My Mother Runs With Wolves

Chapter 6

My dad looks up from his laptop when I walk in. "Hi Piglet, how was school?"

"Dad, maybe it's time to drop the nickname. I'm not nine anymore."

"Fine, fine. How was your day of education, young lady?" he says with a posh British accent.

I giggle. "It was all right."

"All right, eh? Likes?"

"The teachers seem harmless, and I met a couple of nice girls," I reply.

Mom breezes into the room and comments, "Oh Piglet, I'm so glad you're making friends!"

"It's the first day of school, Mom. I've only just met them. And enough with the 'Piglet'. I'm almost seventeen!"

When I was little, my favorite story was The Three Little Pigs. My Dad would tell me the usual version, but when my Mom told the story, the wolf was somehow the hero. My favorite part was always the "wee wee wee" of the little pigs scurrying home. And then I discovered Winnie the Pooh. Winnie was all right. I found him a little... slow. But for some reason I identified with Piglet. He was cautious. Loyal. The overlooked underdog. Always looking out for his friend, Winnie. Sure he was scared a lot, but he always tried to do the right thing despite the fear.

My parents bought me Piglet slippers, Piglet backpacks, and Piglet pajamas. To this day a set of Piglet sheets sometimes appears on my bed. So of course when they started calling me Piglet, I didn't mind. At the time.

"Dislikes?" Dad asks, bringing the conversation back around.

I hesitate, and he notices.

"What happened?" he prompts.

I sigh and adjust my hat. "There's a jerk in two of my classes. Apparently his specialty is picking on the new kid."

"Oh Piglet, I'm sorry," Mom says and folds me into a hug. It feels nice, so I let the nickname slide.

Dad is frowning. "What's this kid's name?"

"Trevor."

He scribbles on a piece of paper. "And his last name?"

"I don't know. Douchebag, I guess. Dad, don't worry about it. I can handle him."

He regards me for an intense moment, then relents. "All right. I guess you have to start fighting your own battles. Speaking of which, when would you like to start up practice again?"

"Do I have to?" I whine.

"Maddie, Stalkers start training as soon as they can walk and they never stop."

"Dad, I'm only half Stalker. And I'm not joining that stupid Order." I throw my backpack down for emphasis, then mutter, "Not that they'd ever let some half-breed like me in anyway. Your brother would see to that."

He presses his lips together. I regret touching that nerve, but his Wolfstalkers-always-do-this speeches really irk me. All it does is remind me of what I'm not.

"It's for your own protection," he says tightly. "In case I'm not around, I need you to be safe. And I want you to be able to protect your mother."

Mom's face pinches with annoyance. "I'm not exactly helpless, Nate."

"I know." He drags a hand through his dark hair. "I know. But Maddie can sense Stalkers. You can't."

It's true. Stalkers can detect Shifters, but not the other way around. It's what makes them so deadly. It's hard to see them coming when they look just like everyone else. Stalkers can also sense other Stalkers. It's how they recruit those with the ability.