Chapter Three

I let Lily walk ahead of me as we approached the farmhouse and forced myself to loosen my nervous grip on Carson. The modest two-story home sported a fresh coat of white paint with dark green trimming the windows, the lawn and flower beds meticulously maintained. The house sat on several acres of land; mostly scrub grass, sage brush, and reddish dusty soil. I saw a hen house in back, but it didn’t seem the MacGregors had an operating farm—more like almost everyone had some sort of livestock in a place like Wyoming. We’d taken a narrow road off the highway and then followed a gravel lane for nearly a mile before arriving. I couldn’t see any neighbors and wondered what it would be like to live somewhere this remote. Seemingly oblivious to the momentous occasion, Carson looked blearily up at the blue sky and opened and closed his little hands as if grasping for the sun.

Before Lily could even knock, the door flung open to reveal a middle-aged woman who practically pushed the small mayor aside as she stepped toward me.

“You’re… And this… Oh, my, oh my…”

The woman closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and then looked at me with one of the most generous and sincere smiles I’ve ever seen.

“I’m sorry, excuse me. I’m Erin MacGregor and you are most welcome here. Please, come in.”

As I stepped inside, the coolness of the air conditioning met me and the contrast from the strong sun left me momentarily blinking in the tiled entry way.

“I’m Julie Hall and this is Carson. Um, Carson Roger Hall.”

“Carson Roger?” Erin swallowed once more and shut her eyes for a split second before continuing. “He’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t he?”

We exchanged a smile.

Impulsively, I offered, “Here, why don’t you hold him?”

“Oh! Oh.” She took Carson gently into her arms. “Hello, sweet boy. Hello, Carson.”

Lily moved restlessly in the doorway, breaking Erin’s reverie.

“Oh, Full. I’m sorry, come in, come in.” Erin ushered Lily into the house. “Full, Julie, let’s go into the living room where it’s more comfortable.”

“Full?” I echoed, as we followed her into the house. Erin still cradled Carson, who grabbed hold of her thick, graying braid.

“Full. My title, as head of the pack.”

I stopped short. “Head of the pack?”

Lily turned toward me and raised a perfectly-shaped brow.

“You’re the head of the pack? The pack of Werewolves? The local group of Werewolves? You’re the head?”

“Yes.” Lily’s mouth quirked. “I’m the pack’s Full. As in: full, waxing, half, waning, crescent, dark. And the head full moon wolf is the Full. Which is me,” she said, slowly and clearly, as I stood looking at her.

“Oh.”

“Expecting someone—hmmm, let me guess—someone bigger, taller, stronger, male-er? Some burly, hairy brute of a man?”

“Well. Yes. I guess.”

Lily shook her head. “Julie Hall, you have a lot to learn about Werewolves.”

****

In the next two hours, I didn’t learn much about Werewolves, but I did learn a lot about Mac and his family. Mac’s mother and I clicked instantly, and we both soon cooed to Carson about “Grandma Erin.” She pulled out piles of baby pictures, and we happily engaged in the game of Who Does Carson Look Like. We agreed, with the curls Mac and I both shared, Carson’s hair would only get curlier as it grew. Right now, he had that baby male-pattern baldness look, where his hair was worn away on the sides. At the nape of his neck, though, were a couple undeniable curls. Erin thought Carson’s eyes might end up blue like Mac’s and hers, but I thought they tended toward the brownish side. Or maybe green. We both agreed he had Mac’s mouth and chin, and we blinked away watery eyes. At some point during all of this, Lily made her excuses and left us to it.

As the afternoon drew on, Mac’s brother Ian came home. Ian was seventeen, almost ten years younger than Mac. He slouched into the house and barely met my eyes. After a halting exchange of awkward social pleasantries, he escaped up to his room and turned on some very loud music.

Erin sighed.

“He’s been having a very hard time since Roger’s death. Ian’s always idolized his older brother. I hope we don’t lose him.”

“Lose him? Are you worried he’s suicidal?”

“No, not exactly. But he spends a lot of time as a wolf. And sometimes I worry he won’t…come back.”

I rocked back on my heels. For a brief moment, I had forgotten.

Carson lay on top of a blanket on the floor, kicking and flailing his arms. Erin and I sat on the carpet next to him.

