?" Fritz always calls my claws nails. I think he's trying to make me think more like a human.

"She can paint them on the way. I showed her how."

My ringed hand snatches up the backpack. It's made of a clear mesh, as per the school rules, so you can see the notebooks, folders, pens and pencils. With a start I turn toward Janelle, panic rising in my voice.

"Where's my lunch? You didn't give me anything to eat!"

"I have something better." Janelle pushes me out the door, though I'm certain she's not strong enough to move me unless I let her. Wade and Fritz together couldn't move me. We approach Janelle's car, a shiny, smooth red contoured thing. I can't resist running my hand along the glossy surface, watching a distorted reflection of a girl with yellow eyes staring back at me. Janelle tsks, showing her disapproval the way humans do.

Wolves are much less subtle.

"Don't scratch the paint, Sylvie dear," she says.

"I won't," I say.

Once I am inside and have buckled my seat belt, I stare hard at Janelle. Sometimes she doesn't really listen to me, even though she's supposed to. I want to make sure this isn't one of those times.

"I don't have a lunch yet."

"Oh." Janelle digs in her elegant little black purse. "Honestly, you're so much like a boy sometimes. Always thinking about your stomach."

"I don't like being hungry." When I was with the pack, I took so much of our kills that I was nearly driven away. If I had been an actual wolf, I may have been able to claim the Alpha rank. It wouldn't work, though, as Alphas have to breed and even when I lifted my tail to my pack brothers all they did was sniff and bustle off.

My mind snaps back to now when Janelle finds what she's been looking for and hands it to me. I've really become more human, after all, with the way my mind drifts forward and back in time.

"What's this?" I stare at the tiny plastic card in my clawed hands. It has writing on it, and my picture. Reading has come back to me bit by bit. I remembered how to speak much better than I can remember the little blots on a page that represent sounds and things. I take my time, and I can sense Janelle's amusement as my lips move. It's a habit I can't seem to break. The card has the school name written in large maroon letters across the top. Riverforks Township High School. Under, in smaller letters, it says Cafeteria Meal Card. I don't think I'm supposed to eat this, especially after I take a long whiff and run my tongue along its edge.

"I can't eat this."

Janelle laughs, and I feel my face stretch into something Fritz calls a scowl. I know she's my friend, but does she have to laugh so hard every time I mess something up?

"I'm sorry, Sylvie," she says, noticing my sour mood. "This card is not your lunch, you use it to pay for your lunch."

I squint down at the card, ignoring Janelle as she implores me to put on my nail polish. As we travel on the narrow mountain road, I consider what she said. Paying I'm familiar with. In the woods, you earn your food by the swiftness of your feet and the strength of your jaws. Humans use little slips of paper and plastic, so they don't have to run down their dinner. They just go into a restaurant or grocery store and get it, simple as that. Apparently, money doesn't grow on trees, as Wade says, but when I ask Janelle how I can get some she smiles and pats my head and remarks on how innocent I am.

When we're less than five minutes away from school I consent to put on my nail polish. I try to breathe through my mouth so I don't have to smell it, but I can still taste it on my tongue. My nose is more sensitive than normal people's, I get that, but you'd think it would bother Janelle a little more than it does. It's an awkward feeling, holding your hands out with your fingers spread while the glossy paint dries. Janelle implores me not to get it on her upholstery.

We finally descend from the high hills and come upon the town of Riverforks. Fritz calls it a bump in the road, but it's far bigger than a bump. I read the sign as we pass. Numbers are easier than words for me. Population 2300. I guess there must be much bigger towns than this one. I think I can remember being in one, with buildings that towered over the tallest tree.

I shake my head. I don't like to think about things that happened before. Especially before I went to the woods and joined the pack, when I had to live in a smelly brick building stuffed with children nobody wanted.

"Janelle," I say, pulling her out of whatever before or later she was lost in. Her eyes meet mine, which in wolves could be a challenge, but humans look each other in the eye when they talk. It's part of being a good listener, something else I'm not very good at even though my ears work really well. "You said my father was in the Bildeburg group. What's he like?"

Janelle's eyes seem far away, and I smell the stink of fear in her sweat.

"Honey," she says with a sigh, laying a hand on my shoulder "that's a complicated issue. We'll talk more about it after school."

I snort. Before Janelle can admonish me for the unladylike act, I go into an argument that has failed for the past week.

"Why do I have to go to school? If you think this Ochiba person is so bad, why don't we just go and kill him?"

Janelle's jaw sets hard, her fear replaced by anger.

"Sylvie, you should not be so willing and eager to kill people."

"Why not?"

"Because..." she sighs again. "Because when you kill someone, you're taking away everything they have, and everything they're ever going to have."

My nose wrinkles and a low growl escapes my throat.

"I don't understand. Don't understand why I have to go to school, either."

"We've been over this, Sylvie dear. And over it and over it—but that's neither here nor there. Ochiba has definitely worked for the Bills before. Our evidence says that he's somehow connected to the Grand Design. You do want to stop the Grand Design, don't you?"

I suppress a shudder, since Janelle seems upset already. I can't quite wrap my mind around The Grand Design, though it chills me like a winter wind. The Bills want to kill people, lots of people—most of them, in fact. It has something to do with their vision of Utopia, where no one has to be hungry or cold and everyone lives peacefully with each other. Even I know enough about the world of man to figure out such a thing would never work. Some people are only happy when they're being unkind.

Like the people we're supposed to stop, the Bildeburgs.

For a moment, I panic as we reach the hairpin drive in front of the school. Janelle curses about how late I'm going to be and shoves me on the shoulder when I'm reluctant to leave. I realize that for the first time in months, I'm not going to have Fritz, or Janelle, or even Wade with me. I have to face the school alone.

As soon as I'm out of the car, Janelle says bye and hits the gas. Maybe she was afraid I'd try to get back inside. I would have if given the chance. Forcing myself to be calm, to be centered, as Fritz says when he's teaching me how to fight like a human, my breathing slows and my hands unclench.

I've been to the school before. Three days ago Janelle and I had come to Riverforks to register me for classes…

"Stop fidgeting, Sylvie," Janelle says, pursing her lips.

