Just as I get to the twisted, metal pole supporting a spray-painted sign, a bus is pulling away. I cough as the exhaust clouds my vision and dust goes down my throat. Carefully putting my pack on the ground—it holds all my worldly possessions, after all—I check the bus schedule. The next one comes in forty minutes.

Clicking my tongue with impatience and despairing at the stupidity of the world, I turn and lean against the pole. I nearly jump out of my skin.

He’s standing there where the bus just was, staring at me with brown eyes wide and trusting. His gaze isn’t so much as threatening, just so piercingly kind that it makes me uncomfortable.

I shiver in my thin flannel jacket and he begins to walk towards me in a long, loping stride. The look on his face is that of genuine concern.

“Are you all right?” He asks, stepping in front of me. He notices my bag. Points to it.

“Is that your bag, there?”

Instinctively, I grab the bag.

“Yeah, it’s mine, so keep your damn hands off of it.” I say viciously. I’ve had stuff stolen from me before, and it’s not about to happen again. The boy is taken aback. He isn’t exactly what you’d call hot, but he has a certain…attractiveness about him. His hair is long and brown, streaked with—and this is funny—silvery-grey, almost as if he dyed it. It flops in his eyes. His ears are big, and his limbs long and gangly. His face is round and moon-shaped. One really defining feature of him that detracts from his appearance are the enormous bags under his eyes. For all his alertness, he looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” He stammers. “Uh…can I sit down?”

“It’s a free country.” I say with a sigh. “Well, sort of.” I add. We both sit, me holding my bag in my lap. He nods to it.

“What’s in there?”

“All my stuff. Clothes, toiletries, some food. Oh…and my shoes.”

“Shoes?” He looks stupidly down at my feet. “But…you’re wearing them…”

“No, moron. My ballet shoes.”

“Oh. You dance?”

My eyes glaze over. My dance teacher once said that the only time I ever look excited or even mildly interested is when I’m talking about dance. It’s one of the few things—all right, the only thing—that keeps me from slitting my wrists like Kirsten Dunnock, who lived two doors down from us, up until last year.

Messed up, huh?

“Yeah. I dance. Ballet, mostly. Some street stuff if I’m in the mood and the music’s good.”

The boy stands and offers his hand. “Do you want to dance, then?”

I look from side to side to make sure that no one was looking. The boy looks encouraged.

“Are you crazy?” I hiss. “I can’t dance in public. I don’t. I just—I won’t!”

The boy is frightfully disappointed. “Oh.” He sits down. I sigh again. It’s my trademark—a helpless sigh I heave when all’s going wrong and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“If it makes you feel any better--” I say. “Granted, it probably won’t—my name’s Helen.”

“Nice name.” I stare hard at him to see if he’s being sarcastic, but he isn’t, not that I can tell.

“Thanks.” I hazard. “Well? Yours?”

“Oh. My name’s Thomas.”

“No last name either, huh?”

“Nah. My parents left me outside my new home’s door when I was a couple months old. Now I’m just considered one of the Highland Pa--er, Clan.”

I ignore the clan part. “Highland, huh? You’re pretty far from…home.”

“Waiting for the bus, just like you.”

“I wish I was as lucky as you. No parents. I’m sick and tired of ‘em. It’s the open road for me. Well, at least until I get to a dance studio downtown where I can audition.”

“Good luck.”

We lock gazes. I jut my chin out, unused to people being nice. “Thanks, I guess.” I look down and finger a piece of glass. “You’re too nice, Thomas.”

“It’s the way I was raised. My brothers and sisters—adopted, obviously—wanted to make sure everyone played nice.”

“I’m surprised someone as nice as you can come from Highland. Where’s your place?”

“An old mansion on the outskirts of the Park. It’s the only one on our block that hasn’t been burned down. There’s about fifteen of us, I’m one of the youngest.”

“Sounds nice.”

He laughs. “Not really, but we get by. We don’t even have to scare the druggies away anymore—they’ve learned.”