“I don’t know much about all of this, about Werewolves,” I admitted. “When I saw Carson had…changed…I freaked out.”

“I bet you did.” Erin shook a rattle in front of the baby.

“Um, so, are you a Werewolf, too?”

“Yes, and so is Liam. And both boys. Although none of us manifested this early. You’re going to be a strong little full moon wolf, aren’t you, Carson?”

I was disconcerted to hear her coo to Carson about being a Werewolf.

“What exactly does that mean? A ‘full moon wolf’?”

“Well, let’s see. We classify ourselves in five categories, depending on strength. A full moon wolf is the strongest, then waxing, half moon, waning, and crescent moon wolves.”

“And what about dark moon wolves? Lily said something about that?”

“You’re a dark moon wolf, dear. Someone who bears the gene, but cannot change or call the moon. I forgot you basically don’t know anything.” Erin sat back and started again. “As you know, Werewolves respond to the full moon by changing shape, from human to wolf. Folklore has that much correct. Almost all Weres must change at the full moon; it’s only a choice for the very strongest of us. Most can change voluntarily at other times, as well, all except for the weakest, the crescent moon wolves. Weres are also stronger than humans, and we heal very quickly, unless injured by silver. Or unless the injury is too severe.” A frown briefly crossed her face.

“Okay. I follow you so far.”

“Now, when I refer to ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ wolves, I don’t mean physical strength, I mean strong or weak in their ability to call the moon.”

“Call the moon?”

Erin nodded. “Yes, this is the part I don’t think any of the lurid Werewolf stories depict. Our identity as Werewolves is tied to the moon—our own individual abilities even wax and wane with the moon in the sky. The moon is the catalyst for our shape-changing, as I said. In turn, we have the ability to call on the moon, to call on the power of the moon. I guess you might call it magic? Moon magic?”

“So what can you do with this moon magic?”

“Our powers depend on the strength of the Were, but calling on the moon means invoking its powers—powers of shifting light, tides, madness, illusion, creativity—most cultural associations of the moon have some basis in actual moon magic.”

“What can you actually do?”

“Hmm, an example will help most. So, let’s say there’s a drought and the crops suffer. A strong Were, a full moon wolf, might call on the moon and make the waters rise from the ground, similar to the way the moon affects the ocean tides.”

“Wow.” I digested that information for a moment.

“Yes. And Carson will be a very strong Were, definitely a full. The earlier the shapeshifting manifests, the stronger the Were. Most Werewolves don’t shift until they hit puberty, although some shift for the first time even in their late teens.”

Erin smiled. “Roger, he was also quite strong. He shifted when he was six. He was a full moon. Ian is a waxing moon, fairly strong himself.”

“What are you?”

“Waning. Liam, my husband, is a crescent moon wolf, not strong at all. He has never successfully called on the moon for anything other than shifting the light a bit in order to stay hidden. The strength of a Were isn’t inherited directly.”

“But being a Werewolf is somehow genetic? Some sort of recessive gene the child must inherit from both parents?”

“Yes. We haven’t isolated the gene—or genes—yet, although I know there are some Weres in genetics research trying to do just that. Our power seems mostly hereditary, although the recessive gene can also sometimes be awoken from dormancy.”

“How?”

Erin looked surprised at my question. “Why, by being bitten, of course. A dark moon wolf bitten by another werewolf sometimes becomes a Were.”

My heartbeat quickened with excitement. Become a Were?

“Wait. Only sometimes?” I said, after her qualifier registered in my brain.

“Yes. Sometimes the dark moon dies.”

****

Mac’s father Liam came home shortly after our conversation. If I hadn’t known ahead of time he was a “crescent moon wolf,” I would have thought he was the pack leader. A bit over six feet tall, he was broad shouldered, muscular, and had a mess of unruly curls that matched his in-need-of-a-trim beard. Unlike both boys, his hair was on the reddish side of brown.

“Liam.” Erin stood as he walked into the living room. “Did you get my voicemail?”

At Liam’s blank look, she continued with a flush, “This is Julie Hall. She was Roger’s girlfriend. And this is their son, Carson. Carson Roger Hall. Our grandson.”

Erin dabbed at her eyes once more. Liam’s eyebrows rose.

“An ex-girlfriend shows up with Roger’s child and you leave me a voicemail?”

