10.

"What's a Skinwalker?" I asked, waiting for her to kill me. Duke whimpered and, ears flat against his head, slunk in between Mrs. Carpenter and me.

She lowered her gun and grunted.

Something soft and rose scented draped my shivering body, stinging the sc.r.a.pes that covered my skin.

"We need to get you inside, child, before you catch your death," Mrs. Carpenter said, as if I had been out working in the garden on a rainy afternoon. She pulled me to my feet and helped me slip my arms into a bathrobe. Her bathrobe. She wore nothing but an old, thin nightgown. Without a word, she tied the pink terry cloth belt around my waist.

Mrs. Carpenter tilted her head to the side. After a silent moment, she picked up the rifle and walked over to shut the barn doors.

"Shash, Duke, come," she commanded. The dogs left my side and ran to her. "Is it safe? Is that pack of mangy animals gone?" she asked the dogs and pushed the doors wide. Both dogs sniffed the air and wagged their tails. In spite of this, Mrs. Carpenter dropped another sh.e.l.l into the rifle and pointed it outside. "You go first, Maggie Mae," she said, motioning me outside with the gun barrel.

As I pa.s.sed her, I couldn't help but wonder if she was going to shoot me in the back.

"Hurry, Maggie Mae. Before that pack of unholy mongrels comes back!" I hobbled to the house. Shash and Duke ran with me, Mrs. Carpenter a step behind. When we entered the dark living room, Mrs. Carpenter slammed the front door and locked it before flipping on the light.

"Now let me take a look at you, see if we need to go to the emergency room," Mrs. Carpenter said, setting the gun on the dining room table. "Some of those bites looked pretty deep."

I dropped the robe to the floor around my bare feet. After being picked up nude so many times by random police officers, modesty wasn't really an issue anymore. Naked was naked.

Mrs. Carpenter's eyes grew wide as she took in my bare form, and I wondered if I had gone too far, standing naked in front of her.

"Turn around," she instructed, staring. I turned. "Lord have mercy! Let me see your knuckles." She grabbed my hand, examining the wound I'd gotten from Danni's tooth. "I can hardly believe it," she muttered, looking at my body again. "Your hand ... it's still hurt. But the rest of you ..."

I looked down and gasped. Not a single scratch remained on my pale, mud- and blood-streaked skin. I lifted my leg and twisted my injured ankle. It was good as new. I was healed.

"You may not be a Skinwalker, but you're something unnatural," Mrs. Carpenter said, stepping away from me. "If my dogs didn't seem to like you so well ..." Her voice trailed off as she studied me with wise, yet terrified, eyes. But there was something else there. Shock.

I looked at my naked self again and tried not to cry, but I couldn't help it. I looked so normal, so human. But I was an abomination. An animal. A freak. Loud, ugly sobs joined the tears. I covered my face with my hands and tried to hold it all in.

"Oh, Maggie Mae, forgive my hasty words." The soft robe enfolded my naked body, and then her arms, warm and gentle, embraced me. "Dear child, what are we going to do with you?" she whispered, running her hand over and over my wet hair.

I hadn't been held this way-like I was loved-since my last family member had been killed. Not only loved, but loved by someone who felt nearly like a mother.

She tugged my hands from my face. "Maggie Mae, dear, why don't you take a shower."

I nodded. With the robe held tightly in place, I hurried to the bathroom.

After a scalding shower, I put on my nightshirt and, in spite of the predawn hour, went to the kitchen. The light was on and I could smell food. I was so ravenous, my stomach was trying to turn inside out.

Mrs. Carpenter eyed me warily, like the day I'd come to live with her, but she didn't say a thing-just pa.s.sed me a bowl of boiled wheat farina with cinnamon and raisins. I took it to the dining room table.

The bowl was empty in less than a minute, warming me from the inside out. Mrs. Carpenter refilled it and sat beside me, searching my face, my clean hands, my eyes.