My blood chills at his casual laugh, and a shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what he could mean by this. I swallow.

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, we don’t kill them or anything. Every now and then, we just let out a good scream or two and some thumps. It’s all part of the illusion, see?”

“Oh.” My relief is evident, and as I’m just dropping my shoulders, they go up again as Thomas pats me on the shoulder.

“Worried, were you?” He chuckles. This guy laughs too much. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.”
I look around again. Still no one is coming down the street. It’s late afternoon, the sky a light blue, drawing down to pink and gold at the horizon. I roll my eyes and dig into my pack for my dance shoes.
Thomas, who was staring at the sky, looks down at me. He breaks into a smile.
“Going to dance after all, huh?”
I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I want to show off. I pull my holey sneakers off with vehemence.
“I need to practice for my audition tomorrow,” is all I say. I lace up by ballet shoes—I’m not on Pointe yet, but I’m really close—and stand. Holding my arms steadily in front of me, as if I’m holding a beach ball, I intone:
“First position,” just like my dance instructor.

We talk a little more. A few kids slouch past, jeans down past their knees, but they avoid us. Or rather, avoid Thomas. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the reputation of his “clan”.
Next thing I know, the bus is pulling up. Thomas leaps up and offers his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up. I swing my bag over my shoulder, the familiar weight thudding against my back.

I go up the steps first, and stop when I see the price for fares. Getting downtown is way more than I can afford.

“What?” Thomas asks from behind me. He’s got his money out. I look down at him, wondering if I should just get off, or go as far as my money can take me. Is he gentleman enough that I could get him to pay my fare?

“Uh….nothing. Hey, it’s getting late, and I need a place to crash before I go downtown. You know anywhere I could stay?”

“Oh.” Thomas’s eyes suddenly slit, and I draw warily back. I can see why the other kids were avoiding him. “Well. Any other night, I’d say yes, but…I suppose Mary could look after you.”

Before I can dwell on his enigmatic reply, he’s pushed past me and handed his money to the bus driver.

“Two rides to Highland park, please.”

The bus driver, an immensely over-weight man, grunts and takes the money with a greasy hand. I can’t help notice that his fingers are like sausages.

Thomas takes my hand. To my surprise, it’s cool, dry, and covered in calluses. He pulls me to the back of the bus and all but shoves me into a seat. He sits heavily down beside me. I’m still holding my money.

“Uh…thanks for paying for my fare. Here, take the money.”

He looks at me, distracted. His eyes are wild and his hair disheveled. “What?” He takes a minute to focus. “Oh…right…” His face clears up as he sees the money. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. You were down on your luck. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

I snort with derision before I can help myself.

“Okay, maybe not. But there is one thing you can do,” He ducks his head down below the seat as the bus starts with a noisy lurch, belching smog out behind us. I duck my head down as well.

“Tonight, you must do what Mary says. She’ll take care of you. Just stay in the room she gives you. Don’t go out for anything. Understand?”

Now I know something’s up. Thomas may be nice, but everybody’s got their fix. Does his family have wild parties? Some sort of religious ritual, maybe? All I know is that I don’t want to find out. I nod my head.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good.” Thomas looks past me out the window. I follow his gaze. It’s dusk, the dust and smog in the atmosphere coloring the sunset with brilliant colors of red and gold. When you look at a sky like that, you can almost trick yourself into believing you’re someplace beautiful.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” I say. Thomas says nothing. “Well, sort of. I mean, it’s all smoggy, but the colors are nice.” Still he says nothing. “Look, you can see the moon rising.” I point to it, peering over the horizon, small, whole, and burnished bronze.

Thomas pushes my arm down, grabs my wrist, and looks at my hand.

“You’re right,” He murmurs. “It is getting late.”

He lets go of my hand and resumes staring out the window. I look at my hand. Nothing different there.

The rest of the ride is silent. The houses and streets get steadily worse as we travel northeast to Highland Park. I wouldn’t ever come here by myself, or even with another person. The only time I feel remotely comfortable in the park is when I come with a large group of my brother’s friends.