I shift in the uncomfortable steel chair next to hers, balling my hands into fists on my lap. This place, the principal's office, is overwhelming. The scents of hundreds of different people mingle here, along with an acrid smell I place as cigarette smoke, and the lights overhead buzz so terribly I barely notice how bright they are.

"I don't like this place," I say, staring at her from behind a curly white lock. "I have to get out of here-"

I start to rise, legs flexing as I unfold from the chair, but Janelle grabs my wrist tightly. I could break her grip—not to mention her wrist—but Janelle is my friend, so I pause.

"Sylvie," she says quietly "please! Sit down!"

The secretary, a rotund woman with a mop of orange hair, glances up from her computer screen and fixes us with a suspicious pout. I meet her gaze and hold it until she swallows and looks away, sweat breaking out on her brow.

"Fine," I say, plopping back down in the hard metal seat.

"I'm sure this won't take long," she said. "We can go for a walk in the woods later if you want."

I snort.

"You walk too slow," I say. "It's no fun with you around."

"Well, okay," Janelle says, laughing a bit though nothing's funny. "You can go for a walk by yourself, then."

I stare up at a picture of an old man in funny clothes. George Washington, I think that's his name. The words beneath the picture swim before my eyes, and I give up on reading them.

"So this Principal White," I say, trying to keep the growl out of my voice "he's the Alpha?"

Janelle chuckles and smooths my hair away from my eyes.

"So to speak," she says. "He's in charge of the school. Before you start going here, he has to say it's okay."

"I could just challenge him," I say. "He's probably soft and weak like all humans."

Janelle clamps her mouth shut and tries to smile, squeezing my hand tightly while she glances up at the secretary.

"Shh," she says softly so the secretary won't hear. "Remember, you're a human, too."

My head perks up at the sound of heavy footsteps. The adjacent door swings open and a large man with brown skin and a shaved head steps halfway out.

"Ms. Racine?" he says, looking at Janelle as if I'm not sitting there, too.

"Yes," Janelle says, standing up and straightening her green skirt. "Nice to meet you in person."

They shake hands while I take in this man. He's large, probably heavier than a full grown buck, dressed in a dark suit with shiny buttons which catch the light and gleam like stars. There's cigarette smoke and coffee on his breath. His eyes run up and down Janelle's body, and I can tell he's thinking of mating with her.

He hides it well, though, and invites her into his office. Janelle smiles, but her voice strains when she speaks.

"Come, Sylvie dear," she says. For a moment I consider staying put, but her sweat smells of fear. Fear that I will embarrass her again.

"Okay," I say, rising to my feet. I'm saying okay a lot these days, since it seems to make people stop talking to me, at least for awhile.

Janelle ushers me in before her, but I'm stopped by the wall of humanity that is Principal White. He sticks his hand out, fingers spread, and smiles.

"Nice to meet you, Sylvie," he says.

Awkwardly, I clasp his hand in my own, being sure not to squeeze too hard and hurt him. I must not be doing very well, though, because he grimaces and withdraws his hand quickly.

"That's quite a grip your daughter has, Ms. Racine," Principal White says. I decide that I like his voice, a deep rich sound that rolls like thunder with none of the violence.

"Indeed," Janelle says. For a fraction of a second, a glower crosses her pretty face, and I know I've messed up again.

Principal White walks behind a wide metal desk and sits down heavily in a padded chair. He motions to two seats covered with red and black padding on the opposite side.

"Please be seated," he says.

"Thank you," Janelle says, settling into her seat. Not wanting to disappoint her, I quickly sit down in the other chair.

"Now," Principal White says, shuffling some papers on his desk. "I don't need proof of residency yet, as you're still looking for an apartment, but I do need Sylvie's birth certificate and a record of her shots."

"Shots?" I say, feeling the blood drain from my face. "I don't like being shot."

Principal White's bushy brows climb his forehead, the eyes beneath going wide.

"You don't like being...shot?" he asks.

"She means getting shots," Janelle says smoothly, putting her hand on my forearm—a signal we worked out in advance, an indication that I need to close my mouth and let her speak so I don't blow our cover.

"Of course," Principal White says with a laugh. "I never cease to be amazed at the creativity of our student body."

He clears his throat and taps a fat finger on the desk.

"Ah, you DO have those records, right?" he asks.

"Of course," Janelle says, opening her briefcase and taking out a blank piece of paper. She meets White's gaze, and her eyes are intense, like a wolf trying to stare down a rival before the snarling and snapping starts. "This should take care of everything."

Principal White takes the piece of paper, which rustles in the breeze from the overhead vent, but his eyes are locked on Janelle's. His smile drains from his face, mouth gone slack like a winded buck. He stares at the paper for a long moment.

"This takes care of everything," he says, filing the blank page in his desk. When he glances up at us, his smile comes back and Janelle's eyes are back to being soft and pretty.

"Good," Janelle says, rising to her feet. After a few seconds I get up as well. Principal White shakes both of our hands again, clasping mine in both of his before releasing it.

"Welcome to our family, Sylvie," he says genially. I nod, still unsure of what just happened. On our way back to Janelle's car, I press her for details.

"That was just a blank piece of-" I say.

"Shh!" Janelle says, her eyes hard but her smile wide. "Do not speak of it until we are in the car, non?"

I close my mouth and wait, though my insides roil with questions. When we are inside her car, I pester her again.

"Sylvie my dear," she says, "you are not the only one who was...gifted...by the Bildeburg group."

My lip curls, my nose wrinkles and I'm about to demand more of an explanation when she speaks again.

"Your gifts are physical," she says "speed, strength, fast healing. My gift is mental. I can hear what people are thinking, and make them see things that are not there."

I start to snort, but stop. My pulse races and I squeeze the armrest so tightly I dig furrows in the leather.

"You used it on me," I say glumly.

Janelle sighs as she watches the road ahead.

"Yes," she says "I did."

"I thought you were my friend," I say, my voice rising in volume "or did you make me think that, too?"

"Sylvie," Janelle says, glancing sharply at me "I had no choice! You were feral when we first found you, savage. You were about to gut me like one of those deer you used to eat!"

I close my mouth and my mind goes back to the first time we met. It's true, I was about to kill her, and Wade and Fritz too.

"Well," I say, staring out the side window and watching the skeletal trees flash past "don't do it again."