Erin gestured widely. “I’m sorry, Liam. I got distracted…” She crossed the room and took his hand, squeezing hard. He looked down at her for a moment, and they exchanged a small smile.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, and extended a hand to envelope mine. “I apologize, but I’m a bit taken aback. We didn’t know Roger had a son.”

“Yes.” I looked down at the floor before meeting his eyes. “Actually, Roger didn’t know, either. We were—estranged—before I found out I was pregnant.”

“I see.”

The moment of silence seemed to last forever.

“I’m sorry, dear heart, I should have tried harder to reach you as soon as the Full told me…I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just so…” Erin shook her head and shrugged. She held Liam’s arm and smiled up at him. “Isn’t he the cutest baby you’ve ever seen?” Erin picked up Carson, who promptly started to scream.

Erin laughed and handed Carson to me. Liam’s expression was unreadable.

“Um, I think he’s hungry,” I said.

“Well, by all means, make yourself at home,” said Erin. “And, speaking of being hungry, I need to check on dinner. You’ll stay to eat, of course, won’t you, Julie?”

I sat down on the couch to feed Carson.

“Yes,” I said, slowly. “If you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience. Also, I hoped you could recommend a hotel in town; I haven’t made a reservation yet.”

“Hotel?” cried Erin. “Julie Hall. You’re practically family, Carson is family, and I won’t hear of you staying in a hotel. You’ll stay with us and I won’t take no for an answer.”

I looked at Liam, and he nodded after a long moment. Erin bustled out of the room, leaving Roger’s dad and me alone. Whereas I had felt comfortable with Erin right away, Liam’s less-than-genial scrutiny made me horribly aware of my failings. An unwed mother without the human decency to inform Mac I was pregnant. And now I’d descended on the MacGregor household. An interloper.

I focused intently on Carson, smoothing his downy head.

“So, Julie. What do you do for a living?” Liam asked.

“I’m a librarian. I’m on extended maternity leave right now, but I’m going back to work in about a month.”

Silence.

“And what about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a CPA, an accountant.”

“Oh, an accountant. That’s, um…”

“Interesting?” Liam’s mouth quirked in a smile I returned in relief. “About as interesting as being a librarian to most people I suppose. But I enjoy it.”

“Well, that’s what’s important. That you enjoy it, I mean.”

We lapsed into an awkward silence. Just as I desperately wracked my brain for something to say—anything—Erin called to tell us dinner was ready. Ian slunk down from his room to join us, but didn’t participate much in conversation. His hair hung in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell whether or not he ever glanced in my direction. The meal was hectic because Carson had taken it into his mind to become difficult-screaming-baby, which sometimes happened at this time of night. My mom always called it the “witching hour” and made some laughing reference to “payback.” I managed to eat my salad and enchiladas while standing up and bouncing next to the table. Carson nestled against me in his sling, but nevertheless regaled the table with occasional screeches that stopped just short of shattering glass. I dropped only a little bit of food on his head, definitely not my worse show.

“I remember when Roger was a baby,” Erin said, “I don’t think I ate a hot meal for six months. Somehow, whenever the food was ready, he needed to be held or nursed. Liam, do you remember?” She sighed. “Ian, on the other hand, was a dream: sleeping through the night by six weeks and hardly ever crying. You were such a happy little fellow, Ian, always cooing and smiling at everyone.”

I thought I caught Ian’s eyes rolling under his hair.

“How does Carson sleep, Julie?” Erin continued.

“He sleeps. Sometimes. He’s doing the best he can, right little fella?”

“Will he be happy sharing your bed tonight, Julie? Or shall we make up a small bed for him in a dresser drawer? That’s what my grandma used to do—I think my mom and all her siblings had a drawer for their crib. He’s not rolling over yet, is he?”

“No, he can’t quite roll over. He tries, though. I think he’ll be fine in bed with me. That’s actually his preference, even when we’re home,” I said. “But…are you quite sure it won’t be any trouble? I really am happy to find a hotel.”

“Absolutely not. You and that sweet boy—” The so-called sweet boy shrieked, so Erin raised her voice as well. “Will stay in this house as long as you’re in Greybull.”

“Speaking of which.” Liam’s baritone cut in. “You need to have a hard think, Julie. It may be better for you to move to Greybull. Permanently.”