As we get off the bus, Thomas grabs me by the forearm and steers me up the street.

“Stay right with me,” he growls in my ear. “If anyone comes up, let me do the talking.”

I nod, beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck. At this point, I’m not sure who I’m more in danger of—the druggies slinking around in the dark all around us, or Thomas, right behind me.

We go past several burnt-out mansions that are covered in graffiti, their lawns littered with broken beer bottles. Finally, we come to one that looks as if it’s being lived in. Thomas’s place.


The walk in front of his house is full of shadowy figures. They’re laughing raucously, shoving each other around and howling.

They turn towards us and see me first. Their howls turn to almost inhuman growls, and they step towards me, their stances and hooded faces threatening.

Before they can get ten feet away, Thomas pushes me behind him and lets out a sharp, warning bark.

“She’s mine! Nobody touch her!” He snarls. I work hard to keep my teeth from chattering. The figures straighten up and laugh, casual as a flock of perching birds now.
“Hey, Thomas, haven’t seen you since last night. Where’d you get to?”
“Nice catch, Tommy!”
“You’d better hurry and get her inside, Tom. Mary’s watching that kid Cara brought in, they can hang ‘till morning.”
The biggest figure detaches itself from the group and claps Thomas on the shoulder. It’s a man, about twenty-two or so. He was the one who spoke last.
“Tonight isn’t the best night, Thomas, but it’s better than last night. Will she only be staying a night?”
“Probably, Kyle. Sorry.” Thomas’s grip is still tight on my arm. Kyle waves him away as we start for the house.
“Just get her inside. Hurry, it’s almost time.”
“Send Tracy out!” A girl calls to Thomas.
“I will.” He replies as he pushes the gate open.
“Your ‘family’?” I ask. I can tell he sensed the quotation marks in there.
“Yeah,” He replies shortly. “You remember what I said on the bus. Stay inside with Mary. We’ll all be back in—“
He stops short just before we reach the porch. A breeze has sprung up, blowing clouds across the sky like pins before a bowling ball. The moon I noticed earlier is revealed. Small, but surrounded by a cold, hazy glow.
“No,” Thomas whispers hoarsely. “Not yet…it’s too soon yet!”

His plea is greeted by howls from the walk. Icy fingers of fear claw their way up my spine at the feral sound. There’s a horrible ripping sound, and I work hard to keep a scream from forcing its way through my lips. Thomas’s hand on my arm has turned into a horrible claw, digging through my shirt. His eyes are huge, teeth bared, tufted hair standing straight up. In fact, he’s got a lot of hair. The ripping sound I heard earlier was his shirt. He scrabbles at it, succeeding in shredding it off. Thick hair is sprouting up on his chest and arms. He grows tall, taller, a fearful silhouette against the moon. The agony proves too much for him and he throws back his head and howls.

Terrified, I fall against the steps, cracking my head. Through a thin film, I can see Thomas—still howling to the tiny, yet powerful, glowing moon—and his family, hurtling towards him on all fours. They pull him down and he whimpers. Kicking off his shoes and jeans, he follows them out of the yard and down the street, a sinuous, flowing pack, barking and howling their joy to the night.

I wake up in a small, dirty bed. Or at least, the bed is rickety, but the sheets are clean. A woman and a little boy are sitting in a corner of the small room, playing cards on a crate. The woman looks up and sees that I’m awake. She smiles wanly.

“I see that Thomas’s girl is awake.”

I bristle at being called that, and sit up. My head screams in pain at me.

“I’m Mary,” The woman says. “Housekeeper of the Highland Park pack, as it were.”

“Pack…” I murmur. “Of frickin’…w-we-were—“

“Werewolves.” Mary interrupts. The little boy gives a small gasp, and a few cards drop onto the floor. Mary spares him a glance, and turns back to me. “It’s okay, you can say it. You know it now.”

“Are you gonna kill me so I don’t tell?” I ask, leaning my head against the metal headboard. The idea doesn’t seem so bad to me. After all, what have I got to live for? A little money…a small chance of being accepted into a dance company, and what then?