"I will not," Janelle says. "I promise."

She chuckles and I turn my head back in her direction.

"What's funny?" I demand.

"It's not like your mind is easy to push, anyway," Janelle says with a grin. "It took more effort than I would have possibly imagined just to get you to listen for a few minutes!"

"Good," I said, and settled into my seat.

The school has a simple layout, with the faculty offices near the hairpin and the classroom buildings spreading out behind it. Navigating a dense forest where one tree looks much like another can be tricky, and you have to rely on your other senses to get you around. The salty smell from a bead of saliva left on a leaf by panting prey, or the sound of twigs snapping as a predator closes in. Buildings that look quite different, and even have their names printed on the entrance? Piece of cake, as Fritz would say.

Though I don't much care for cake.

So I dig the scrap of paper with my schedule out of my pocket, unfold it, and begin my first day of school.

Chapter 2

I walk up a short flight of shallow concrete steps between the staff buildings. Principal White's office sits on the left, staff offices on the right. The iron gray clouds break apart, letting the painful sun peek out. I dig out my sunglasses and put them on, sighing as they mute the stinging light.

Glancing at the schedule in my hand, I learn my first class lies in the Arts and Literature building. The bell rings just as I open the glass door leading inside, cementing my lateness. There's rows of lockers on either side of me. I have one too, but I'm not sure where. That's okay. I'm strong enough to carry all my books at once, and I'm not about to lose my hooded sweatshirt. It's part of the disguise.

I'm filled with dread as I take the steps two at a time to the top floor, because not only am I late, it's an English class. Fritz says that in English you have to read and write a lot. I'm still remembering how to read, and writing frustrates me. I often end up snapping my pencil in half before I've finished a sentence.

I am confronted by a closed door when I approach room 313. At the sound of the knob turning, a man in a brown checkered suit looks up at me. He's got the reverse of Fritz's hair, with bald in the middle and hair on the sides. Older, too, and lacking in size and power. I remind myself that this checkered suit man is the Alpha in the room and reflexively act like a Gamma. My shoulders slump, my eyes go to the floor—if I had a tail it'd be pointing at the ground—and shuffle toward one of the empty seats.

"Hang on a minute, miss," he says.

I stop, blink, and look behind me to see what I've missed. The man swallows, and I can smell fresh sweat. Two seconds in the room and I've already made him nervous. Maybe Wade was right about me.

"Uh," he says, still trying to be polite. He shoves a pair of horn rimmed glasses up higher on his sweat-shiny nose. "What's your name, miss?"

Miss. Something like Mr. or Mrs. He's using it with me because he doesn't know my name. Wolves don't have names, of course, because they don't speak with words.

"Sylvie Racine." The first name is really mine, the last isn't. Janelle decided not to use my real last name when she registered me for school. Not while my father—who by all accounts is a bad man—searches for me.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do, while he picks up a piece of paper clipped to a wooden tablet and scribbles on it. Then he looks up at me, smiles, and gestures toward the rows of desks.

"Have a seat anywhere there's room. I don't use a seating chart."

He clears his throat and speaks to the class as a whole. For the first time, I'm the center of attention to the other students, and I bite back a swell of panic. Their eyes silently judge me, from the pretty girl with a short skirt to the slovenly fat boy who arches his brows as I pass. I hope my disguise works.

Janelle carefully chose my clothing. She's what Fritz calls a fashion plate. My dark, nondescript clothing should create distance between the other teens and myself. Maintaining cover could prove to be tough, and the less people I talk to the better. Fritz told me to 'keep my head down,' which means I'm not supposed to stand out. That's fine with me.

Standing out in the wild makes you easier prey.

I find a spot in the last desk of the first row. I like it, as I can see everyone else in the room without having to turn my head. From the expressions on their faces, I'd say that none of the others are all that interested in what the teacher—I'm not sure of his name—says. After the momentary interest generated by my arrival, they go back to acting tired and listless as he drones on.

I find sitting tedious to the extreme. I'm used to running down deer, leaping over fissures, and swimming in frigid streams. Sitting still for an hour proves one of the most difficult things I have ever done. And the teacher—I glance at my schedule and find his name is Mr. Gay—makes things worse. He speaks in a dreary tone, and even the things he says that should be interesting aren't. I can't make sense of what he says. Something about Iambic Pentameter and allegory.

Then the bell rings and the students are gratefully rising to their feet. I try to make it out the door first, but Mr. Gay calls me to his desk. I stand there staring down at him while his brow furrows.

"Take off your glasses, please," he says.

"No," I say.

"What?" he says, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting downward. I can tell I've displeased him, then remember he's supposed to be the Alpha.

"The light hurts my eyes," I say.

He sighs, brow furrowing into lines like inchworms.

"I don't care if you're hung over or what," he says harshly "but in my classroom I expect eye contact!"

My clawed hand reaches up and doffs the shades. His eyes go wide.

"Are those contacts?" he asks.

"What?"

"Your eyes." He points at my face. "Are you wearing contacts?"

"What's contacts?"

"Well, I guess I have my answer." He clears his throat. "Well, Miss Racine, it seems like you're starting the school year rather late."

"I just moved here from Canada." Fritz and Wade drilled the back story into me, and I reflexively spout it off. "My mother works for the Forestry department. We move quite a bit."

"Uh huh." He's sweating now, and from his angled head I realize something about me is puzzling him. "Well, I don't want to overload you with material on your first day, but you are going to have to do some catching up. Just a second."

It's more like a minute as he collects a stack of thin paperback books and puts them on his desk. Why do people say just a second when they don't mean it?

"Here," he says, shoving the books at me. "Try and get these read by next Wednesday."

I puzzle out the words on the cover of the top book. Red Badge of Courage. I pick them up and tuck them under my arm, not thrilled with the idea of reading. Then I'm out the door, leaving him to scratch his chin.

Once I'm outside the building, I head toward the Science and Math center. My ears catch the sound of feet moving up behind me at a rapid pace. In the wild, I'd have turned about and bared my fangs. Here I force myself to keep walking as they approach. I can't see who it is yet, but my nose tells me it's one of the boys from the class I just left.

