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I can't change, she thought, her gorge rising. I can't change.
She was stuck in between.
SEPTEMBER
Harvest Moon
Chapter 29
29
Vivian held a brush in her clawed hand and swept fat strokes across the mural, obliterating the forest and the wolves on her bedroom wall with patchy white paint. This is no longer mine, she thought. It hasn't been mine for a long, long time. It will never be mine again.
She hadn't been out of the house for more than two and a half weeks, she barely spoke to her family, and whenever Gabriel visited she retreated to her room. Why would he want to see her now?
Aunt Persia had come by twice with herbal potions she had concocted. Nothing worked. "It's up to you now," she had said. In other words, it was useless. Over and over again Vivian had clenched her muscles and willed herself to change one way or the other, but she was like a rusty lock stuck in between - no matter how hard she forced, the key would move neither forward nor back. The full moon had come and gone, and she had stayed the same - immutable, unchanging, frozen.
It's all my fault, she thought as she roughly wiped a furred arm across her forehead, pushing up the sleeve of her loose silk robe. I tried to be what I wasn't, and now I can't even be what I should. I'm a freak.
She splattered the paint in a sudden arc of anger. "A freak! A freak! A freak!" she screamed. And because of her an innocent boy was dead.
The newspapers had already forgotten Peter Quincey, but police cruisers still crawled the neighborhood at triple the usual frequency, concerned civic groups met at the high school, and kids were told to be off the streets by eleven o'clock. No one was sure a detective wouldn't show up on their doorstep. The whole pack was relieved at the news that Gabriel had approved the purchase of a property in Vermont. The parcel included an inn and land right next to the Green Mountain National Forest. They could go back to the family business and be isolated enough to run free. In a week or so Gabriel was going up to sign the papers. They could make plans. They could think of the future.
"The future." Sputum shot between Vivian's fangs and joined the paint on the wall. What future did she have? I'm not going, she decided. How long would the pack be kind to her? What would she be but an ugly reminder of their year in the suburbs? And how could she bear to pretend to live a normal life when she could never run with the pack again? She belonged with the freaks in a carnival, but she'd stay here, in this room, hidden.
There was a scratching out back and one of her tufted ears tilted in the direction of the window. Damn them, she thought. Willem and the others had spent many a night on the porch roof outside her window. They refused to let her be alone. "We're still the Five, Vivie," Willem had said. "Yeah, you're one of us," Finn had agreed. If the night had been cooler she could have closed the window and ignored them, but she didn't feel like suffocating just to spite them.
She pulled her robe closed and slouched to the window, as erect as her spine would allow. Sure enough Willem, Gregory, and Ulf swarmed onto the roof. Finn dropped from the branches of the oak with a soft thud. Behind them heat lightning flashed in the purple sky, drowning the stars. As usual, the guys were naked and half changed. "It's the latest style," Willem had said when she'd complained. "All the best people are wearing it." Once more she silently thanked the unknown landscaper who had planted trees that sheltered the roof from both sun and prying eyes.
"We've got another one for you," Willem. said.
Vivian snorted. They were going through everyone's music collections looking for werewolf songs. To inspire her, Finn said, although she suspected it was for his own amusement. Last night they had sung "Moon over Bourbon Street" by someone called Sting. Their singing was hideous. The night before, while they were performing "Werewolves of London," Esmé had threatened to turn the hose on them, if she could only stop laughing.
Esmé was much too happy nowadays, since Tomas had moved in with them. Vivian had tried to spoil it by pointing out how he had run when the police came calling. Esmé had just giggled. "He's a lover, not a fighter," she said. My mother should be worried about me, not drooling over a boyfriend, Vivian thought, forgetting the number of times Esmé had come tapping at her bedroom door only to be shunned.
Gregory announced this evenings selection, "No One Lives Forever," by Oingo Boingo. Vivian rolled her golden eyes and hoped that whoever had donated the CD had been forced to listen to them practice. She turned her back on them, but her rejection didn't make them hesitate.
Even Ulf joined in these serenades, although he talked even less than usual nowadays. Gabriel had taken him in, according to Gregory, who had looked envious as he told her.
"Yeah, calls him little brother," Finn had mocked, but Vivian had seen a rare, fleeting smile on Ulf's face.
"Ass kisser," Gregory had accused affectionately, spitting at Ulf.
Everyone was happy except her.
"Come on, Vivie," Willem called through the window, startling her. "Come for a run in the woods." She hadn't even realized that the song was over.
"No," she answered without turning to face him. "And you wouldn't stay out after curfew if you were smart." She heard his sigh.
The boys left the roof quietly.
Downstairs the front door slammed and Esmé's laughter floated up from below. After a brief pause, Vivian heard the cadence of Esmé's steps up the stairs and then the predictable knock at her bedroom door.
"Vivian, honey?" Esmé's voice was tentative. "Haven't you been downstairs today?"
Vivian didn't answer. She felt mean, but she didn't want to talk.
"Vivian!" Esmé's voice was sharp. "Stop being a jerk. So what if you're stuck. Deal with it."