Mary bursts into laughter. “If only! But no. There’s no need. Who would listen to you? Would you even be brave enough to tell, Thomas’s girl?”

“Don’t call me that.” I say angrily, getting out of bed. The floor is dusty and cold. “Where’s my bag?”

“Still on the walk. But I wouldn’t go out there if I were you. It’s almost dawn, and the pack usually drop their kill on the porch. It’s not a pretty sight, even if it’s only a squirrel or raccoon.”

“So…no humans, then?”

“God, no. Eew. The only humans around here do drugs, so their blood tastes horrible. And they’re dirty, too! Probably haven’t bathed in years.”

This whole thing has gotten way too surreal for me. Damn what Thomas said—I’m getting out of this place.

Mary must have read my thoughts through my expression, because she says,

“I wouldn’t leave if I were you, but it’s your funeral. You got lucky last night. Granted, that wasn’t your fault. But if you leave now, it will be. We’re not responsible for what we do when we’re in wolf form.

I stare at her levelly. “So you’re one, too?”

Her face grows cold. “Was. I’m not anymore. I don’t change.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Who are you to judge what’s possible and what isn’t? You just saw your boy turn into a wolf, didn’t you?”

“He’s not my boy, and I don’t know what I saw.”

“Fine. I know what you saw, and it’s something I don’t do anymore. You can make that choice. The rest of the pack may not believe me, but you can. I got out of control a few years ago and killed a girl who was drunk. Nobody missed her, but still. That’s one more life wasted, one more senselessly taken. I told myself I wouldn’t change anymore, so I don’t. Still, I take precautions. I check when the next full moon is. I stay indoors when the moon’s up, even if it’s just a sliver. And sure, maybe I miss that feeling of being part of a pack, paws pounding against the asphalt. But who gives a crap? The rest of the pack don’t. All they care about are those few nights of the month when they’re free, and to hell with the rest of the world. But I’m different. I care. That’s why I asked them to bring any…strays home. Unless it’s full moon, of course. Damn Thomas. Damn them all, those naïve, self-centered wolves!”

Mary blinks, as if she’s just come out of a trance. The little boy and I are staring at her. She ignores us and strides angrily over to the window. She stares out of the grimy pane down at the road. I take advantage of her turned back and, grabbing my shoes, tiptoe out of the room.

Once out in the hallway, I pound towards the front door and pull it open. It wouldn’t have been as gross if I’d had my shoes on, I think as I nearly step on the bloody carcass of a squirrel. Stifling a scream, I throw my shoes on, grab my bag from where I dropped it on the porch, and hightail it out to the street.

Most of the streetlights—at least, the ones that haven’t been broken by thrown rocks—are still on, though, as I walk under them, a few flicker off. I’m lucky. It’s that perfect, still time when all the inhabitants of the Park have either finished their partying or haven’t started it yet. Hopefully my luck will hold until a bus comes.

The horrible howling echoes from inside my head until it comes out and, far away, I can hear it answering the terrified thumping of my heart. The pack are still out.

The howling gets closer, and I break into a run. They’re out to get me, I know. For witnessing their night secret. If I can only get to the bus stop, I trick myself into thinking, I’ll be safe. It’s not fifteen minutes to downtown from here. If I can just make it…

But not even the bus stop saves me as I reach the forlorn, spray-painted bench. A small, silver-furred wolf is waiting there for me, eyes staring mournfully. A scream that I’ve been holding back bursts forth, and I fall to the ground, screaming and screaming.

Wolves surround me, looking quizzical as I still scream. One darts forward to shut me up, but the wolf I know to be Thomas angrily bats him away. My screaming stops, but still lingers in the cold morning air. Wolf Thomas barks and growls out a challenge, and, one by one, the rest of the pack creep away.