“Liam—”

“Have you given real thought to what it means to raise a Werewolf? You need to be around a pack. You can’t handle this on your own.”

“Liam—”

“What are you going to do when he changes next time? How are you going to teach him to hunt? To use his abilities? He’ll be strong, very strong. How will you cope when he calls the moon?”

“Liam!”

“If not this pack, you need to move somewhere with another functional pack. But since Carson is part of our line, he really should be here with us. That’s how Roger would have wanted it.” Liam finished. I flinched.

“Liam!” Erin shot her husband a dirty look as he finally stopped talking. “Julie, we don’t need to talk about this now. It’s been a long day for you, a long day for all of us. At the very least, you’ll stay here for a while, and we’ll have plenty of time to talk things through. Right, Liam?” she said, pointedly.

Carson started screaming in earnest, this time protesting my frozen stance. I closed my mouth, took a deep breath, and started bouncing my baby again.

Move to Greybull. Greybull, Wyoming? Population 1815? Unless there’d been some birth or death since the highway sign went up. Me, Julie Hall, move to Greybull, Wyoming? Did they even have libraries in Wyoming? Did ranchers read? Move here to the middle of nowhere? Impossible. Although…How was I going to raise a Werewolf all by myself in the middle of Jackson County, Oregon?

The shrill ring of a phone cut through my troubled thoughts and Erin jumped up, seeming equally relieved to have the moment broken.

“Hello? Oh, Full, hi. What? Oh, no! How? Where was he? Do Miguel and Elise know yet? Do we—Yes. Of course. Yes. Tomorrow at moonrise, I’ll tell them. Moon guard you, Full.”

Erin hung up and stood for a moment with her back to us. When she turned around, she met Liam’s gaze with a grim face.

“Carlos Sanchez has been killed. The Full’s called a pack meeting tomorrow, moonrise at the old Beswick ranch.”

“What?” Ian exploded from his chair, no longer slouching, but stretched to his full height. Energy spilled off of him, and I felt the hairs on my arms rise.

“Ian.” Liam’s voice was flat. “We don’t know everything yet, and we shouldn’t jump to conclusions―”

“Bullshit. This is bullshit!”

Ian slammed out the kitchen door. For a moment, we remained motionless, then Liam jumped to his feet to follow his son. As he pushed open the door, I saw it—or, rather him—a wolf as tall at the shoulder as my waist, dark fur glinting in the slanting sun, tearing through the grass away from the house.

“Ian!” Liam called. “Ian!”

No response from the wolf as he raced out of sight.

Liam smacked the door jamb with his hand, then leaned on it heavily with his eyes closed.

“Should I…” His toneless voice trailed off.

“No. No, don’t go after him. You can’t change at this time of the moon anyway. Just let him run it off, and he’ll be back. He’ll be back.” Erin sounded as if trying to convince herself as much as her husband. She moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Liam shifted slightly and took her into his arms.

I stood there, feeling awkward in the face of their grief, not understanding what just transpired. I took a few steps toward the living room with a half-formed notion of giving them some privacy, but then Carson let loose with an ear-piercing shriek. I shushed him, as Erin turned to me. Liam turned the other way and stared out into the early evening.

“I’m sorry, Julie. This must all seem very strange to you,” Erin said.

“No, no, no. I mean, yes, this whole thing,” I gestured expansively, “is still strange to me. I’m sorry to intrude at such a private time. Ian—all of you—just experienced another loss and maybe it’s best if Carson and I leave, give you some privacy.”

Erin sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Ian is overwrought, but perhaps for good cause. Carlos Sanchez—the Werewolf who just died—was sent to investigate Roger’s murder. It seems the murderer caught up with him first. I’m not sure how to react myself. Two pack members murdered within a few months? Believe it or not,” she gave a small, wry smile, “we’re usually not a violent bunch.”

Liam turned around and came to her side. They clasped hands and Erin leaned into him, gratefully.

“We’ll know more after tomorrow’s meeting,” Liam said to his wife. “Did she say if—Was Carlos killed the same way?”

Erin’s blue eyes turned storm-cloud gray. “Yes.”

A moment of silence followed.

I started to speak, then cleared my throat before I could continue. “How was Roger killed?”

“He was beheaded,” Erin said.