Bared

XIII

The next morning, when I awoke in my bed, I had to lay there for some time, to digest what I had learned in the night. Even in a dream, my gut told me that the dream-Whitney had been telling the truth. Whitney was my mother. In the waking world, though, I finally felt some emotion about that statement. I felt curiosity, but, surprisingly, no anger at Whitney.

    The strange thoughts whirled around in my mind like a whirlwind. Finally, I got up. I opened my door a crack, and smelt bagels. Coming from downstairs. My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I listened. I was down the stairs so fast I practically flew.

    I stopped at the sight of Whitney, standing at the bar. She was pulling blueberry bagels out of the toaster, and buttering them. Her hair, like normal, was pulled back into a long braid down her back, not a hair out of place. She turned as I came into the kitchen, and smiled at me. Confusion roiled in my stomach, seeing her smile at me like my mother, all those years, and never telling me that she was actually my mother.

    I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but a bagel stopped me. Whitney, amazingly, had thrown a bagel frisbee-style, into my open mouth. Surprised, I chomped down the warm bread, letting the warm butter seep into my mouth. Whitney laughed at the look on my face, and I smiled against my will. After I had swallowed, I asked Whitney,”Whitney? Um, can I ask you a question?”

    Whitney’s face turned so fast from laughing to serious, I almost choked. It reminded me of Jon and Quince. As Whitney turned to face me fully, I caught sight of Austin sitting at the bar, hidden behind Whitney. Austin glared at me, and continued to eat his half-finished bagel.

    I stuttered,”Um. Somewhere private, please?” Whitney’s eyes grew cold, as if she knew what I was thinking, then walked into the living room. I knew that she was going to the other side, far away from Austin, so he couldn’t hear.

    I followed her. Whitney was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, staring into the wood, as if trying to summon flames. I sat beside her, and stared at the wood as well. I was thinking about how to phrase my question.

    Whitney looked at me, and I saw, for just a second, green eyes. I decided to be outright. “I had a dream last night. You were in it. You told me...You told me that you were my mother.” Whitney’s eyes widened at the last statement, but her face grew hard as well. Whitney murmured,”Come with me, Alexis. I know a place where we can discuss this in private.”

    Confused by her statement, I got up as well. I followed the blonde outside, into the back garden. But Whitney didn’t stop to smell the roses. No, she went through the gate and into the woods, something I’ve never seen her do. I ran after her, but quickly lost sight of her bright hair in the dark shadows under the trees.

    Suddenly, a white blur raced between two towering oaks, right in front of me. Wolf scent washed over me, a smell that was like oaks and violets. Growling, I gave chase to the white blur, baring to became a wolf, to match the white wolf’s speed. I ran and ran, chasing the blur through the woods, around trees and over brambles. Then, suddenly, I stopped, almost tumbling over my own paws. The trees widened and fell away to either side of me, and in the middle of the clearing was the lake.

    The lament that I had heard in my dream began playing in my head. I realized something, then: the lament had the same tune to it as Ben’s poem. The lament, the poem that was sung by the water, allured me, told me to venture closer. I fought the song, and it faded into background noise in my head.

    I looked around the clearing, and my gaze settled on a sleek form. White fur, long and elegant, inlaid with silver and gray, ran down the wolf’s sides and back. Her eyes, as bright as the sun, reflected my face. Long ears stood erect, and watchful eyes noticed my every move.