"Hey," he says once he's walking abreast of me. This boy is heavy with fat. Jowls wiggle on his face when he speaks, and his belly hangs over a thin leather belt so far you can barely see the belt. I'm confused by his ears, which are pierced sort of like Janelle's, but the holes are so large I could shove one of my pencils through them.

"Sylvie, right?" He says when I don't respond. I turn to the right, scowling at a pair of younger students and wondering why he wanted me to look that way.

"Er, you're name's Sylvie, isn't it?"

I turn back to him and narrow my eyes. He runs his gaze up and down my body and swallows.

"I'm Percius Preston Esquire III." He sticks his hand out for something called a handshake. To be polite—and fit in—I take it in my own and give it a squeeze. Not a hard squeeze, as I had done to Wade. Apparently I have quite the grip. I must have grabbed him harder than I wanted too, because he winces and pulls his hand away.

"Your rings pinched me or something." I shrug, then begin walking once more. "Uh, hey, hold up!"

He follows me to the next class, continuing to jabber like a squirrel. I remember Fritz saying that my 'outsider' disguise might have the opposite effect on some people, and make them actually want to be my friend. I do my best to put him off, but quite frankly I'm curious about the school, and this boy Percius seems to know a great deal about it.

"That's the Graphic Design Hall," he says, pointing out a building I don't have classes in "if you want to burn a cigarette, that's the best place to do it. The pottery kilns get so hot they require big fans that suck the smoke right out."

Smoking. I've seen some people with those white things hanging out of their mouths. The stench makes me want to retch. I can't understand why anyone would breathe that foul smoke on purpose.

"I don't smoke," I say, continuing on in silence. Then I leave him behind on the sidewalk while I go to my next class.

Since I'm not late, I cause less of a scene when I arrive. The Business Math teacher, a thin and attractive woman with mocha colored skin, doesn't notice me at first. She's dressed a lot like Janelle, in a skirt and sports coat that hug her curves and accentuate them. I notice many of the boys watching her intently, sweat glistening on their brows like the sun reflecting off a lake. She glances up as I pass in front of her desk.

"Hello," she says pleasantly as I move toward a seat. "You must be Sylvie, right?"

I nod, unsure of what to make of this woman. She seems friendly. Gold earrings dangle from her lobes, flashing in the light as she walks across the room to shake my hand. I try to be even more gentle than last time. When she presses her flesh into mine I get a whiff of her scent. Heavy perfume strains to cover up the smell of blood. Menses.

"How are you liking our school so far?" she asks, releasing my hand. Her brown eyes flash over my form, but I don't get the impression she's being judgmental like Mr. Gay.

"It's...noisy," I say. It seems the other students never stop talking unless a teacher shushes them.

She laughs, showing twin rows of white teeth between her magenta lips.

"That it is," she says. "I'm Ms. Fausto, Sylvie. It's very nice to meet you."

I cock my head to the side. I think I believe she really means what she says. When most people lie, they start to sweat.

"Nice to meet you, too," I say, spitting out the rehearsed salutation.

Ms. Fausto purses her lips as she gazes about the classroom. She spies a boy in one of the desks nearest her own and smiles at him.

"Rick," she says "would you mind sitting in a different seat? It's Sylvie's first day and I want to make sure she gets caught up."

"Sure thing, Ms. Fausto," he says quickly, smiling shyly at her. He doesn't even glance in my direction, which I don't mind.

I sit, not liking this spot at all. Not with my back to most of the class, and the entrance so far away. I could jump out the nearby window, though, if I have to.

"Here," she says, handing me a packet of stapled paper. "This is what we're working on this week. How comfortable are you with math?"

I feel a grin creasing my face. I think I like this woman.

"I like math," I say. "Numbers always mean the same thing, not like words."

"True enough," she says, nodding. I think I've impressed her somehow. "That's what I love about math, too. With so many shades of gray in the world, it's nice when something is black and white simple."

I nod, but she lost me. The world is more than just gray; there are a lot of colors in it. I decide to ask Janelle about what shades of gray are later.

Ms. Fausto puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. Then she moves to the front of the class and surveys the rows of noisy students. She picks up a thick hardbound book off her desk and simply lets it drop back down. I flinch along with the other students, who cease their jibber jabber and look her way.

"Okay, class," she says "we have a new student starting today. Everyone say hello to Sylvie."

I shrink into myself as I feel their eyes on me. I don't want attention, damn it! A ragged chorus of varied greetings pollutes the air. One in particular stands out.

"Hey, sweetie," says a skinny boy with a Knicks jacket. "You got a boyfriend yet?"

"I don't have any friends who are boys," I say, staring at him. "Only men."

For some reason, this makes the class laugh, and my hackles raise up on the back of my neck. I relax a moment later, when it becomes obvious they aim their derision at the boy who spoke.

"Burn!" says a girl in the seat next to mine. I get the impression no one much cares for this boy.

"Settle down," Ms. Fausto says, though she grins just like the students. "Now, who can tell me what Accrual Accounting means?"

And so the class begins. I find Fausto far more interesting than Mr. Gay. She's always smiling, always positive, even when someone gets their work wrong. The class differs other ways too. While we just sat and listened to Mr. Gay speak, Fausto gives us work to do individually. Then she flits around the room like a butterfly, alighting with her hand on a student's shoulder or desk to assist them.

I stare at my project. I'm supposed to try to do all my schoolwork myself, both because it's good for my cover and it can help me understand this new world I've been thrust into. It's a pretty simple thing, really. There's a large number in the quadruple digits representing our balance. We're supposed to read the sheet and figure out what deductions to make. Since I'm good with numbers, but bad with words, I'm only halfway done when Fausto puts her hand on my shoulder and leans down.

"Hi!" she says with that ever present smile. I nod in response. Fritz and Janelle don't want me to smile if I can avoid it. Apparently, it's kind of unsettling. Her dark eyes dart to my page, and she nods. "You're doing really well, sweetie. Have you had this kind of class before?"

I've never had any class before. I nod again.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?" I shake my head and she pats my hand and leaves me to my devices. I do like her. She realizes I don't want to talk and lets it be.

I manage to finish my project early and am told I can use the extra time to study. I fish the books Gay gave me out of my bag and try to read them, but so many words crowd together on the page. The picture books Janelle used to help me remember words were much easier.

