Night Children

25

Tonight was the night, the night where the moon was full, and as soon as it reached its apex my family and any other werewolf in existence would undergo their monthly transformation. This, at least, was what it meant for most people—the whole changing thing. For me, it meant that from the moment I was home from school, I was very busy. I had rib roasts to tie in the trees, caution tape and warning signs to set up around the forest's perimeter, water bowls to place, traps and rigs to set. Once all that was done, I had a whole night to spend by myself, normally on my window seat where I could warily watch over the foliage.

I only ever saw trees, though. Trees, the sky, the moon. It was the same every time.

But it was because I did these things—the rib roasts, etcetera—that it was the same every time. Keeping my family safe was a necessity, as automatic as breathing.

We had a spare fridge in the garage, where I kept the rib roasts for each month. I stepped onto the concrete, my footsteps echoing as I made my way over to it. Now, considering how heavy these gigantic hunks of meat were and how I'd never really inherited my top-notch werewolf super strength, I couldn't really carry them that well. So I dumped them in a wheelbarrow along with a couple rolls of heavy duty twine and wheeled the whole thing out of the garage, around to the backyard.

It was calming, wading my way through the forest, the rhythmic crunch of fallen leaves underneath my feet, the interlocking web of branches forming a natural roof over my head. Birds sang, squirrels hopped from tree to tree, beetles skittered away from my path. It was nature at its finest, and it was unfair how I couldn't be a part of it. I'd told Alfie once that my human skin was a cage. It was in places like this that I felt trapped the most.

I tracked my usual path. A rib roast at the forest's east side. One at the west. A couple in the clearings. When I was done with those, I trekked my way back to civilization, wheelbarrow in hand, until I reached the shed that sat at the border between the tree line and our backyard.

The doors always got stuck, so it took a good amount of effort to tug it open. A plume of dust shot up in my face; I coughed, waving it away.

My heart jumped up to my throat.

"Cal!" I yelped in surprise, but she just seemed pleased with my reaction, a smile spreading at her lips. "How long have you been there?"

She held out her hands, and with a grunt, I took them and hoisted her up from her crouch beside the lawnmower. Sighing, she dusted herself off, putting one foot out into the sunlight, but pulling it back with a wince a moment later. She lifted her eyes to me. "I don't know. A while. It's full moon night, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"You've told me you always spend these nights alone," Cal commented, leaning against the shed's doorjamb. It was weird, how in place she looked against the various garden shears, chains, and animal traps behind her. No one was supposed to look at home in a rundown shed, but as she did with everything, Cal somehow pulled it off. In a good way, somehow. "That's rather depressing if you ask me. I'm offering you my company, if you'll accept it."

I stared at her, but she was dead serious.

I groaned. "Fine," I muttered, as she gave a joyous laugh, "but I'm not as pathetic as you think I am."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are," Cal said, and before I could interrupt again, shushed me. "I'll just tell you like it is. Theo, a werewolf who is not a werewolf, spends every evening before the full moon setting up all kinds of things to make sure his family—werewolves who are werewolves—are perfectly fine, and safe from any humans who may want to mess with them. Then he goes and sits in his window and makes paperclip soldiers and watches them like a sad little puppy until sunrise."