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"Nah," said Aiden softly. "That's a pentagram."
"So she's a witch," Kelly snapped.
No, my dear, Vivian thought. You don't watch enough Late-night movies. The person who sees a pentagram in his palm becomes a werewolf's victim.
"Are you a witch?" Aiden asked, his eyes twinkling.
Her voice was husky. "Why don't you find out?" She folded his hand around the sign that made him hers. Inside, her heart was thumping crazily in response to her charade, but she refused to lose her nerve.
As she walked away she heard Kelly raise her voice, but she didn't bother listening. Was that his girlfriend then? He could do better. Much better.
All afternoon her thoughts returned to him like a song she couldn't get out of her head. After a while it became annoying. What am I, a pervert? she asked herself. He was human, for Moon's sake - half a person.>Thought of this small acceptance pushed back the gloom, and she bounded up to fetch her backpack and have another look. She should leave the magazine open on the kitchen table for Mom to see tomorrow before she went to work. Would she recognize her daughter's art? Would she be proud?
The magazine smelled glossy and was cool in her hands. She found her print and devoured the sheen of it, crisp and stark. And will those girls at school notice me now? she thought.
She hadn't even bothered to see who she shared space with. Is my work better than the others'? she wondered now. A poem was on the page opposite hers. She looked at it suspiciously. A crappy poem would lessen what she'd done, make it cheap.
The title startled her - "Wolf Change." She read on.
Corsair of the wood
discard your skin
your pallid, wormlike
vulnerability.
Corsair of the wood
exchange your skin
for pelt of dun
and brindle luxury.
A pentagram is burning
in your eyes
and soft, pale twists
of wolfbane
squeeze your heart.
A grinding pain
is writhing in your thighs
the crunch of bones
proclaims the change's start.
Pirate of the flesh
throw back your head
and part your jowls
