With the bedroom door closed, I stand in front of the mirror, examining the collar from every angle.
“It looks good on you,” Chance says. “Don’t be so self-conscious.”
He doesn’t understand what I’m doing, so I scratch at the collar again, craning my neck and reaching back to try and nip at it.
“Is it too tight? Too loose?”
I whine, frustrated. He studies the collar, trying to figure out what I want.
“It’s a really cool collar. It’s the exact same color as your fur. It’s almost like camouflage.”
I step back a few feet and look at myself in the mirror again.
Chance is right. The collar is nearly invisible against my fur. He flips on a lamp, and I move closer to the mirror so I can see better. When I get near the lamp, there’s a buzzing noise and the bulb shatters.
“Whoa!” Chance says, jumping back.
I sniff at the lamp. The cord is blackened where I was standing.
I follow the cord back to the wall. When I get near the outlet, the buzzing noise happens again, and the lights in the room dim and come back to full strength.
“What’s happening?” Chance asks.
I glance in the mirror and see the collar glowing blue. The outlet glows the same color.
I think the collar is pulling electricity from the wall. But why does it need electricity?
I feel warmth creep in at the back of my neck. The sensation is familiar, like I’ve felt it a thousand times before. Myron said he’d seen me wearing a collar like this, and I’m sure he was right.
I shift and the lights dim again, followed by shouts from the housemother downstairs.
“Boys! Come to the den immediately! And whoever is using a hair dryer, cut it out!”
I hear commotion downstairs and the sound of multiple sets of footsteps.
“What’s happening down there?” Chance asks.
The bedroom door flies open.
“Let’s go, dumb—”
It’s the angry older kid who tried to steal Chance’s phone in the alley last night. He’s one of Chance’s housemates!
I growl, prepared to defend Chance.
The boy stands in the doorway with his mouth open, looking from Chance to me and back.
“Dude, that thing has rabies. What’s it doing in here?”
“You can’t say anything, Bash!”
Bash smirks, eyes narrowing. “You’re going to have to pay me.”
Now I really hate this kid.
“Whatever you want,” Chance says.
“We’ll settle up later,” Bash says. “Right now the witch wants us downstairs. You’d better hide that monster and get your butt down there.”
He slams the door shut.
“He saw you,” Chance says. “What are we going to do now?”
“Where’s Chance?!” the housemother screams.
“I have to go. We’ll figure out a plan as soon as I get back.”
Chance runs out and closes the door behind him. A moment later, the box on my collar makes a high-pitched tone, and the blue glow fades on the collar and the wall.
I guess the charging is done. I stare at myself in the mirror, and a dozen other questions come to mind—each chasing the next like puppies running around a pen.
I think about my collar, the wounds on my body healing in record time, Myron who called me Honey and seemed to know me from a different life…
What does it all mean?
That’s when the smell hits me, wafting up from the den, traveling up the stairs and under the bedroom door.
It’s the smell of boys and fear.
Chance is in trouble!
I open the door and slip into the hall.