The bell rings, and again we shuffle out of the class. The other students leave in pairs, in threes, and some leave by themselves like me. I'm not surprised to see Percius waiting for me outside.

"Hey, what's your next class?" His seems eager, friendly, but I catch his scent well enough. He smells like desire. Something about him puts me off. I decide it's his poor physique. How can I rear strong cubs if their father is such a deplorable specimen?

"Damn," He says as I leave him standing there. "Was it something I said?"

He follows me as I go back to Arts and Literature, trying to engage me the whole time. No one even looks in his direction as we pass through the throng of people on their way to class. I realize then that he's a rogue, someone who has no pack and no place. Rogues either find a new pack to take them in, or they die.

I'm won't take him into mine.

"See you," he says cheerfully as I enter the building. I smell the pungent aromas wafting through the hall as soon as I hit the stairs. I follow them to the source, which turns out to be next class; Painting.

This class is arranged strange compared to the others. Rather than desks the room boasts a half dozen long tables with numerous nicks, scratches, and stains. Groups of students cluster around the tables, laughing and talking with more abandon than in the other classrooms. I spot the teacher standing next to the largest group at a table near the corner. He's balding as well—do any of the male teachers have hair? White and gray stippling remains on his scalp. He doesn't seem that old. A paunch like Percius's hangs over his belt.

It takes him a moment to notice me standing by his desk. He leaves the students at their table and comes to me with a smile on his wide face.

"Hello!" He shakes my hand, and I'm extra careful not to hurt him. "You must be Sylvie."

I nod.

"Welcome to Studio Painting I." I follow him to his desk, where he introduces me to the room. My response is simply to incline my chin towards them, a gesture that Janelle finds rude, but typical of teen-agers.

The art teacher, Mr Mosi, conducts class in a strange way. I am given a large white sheet of paper and told to shade in boxes to varying degrees, so that the first box is pitch black and the last, almost white. As I sit and scribble, he tells the others to work on their projects and to be good—and then he leaves.

He actually leaves us by ourselves.

Almost the instant he's out the door, two people break away from the largest group, a boy and a girl. The boy is taller than Fritz, with a head balder than Mosi's. He has an easy smile on his thin lips, his narrow, angular nose twitching. The girl is two feet shorter, sporting a wide featured face, with short hair. They sit, uninvited, across from me. I put down my ink pen and look at them expectantly.

"Hey there, Neo," says the girl "been to the Matrix lately?"

I don't understand, and when I don't understand something I get angry. The snarl doesn't quite reach my face, but I feel my lips twitch.

"Don't mind her," says the boy "she's just making fun of your sunglasses."

My shades. It's probably been weird that I've been wearing them inside. Despite the pain from the bright overhead lights, I take them off my face.

"Whoah!" the boy leaps to his feet. "Check out new girl's eyes!"

"Settle down, Matt," says the girl "they're probably just contacts."

"Well, just so you know," he says, grinning at me "slick sunglasses are totally at odds with the goth-emo thing you've got going on."

Again he's prattled on, and again I understand less than half of it. I'm getting annoyed now, my breath coming a bit faster.

"I think we're pissing her off," says the girl.

"Nah." Matt shakes his head. "She's just being shy because she's new."

He offers his hand. I've shaken more hands today than I ever have in my life.

"Matt," he says. He inclines his head at the girl next to him. "This is Sara."

"Wow," says Sara as we shake hands "I love your rings."

"You got some long fingers, new girl," says Matt. I quickly fold them in my lap.

"Don't make fun of her." Sara smacks him on the arm, a gesture I've come to recognize as a friendly reprimand. Fritz punched me in the arm after I performed a very difficult MMA move and I nearly tore out his throat. "Does Mosi actually have you doing a media chart?"

"More to the point," says Matt "is she actually doing the media chart?

"Won't I get in trouble if I don't do what the teacher says?" That's been drilled into my head for the past seven days. Don't disobey, Sylvie. Don't cause a scene, Sylvie. Don't stare at people like that, Sylvie, it makes them uncomfortable.

"Mosi?" Matt looks at Sara and they both laugh. "Mosi just gives everyone an A. He always does."

"Have you ever painted anything, Matt?" asks Sara.

"Not this semester."

I recognize their familiarity, or at least think I do. Before I can stop it, a question forces its way out of my mouth.

"Are you guys girlfriend and boyfriend?"

They look at each other and laugh again.

"Why does everyone think that?" says Matt.

"No, honey." Sara grins. "We're not together, at least not like that. We've lived next to each other since forever."

We're joined by a boy nearly as burly as Fritz, with a hairstyle Wade calls 'skinhead.' He acts hostile as buzzing wasps as he shoves himself between Sara and Matt.

"Hey!" Matt glares at the newcomer. I smell fear sweat from my new companion despite his scowl.

"Rude, much?" Sara elbows the new boy in the arm, but if he feels it he gives no sign.

"Hey there, new girl.," says the big boy. He looks at me with dark eyes full of bad intent. A light scar runs down his chin, almost splitting it in half. "Did they tell you about the new student tax?"

"Leave her alone, Paul," says Matt.

"Are you bossing me around, mother-fucker?" The apparent Paul gives Matt a hard shove and topples him out of his chair.

"What the hell, man?" Matt gets back up, unhurt but on the verge of tears.

"What you gonna do about it, Matt?" They both stand there for a moment, a scene quite familiar to me from my days with the wolves. It's about dominance, about who is the Alpha. After a moment Matt's eyes fall to the floor and he turns away.

"That's what I thought, bitch." Paul sits down across from me as Sara follows Matt out the classroom door. He fixes me with his dark eyes again, and I realize he's trying to stare me down, to make me show throat like Matt just did. I'm not about to do that, so I continue to stare back at him.

"So, your name was Sylvie, right?" I don't respond. "Funny name. You a foreigner?"

I'm supposed to be, so I nod my head.

"Sylvie sounds Russian. Are you Russian?"

I remember Russia from the map Janelle showed me. It's a really big country, the biggest really, but it's not where I'm...where I'm supposed to be from. For some reason, I don't want to talk to this boy anymore. He's what Wade would call 'not nice people.'