Now it’s only Thomas and me left. I hold out my hand to scratch his ears—he’s actually rather cute, looking like an over-large husky—and to my horror, he takes it the wrong way. Either that, or he couldn’t help himself. He bites my hand, deep, and blood spurts from my palm to stain his fur. His eyes are shocked and pained. Too ashamed to stay, he turns tail—literally—and runs off.

I pull out an extra shirt and wrap my hand. Blood soaks it through, turning the white shirt a deep, rusty red. Finally, it feels as if the blood has stopped welling up through my hand, but I’m dizzy.

Like sharks, the druggies smell blood. My scream must have woken them from their crack-induced sleep, and they come out now, in ones and twos. Some of them are girls, but most are guys. All of them have eyes as wild as Thomas’s the night before, only more bloodshot. They look like zombies, emerging from underground. Their bare arms are scarred from countless injections, and their faces are sunken and hollow, hair hanging limply down.

I don’t know what would have happened if the bus hadn’t come chugging along, scattering them. Like rats, they fled back into their holes. I could have prayed to any god, I was so grateful. Cradling my hurt hand against my chest, I pull out my money and get on the bus. It’s a different driver from before, a black woman. Her eyes are hard as she sees my hand. I notice, and say,
“Feral dog. There’s packs of ‘em running around.” You’ve got to build a pretty good b.s. radar on a job like that. She seems to buy my story, however. Either the wound looks that bad, or she’s heard the wolves at night. Like me.
“You wanna lift to the hospital, then?”
“Nah. Got no insurance. How much to downtown?”
She nods to the sign. “Five bucks.”
I hand her a crumpled five, which she slams in a lock-box. She looks at me expectantly. I’m still in a daze. “Well, get in.”
Shaking my head, I go to the very back, where I slide onto a damp seat and check my hand. It’s a deep, painful puncture wound, already starting to fester. I clean it up the best I can with some water and another clean shirt. I’m going to need some money. Maybe I can get a job at McDonald’s.
Auditions for En Pointe Dance Company aren’t until tomorrow. Until then, I’ve got to stay somewhere. And then there’s the bite…I look down at it again. A sudden, horrible thought occurs to me.
Was Thomas trying to turn me into a werewolf? Did he really like me that much? Or was it only vampire bites that did that?
Oh, god, everything was going wrong. Story of my life.

The air is cool on my face as I step out of Freddy’s Diner. They just hired me this morning, no questions asked, provided I started work right away. Tomorrow night is the auditions. But there was the question of tonight.
My palm had itched all day as I delivered greasy food in my new uniform: a cheesy striped apron and painfully high heels. But it was nine, and I was finally off. My new co-worker Evangeline locks the door behind her as she joins me in front of the diner.
“See ya tomorrow, new girl.” She calls as she slipped the keys in her pocket. Her shirt is extremely low-cut, her mascara thick and dark.
“The name’s Helen!” I yell after her, but she ignores me. Sighing, I itch my arm, then freeze and roll up my shirt.
My arm is covered in thick, golden-brown hair. Thomas had turned me into a werewolf.
I’m not panicking, though. Some small part of my brain wonders at this, but the part of my brain quickly gaining control is grinning. What was so wrong with being a wolf? It’s night in the city. You can blend in with the other wild dogs and cats. Revel in the dark, in the beauty of the hunt. Howl your joy to the moon-mother.
A smile slowly spreads across my face as I pull off my jacket and kick off the stupid high-heeled shoes. I drop my pack that holds my precious ballet shoes. My clothes can stay hidden by the dumpster while I’m out….hunting.
Maybe the hunt was like a dance. I could relate to that. Maybe out there was another just like me, casting off their old self, at least for one night. I would go find them.
The changing doesn’t hurt, just itches. It feels as if the fur under my skin is struggling to get out. My nose elongates, and I drop onto all fours. I pull my shirt and skirt off before they can rip, and then—
Then, I’m free.

“Number twenty-three. Helen Michelson.” The lady at the door calls. “Go on in.” She waves me through the door into the studio that smells of paint. The five studio owners and company managers look up from their papers.
“Helen Michelson?”
“Yes.”
“You may begin.”
My music starts.