The producer’s name was Jim something. I forgot his last name. Rather, I didn’t bother remembering. I was in Flagstaff, this week, but I’d be at a different radio station next week, working with a different set of people. For the better part of a year, most of the show’s run, I broadcast out of Denver. But a month ago, I left town. Or was chased out. Depending on who you talked to.
I wrapped things up at the station and went to my hotel to sleep off the rest of the night. Locked the door, hung out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Couldn’t sleep, of course. I’d become nocturnal, doing the show. I’d gotten used to not sleeping until dawn, then waking at noon. It was even easier now that I was on my own. No one checked up on me; no one was meeting me for lunch. It was just me, the road, and the show once a week. An isolated forest somewhere once a month. A lonely life.
My next evening was spoken for. Full-moon nights were always spoken for.
I found the place a couple of days ago: a remote trailhead at the end of a dirt road in the interior of a state park. I could leave the car parked in a secluded turnout behind a tree. Real wolves didn’t get this far south, so I only had
to worry about intruding on any local werewolves who might have marked out this territory. I spent an afternoon walking around, watching, smelling. Giving the locals a chance to see me, let them know I was here. I didn’t smell anything unexpected, just the usual forest scents of deer, fox, rabbits. Good hunting here. It looked like I’d have it all to myself.
A couple of hours from midnight, I parked the car at the far end of the trailhead, where it couldn’t be seen from the road. I didn’t want to give any hint that I was out here. I didn’t want anyone—especially not the police—to come snooping. I didn’t want anyone I might hurt to come within miles of me.
I’d done this before. This was my second full-moon night alone, as a rogue. The first time had been uneventful, except that I woke up hours before dawn, hours before I was ready, shivering in the cold and crying because I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten to be naked in the middle of the woods. That never happened when I had other people there to remind me.
My stomach felt like ice. This was never going to get easier. I used to have a pack of my own. I’d been surrounded by friends, people I could trust to protect me. A wolf wasn’t meant to run on her own.
You’ll be okay. You can take care of yourself.
I locked the car, put the keys in my jeans pocket, and walked away from the parking lot, away from the trail, and into the wild. The night was clear and sharp. Every touch of air, every scent, blazed clear. The moon, swollen, bursting with light, edged above the trees on the horizon. It touched me, I could feel the light brushing my skin. Gooseflesh rose on my arms. Inside, the creature thrashed, and it made me feel both drunk and nauseous. I’d think I was throwing up, but the Wolf would burst out of me instead.
I kept my breathing slow and regular. I’d let her out when I wanted her out, and not a second earlier.
The forest was silver, the trees shadows. Fallen leaves rustled as nighttime animals foraged. I ignored the noises, the awareness of the life surrounding me. I pulled off my T-shirt, felt the moonlight touch my skin.
I put my clothes in the hollow formed by a fallen tree and a boulder. The space was big enough to sleep in, when I was finished. I backed away, naked, every pore tingling.
I could do this alone. I’d be safe.
I counted down from five—
“One” came out as a wolf’s howl.
The animal, rabbit, squeals once, falls still. Blood fills mouth, burns like fire. This is life, joy, ecstasy, feeding by the silver light. . .
If turning Wolf felt like being drunk, the next day definitely felt like being hungover.
I lay in the dirt and decayed leaves, naked, missing the other wolves terribly. We always woke up together, in a dog pile, so to speak, and I’d always woken up with T.J. at my back. At least I remembered how I got here, this time. I whined, groaned, stretched, found my clothes, brushed myself off, and got dressed. The sky was gray; the sun would rise soon. I wanted to be out of here by then.
I got to my car just as the first hikers of the morning pulled into the trailhead parking area. I must have looked a mess: hair tangled, shirt untucked, carrying sneakers in my hand. They stared. I glared at them as I climbed into my own car and drove back to the hotel for a shower.
At noon I was driving on I-40, heading west. It seemed like a good place to be, for a while. I’d end up in Los Angeles, and that sounded like an adventure.
However, the middle of the desert between Flagstaff and L.A. wasn’t especially thrilling. I’d played just about every CD I’d brought with me while I traveled through a land of no radio reception.
Which made it all the more surreal when my cell phone rang.
Phone reception? Out here?
I put the hands-free earpiece in and turned on the phone.
“Hello?”
“Kitty. It’s Ben.”
I groaned. Ben O’Farrell was my lawyer. Sharp as a tack and vaguely disreputable. He’d agreed to represent me, after all.
“Happy to hear you, too.”
“Ben, it’s not that I don’t like you, but every time you call it’s bad news.”