"Hey!" The sharpness of his words makes my lips peel back from my teeth. "Answer me when I'm fucking talking to you, new girl."

I stand up and push in my chair. Using all my senses, I assess what threat he might present. He's bigger than me, but so is Fritz and I'm much, much stronger. Paul has good muscle, but he doesn't strike me as being all that fast. Plus, there's a sickly smell to him that I detect on Fritz when he's having one of his morning headaches. In about half a second I decide I have nothing to fear from him.

"Oh, you gonna do something?" He stands up as well, towering over me though I don't back up so much as a step. "You think I'm afraid to hit a girl? Well, you're wrong."

"I think you stink."

Laughter rumbles through the air. With a start I realize that the whole class is watching us. Paul's face grows red, his eyes narrow, and then he reaches out for me.

I could grab his throat in my claws and rip it out before he even had time to draw breath, but I don't. I remember what Fritz and Wade have been teaching me, the way that normal people fight. As his hand nears my collar, I grab his wrist. With a slight step to my right and a hard twist of my arm, I send Paul flying head over heels to crash down hard on the floor. I still have hold of his wrist. A swarm of obscenities falls from his mouth as he struggles and groans in my grip, but due to the pressure I apply he can't get up without breaking his own arm.

That's when Mosi decides to come back to check on us, and begins shouting. It seems I'm going to go see Principal White again.

Chapter 3

They take us in to see White separately. My meeting is very short. It seems that Paul is well known as a trouble maker, and I get the impression that White is secretly pleased I've put him in his place.

In a wolf pack, squabbles are frequent. The others stay out of it. In the world of man, it's quite a bit different. Supposedly, violence is bad. But the same people who tell you violence is bad think it's okay to drop bombs, shoot tear gas, and kill in the name of stopping violence.

Paul doesn't even look at me as I pass him on the way out the door. He's holding an ice pack up to his injured wrist. I hadn't meant to cause him that much harm.

People are fragile.

Art class will be over by the time I get back there, so I dig out my schedule and scan it. Lunch period is next. My belly rumbles at the thought of food. Patting my back pocket to assure myself the card is still there, I head for the cafeteria.

Riverforks has its lunch room above the campus store. There's an elevator, but I don't like those; They make me feel trapped. Instead, I dash up the stairs two at a time, knowing I should slow down but too hungry to care.

The sound begins assaulting me before I even reach the second floor. A hum akin to a hornet's nest grows until it is a maddening, thunderous roar. Spread out before me are over two hundred of my fellow students. I see a few people eating, but most of them are talking. The cafeteria is just one big chamber, with round tables and chairs arranged in every available space.

I want to jam my fingers in my ears, but that would look strange. Gritting my teeth, I try to focus on something besides the dissonant cacophony that roils around me. When the aroma of food reaches my nostrils, it helps me regain my focus. I draw barely a glance from anyone as I make my way through the cafeteria.

There's a line of students leading to long metal tables laden with different types of food. My nose wrinkles when I realize that all of it is cooked. I should have expected that, but my belly is still disappointed. There's a mass of brown lumps in a heavy sauce that smells somewhat palatable. I read the words imprinted on the plastic half-shield, surprised by how easy the letter resolve themselves in my head. Baked Beans.

I pile them on my plate, then move on since the people behind me are grumbling. There's something called pizza, but it doesn't look or smell like what Fritz and Wade have ordered for us. Little pools of grease congeal in bowls of misshapen pepperoni. I pass on that as well, but the fish sticks seem okay. In the wild, I didn't eat fish much with the pack, but after watching Grizzlies catching them in a stream I gave it a try and found I liked it well enough. There's no doubt, I prefer red meat, though.

When I come up to the end of the line, I've added a pile of something called french fries—I'll have to ask Janelle about those later—and half an orange. I watch the other students, see them place their plates on a metal pan, then giving a tired looking woman their cards. I do the same, but the listless cashier suddenly becomes agitated.

"Two pounds?" She leans around the register and gawks at the high pile on my plate like a fawn swollen doe. "You must be hungry."

"I'm always hungry."

"I don't doubt that. You're just skin and bones."

I feel my brows raise on my face. Skin and bones? Me? If only she knew I weigh over two hundred pounds. Fritz says it's because I have much denser bone and muscle mass than most people. More changes made to me when I was so small you could barely see me in my mother's stomach.

There's no point in correcting her, so I go to sit down. The sounds are just as loud as ever, but I tell myself I have to get used to it. The wild is quiet, most of the time. You have the wind in the trees, the babble of a brook, and the buzzing of insects. My old pack sometimes yipped and barked as they played. Then there was the howl. I truly miss the howl. You had to be careful, staggering your own howl with the rest of the pack's. This hides your strength from a rival pack. Something about lifting your head to the moon and releasing what's inside makes you feel complete.

I try a mouthful of the beans. They're somewhat sweet, but not too sweet, and I savor the rich flavor. The pile of beans is gone in about thirty seconds. I'm so eager I twist up the metal fork handle. The fish sticks aren't very good; I eat about half of them. I notice a boy with the same meal dipping his sticks in a thick red sauce that looks—but doesn't smell—like blood. Maybe next time I'll try doing that.

For now I eat my orange and drain a carton of milk that barely seems to whet my lips. I end up using the empty cardboard to get a drink from a fountain. I'm still hungry, but I can't stand this noisy, smelly place for another second.

After lunch period is a study hall, but as a Senior I am allowed to skip it. The woods around the school beckon, but I force myself to remain on campus. The way I feel right now I might just keep going and leave the school and Janelle and the Bills behind.

It's a pleasant thought, being back in the woods. It was lonely, of course, but more peaceful. Then I remember what Janelle and Wade and Fritz have been saying to me for the past month. I'm not a wolf. I'm a human, no matter what was done to me by the Bills. And humans belong with other humans.

It's this thought more than anything else that keeps me from walking away from Percius when he steps spots me sitting down on a stone bench outside the cafeteria. He wheezes a bit as he sits down, smiling at me with his pudgy face.

"Hey Sylvie." I don't respond, but he keeps talking anyway. "So how are you liking Riverforks so far?"

I snort, and he laughs.

"Tell me about it. This den of conformity won't be happy until we're good Stepford children who never question authority."

I actually understand most of what he says, though I don't know what he means by Stepford children. I think that's what they call it when you marry someone who already has kids, and I give up trying to puzzle out what it has to do with me when he speaks again.

"Do you like computers?"

Do I like computers? Not really. Sometimes I like to watch the videos that Fritz pulls up, especially the ones where someone falls trying to do something that was stupid in the first place. Like jumping their bike off of a cliff. Computers are all about words, and I'm still trying to figure those out.

Percius keeps talking. I guess he's not put off by my silence.

"There's a LAN party this weekend. We're going to try out Bringer of War."

My ears prick up at the word war. Fritz and Wade are always talking about how the Bills want to start a big war and make almost everyone kill each other off.

He mistakes the cause for my interest.

"You like to play Bringer of War?" he asks.

"I don't know what it is," I say, staring at him.

"You don't?" That's what I said, you twit! "How can you not know what BOW is?"

I shrug.

"It's only the coolest fantasy MMO ever! Tell you what, if you come out this weekend I'll let you make a character on my account."

I'm not sure what he's talking about—as usual—but I take it that he is making me some kind of offer.

"No thanks," I say, trying to be polite. "I have plans this weekend."

That's what I'm supposed to say if anyone wants to see me outside of school. We can't risk me making friends. Not only because they might blow my cover, but because it just isn't safe for them. The Bills might use people I know to get to me.

"Oh." His face falls, and I feel something strange. Guilt, I guess, at dashing his hopes.

"You seem like a nice guy," I say, patting him on the hand "I'd go if I could."

It's something else I was coached to say, and it seems to work like magic. Percius's mouth twists into a wide smile, and I can hear his heart beating faster. Then he starts to sweat, and I smell the want in it.

"I have to go." I stand up quickly, tossing my book bag over my shoulder.

"Bye," he says cheerfully to my retreating back.

Next is my last class for the day. I head to the Science and Industry building, feeling my pulse quicken. This is it, the reason I'm here. My teacher will be M'fune Ochiba, the man we're here to gather intel on. Just like any other hunt, I can feel stirring in my chest as my body prepares for violence.

But that will never do. I need to seem like a normal teenage girl, not the predator I am. When I reach the classroom I spend several minutes outside trying to center myself. It's hard, when I'm so close to my prey, but then the bell rings and I'm out of time.

Mr. Ochiba's classroom doesn't have desks either. There are long, thick tables with a strange looking black surface that seems to absorb the light like a sponge. Dull gray metal outlets for electricity and gas lines are on every one of them. Pictures of wild animals line the walls, which interest me, since they seem to be ripped open in the middle so you can see their guts and bones. I've ripped open plenty of deer in the wild, and it's usually a gory red mess, but in these pictures I can see a lot of detail.

"Excuse me."

His voice breaks me out of my reverie. I was lost in then. Returning to now, I look up at the owner of the velvet smooth voice.

Ochiba is an elderly man, with skin the same color as Principal White's. Where our principal has a shaven head, this man bears a crown of wooly white hair. His mustache is the same color, drooping over his mouth. His eyes are as bright and shiny as a fox's, and his lips pull back in a smile that I find myself wanting to return—but I don't. He's dressed in a light blue shirt and dark pants, and I can smell his cologne from across the room.

"You must be the new girl." He pushes a pair of wire framed glasses up on his nose and glances at a paper on his desk. "Sylvie. Everyone say Hi Sylvie!"

The class complies, less than enthusiastically, but begin laughing when I say the same thing. My cheeks start burning. Laugh at me, will they? I could make their entrails slop to the ground with a wave of my hand. Bet they wouldn't find THAT funny.

"Calm down, class." Ochiba points towards an empty seat near the front of the class. "Why don't you sit next to my Senior assistant, Miss Shabana?"

I grit my teeth and move towards the seat. I don't like this, not at all. I prefer to sit where I can see everyone else, the closer to the exit the better. Still, I fight my instincts and win. If the pretty dark haired girl I slide in next to notices my internal conflict, she says nothing. A wide smile dimples her face and she waves cheerfully at me.

"Hey there," she says "I'm Shabana."

"Sylvie." I give her the once over. She has dark skin, not as dark as Ochiba's, but a light brown. Glossy, straight hair hangs over her shoulders like a silk curtain. Brown eyes twinkle merrily over a wide nose as she shows me where we are in the textbook.

"All right, class," Ochiba says, raising his voice to carry over the din. "Who can tell me what we were talking about last Friday?"

He picks up a clear plastic bag and shakes it. My nose can tell what's in it, even through layers of plastic; candy of all varieties. I don't much care for sweets, but many of the other students seem to perk up at the sound.

"Evolution?" says one boy hesitantly, his arm half raised. Ochiba grins and takes a peppermint treat out of the bag. He tosses it through the air and the boy snatches it up greedily.

"Good, Thomas," Ochiba says. "Can anyone explain the basic idea behind evolution?"

A dark skinned girl with purple lipstick raises her hand. Ochiba nods at her and she speaks.

"That species change over time," she says.

"Good," Ochiba says, tossing her a Smackers bar. "What makes them change?"

"Environmental factors!" shouts one boy while a girl says more softly "Predation?"

"You're both right," Ochiba says, dispensing more candy. "Can anyone give an example of natural selection?"

Ochiba cocks an eyebrow at a boy who is dozing in his seat. Then a sly grin spreads across his freckled face.

"BOBBY!" he says, startling me enough that I rake a line through the tabletop. The sleeping boy spasms and nearly topples out of his seat. He stares sheepishly at Ochiba while the instructor leans on his desk. "Can you give us an example of natural selection?"

Bobby licks his thin lips and glances about nervously. For several seconds his mouth works but no sound comes out. Then, he speaks.

"Uh," he says "finches?"

Ochiba chuckles and tosses a butterscotch treat in his direction.

"Close enough," Ochiba says. He turns about and scrawls words on the chalkboard. Bits of chalkdust catch the fading sunlight as they sprinkle to the floor. "Darwin's finches had differently shaped beaks, depending on their food source..."

I decide I like the science class right away. Not only are there interesting things to look at in every direction, Ochiba is a good talker, even better than Fritz. He mixes in jokes and funny stories with his lecture. I'm having so much fun I forget that I'm supposed to be gathering intelligence on this man.

My chance comes when the bell rings and the other students leave. Since I'm supposed to have a job—working for my 'mother' Janelle—I don't have to take PE and I'm done for the day with classes. Shabana gets up and speaks with Ochiba, who gives her directions on what he wants done.

"I can help," I say, coming up to them.

"I'm sure you can," Ochiba says, smiling at me. His eyes glance at my hands, and for a moment his brow twitches, but then he's looking at my face again. "However, there's barely enough work for one assistant, especially one as diligent as Miss Shabana."

She dimples at him and returns to shuffling papers.

"Oh." I stand there for a moment, trying to think of something to say to make him change his mind. Fritz is really good with words, and Janelle has her brain tricks, but all I'm good at is running down prey.

And killing it, of course.

"Is there something else I can help you with?" He's staring at me now, his eyes narrowing. In wolves and men that means suspicion. To throw him off I vigorously shake my head and turn on my heel.

"Nice meeting you, Sylvie," Shabana says as I leave. Even halfway down the hall my ears still pick up the last thing she says before the door shuts. "She's pretty. Do you think her eyes are really that color?"

I'm not happy when I come out to the hairpin drive. It's not Janelle, but Wade who's waiting for me in a black jeep. Of my human pack, I like Wade the least of all, and I'm sure he feels the same way. I suppose it's my fault. Shortly after the got me out of the woods, I was taking a shower in our hotel suite. At that point I was still getting used to the idea of wearing clothes again, so I just walked right out into the living area with nothing but dripping water covering my skin.

Wade was very nervous, afraid to even look at me. His words said that I must cover up, this is not appropriate Sylvie. Unfortunately, his body said something different. I could smell his desire reeking from his suddenly sweating form, see the way his eyes widened when he ran them over my body.

That was when I learned that people don't always admit what they want. You see, I thought I had finally found a pack brother who was willing to mount me, the one thing I was denied with the wolves. When Fritz and Janelle came back, they found Wade barricaded in the bathroom and me sitting outside of it, very confused.

The tension in Wade's forced smile is obvious.

"Hey, kiddo. How was the first day of school?"

"Where's Janelle?"

"She's busy. So, how was it?"

"I want Janelle."

"Uh," he kind of half laughs. "I told you, kiddo, she's busy-"

"I WANT JANELLE."

There are people watching us, other students and their parents, but I can't stop feeling angry. Why did she send Wade? Doesn't she know he hates me?

"I'm sorry," Wade says, looking sheepishly at the onlookers. Lower, he hisses under his breath "Get in the god damn car now."

"No." I'm shaking my head, aware that I should probably just get in the car but unable to. "I want Janelle."

He changes tactics.

"C'mon, Sylvie, get in the car," he says sweetly. "You can tell me all about your day."

"You don't care how my day was."

He flinches as if I'd taken a swipe at him.

"Sylvie," he sighs. "I DO care. What happened a couple weeks ago...that wasn't your fault. I know that now."

"You're not scared of me?"

"No, of course not." He pats the seat next to him. "Get in, please?"

"Fine." I open the door and climb in next to him. "Just remember it was all your fault anyway."

"I get that." He chuckles as we pull out onto the road.

"I know you wanted to mount me."

The jeep swerves and her curses as we go onto the rough shoulder for thirty feet or so.

"I don't think you should sound so sure of that, Sylvie."

"Fritz doesn't want to, though. He wants to mount Janelle."

"Is there anything ELSE you want to talk about?" He's sweating now, hands tight on the wheel. "Did you like any of your teachers?"

"Some. Mrs. Fausto was nice. Ochiba is pretty funny-"

"Excuse me?" I turn towards Wade, my eyes narrowing. "Ochiba? The Butcher of Johannesburg, funny? He's the enemy, Sylvie. He's your enemy."

"I thought that Ochiba left the Bills."

"He did," Wade says, wiping his palms on his pants "but no one has ever left Bildeburg before...at least, not alive. It could be faulty intelligence, or he could be running his own game, I don't know. The point is, don't trust him."

I nod, taken aback. He's right, of course. Ochiba might seem like a high school science teacher, but he worked for the Bills for decades. I never got a lot of details out of Fritz or Wade, but I think Ochiba scares them. I don't know why, he didn't seem that tough to me.

Wade asks me other questions, and I answer. I'm pleased that I'm picking up on reading so fast, and make a point to read every sign, license plate, and logo on our way back to the hotel. I can tell Wade is annoyed, but I feel like doing it anyway. By the time we get home he's so flustered I can't suppress a grin and the harsh barking that counts as my laughter.

"You were doing that just to tick me off, weren't you?" he asks, arching a brow.

His words are a bit harsh, but he's smiling, a real one this time. I smile back with sharp teeth and he pales a bit.

While he fixes me dinner, I wheedle out some details about where Fritz and Janelle have gone. While he was putting together shredded documents, he found something. There's a construction company in a nearby town called Jenoine that the Bills have been funneling money into.

"It might not be anything," he says as he flips a hamburger. "After all, the Bills DO have legitimate business interests too. But it could be the break we're looking for."

"What are we looking for? What is it you think Ochiba can tell us?"

Wade closes his mouth and puts the patty on a bun, next to six other sandwiches. I realize he's trying to figure out what to say, so I let him have a little bit of time while I wolf down the hamburgers one after the other.

"The thing is, we don't know exactly what we're looking for," Wade says. I wipe grease off my chin and lean back in my chair as I listen. Janelle is nowhere around so I let out a loud belch. Wade grimaces but keeps talking. "We know the Bills are up to something big, maybe the biggest thing they've ever done, but we don't know what."

"And you think Ochiba knows?" I'm getting tired, like I usually do after a big meal. Fritz says I have the metabolism of a weasel, and that's why I'm always eating and napping.

"Maybe. Or he could be as clueless as us, but still know something else that's useful. Maybe we can even get him to come with us."

I perk up a bit.

"You want him to join our pack?"

"Uh, yeah," Wade chuckles "that's about the size of it. I guess we are kind of a pack, huh?"

"Kind of." I move over to the bedroom I share with Janelle. I stretch out on the soft comforter and fall asleep in seconds.