"I'm still the same girl I was yesterday," I said, my voice ragged from crying. "You just know more about me now. But I haven't changed."

Mrs. Carpenter shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "I keep telling myself that. But what exactly is it that I now know about you?"

I shrugged and swallowed farina before answering simply, "I change at the full moon."

Mrs. Carpenter looked at me in exasperation. "Why, thank you for stating the obvious, but what are you? Why do you ... change?"

"I've asked myself that very same question every single day for the last two years. Since this started happening. I don't know why I started to change or what I am."

"Well, who else knows about this? This changing?"

"No one. I'd be turned into some sort of top secret medical experiment if anyone did. Unless, of course, I was lucky enough to be locked away in an insane asylum for the rest of my pitiful life," I snapped. "Your son already thinks I'm crazy without that little tidbit added to my mental shortcomings."

Mrs. Carpenter nodded, her face thoughtful. "I see. Now, tonight you looked just like Shash. I couldn't tell the two of you apart. Why's that, do you think?"

I shrugged again. "Ever since I started changing, I always looked like Mrs. Montgomery's big orange tabby, my foster mother's pet. Maybe I turn into whatever animal I'm closest to." A smile tugged the side of my mouth. "It's a good thing you don't own a cow."

"Well, at least you weren't a wolf. Or a grizzly bear," Mrs. Carpenter said with a shiver. "I would have shot you without hesitating if that had been the case." She looked at me with a frown. "Tell me about how all this started."

"I changed for the first time one month after my sixteenth birthday. I was fostering with the Montgomery family and had gone to a party with some kids from school. They were totally bad kids, but I was desperate to fit in. There was alcohol at the party and I wanted them to like me. So I tried alcohol for the first time-tequila." Mrs. Carpenter's eyebrows shot up. "Don't worry. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

"I got wasted and pa.s.sed out. When I woke up, it was the middle of the night. I had been dumped in someone's front yard and all I wanted to do was catch rats. I didn't even realize I wasn't human at first-just slunk into the night, dragging my shirt with me. I killed and gorged on rats till dawn." My stomach turned as I remembered the taste of rat fur, blood, organs, and bones.

"When I changed back to myself, I was standing in some slummy alley between two buildings, naked, and vomiting up undigested chunks of rat mixed with tequila. I couldn't remember how I got there, thought maybe I was lying in bed having a really horrid nightmare. Until a dirty homeless man tried to attack me. I kicked him in the crotch, ran out into the road, and was almost hit by a police car. That was the first time I was picked up for indecent exposure." I looked at Mrs. Carpenter. She was leaning toward me, eager to hear more.

"I thought it was the alcohol that made me change. I haven't touched it since, but when the moon's full, I still change. And I can't control when I change back.

"That's why I have a police record, why I am found naked in the streets. I don't mean to change, don't even want to. But it is as unavoidable as my period, and when I change, I can't take my clothes with me. I leave them behind, if I don't accidentally drag them away."

Mrs. Carpenter looked positively smug. "Well, I knew you weren't up to no good when they found you naked in the streets. My gut told me you were a decent girl, and my gut has never been wrong. And Ollie thinks you're a prost.i.tute!" She began laughing, a full-bodied chuckle. "You, a prost.i.tute!"

I smiled. I'd never even been kissed.

"So, can you only change when the moon is full, or any time you want?"

"Only at the full moon," I said, but then remembered the day in track when I'd tripped on the hurdle. My vision had sharpened and my nails had grown into claws. "Honestly, I've never tried to change. I try to avoid it."

"Well, mercy, Maggie Mae. You've been dealt a hard lot in life. I hope you make sense of it one day, because I sure can't. I don't know what to do with you now." She looked at me with haunted eyes. "Aside from calling animal control about that pack of wild dogs, I suppose there is nothing to do, is there? Unless you want me to lock you in the barn on the night of the next full moon?" She shuddered. "You're a good girl. I'll just keep reminding myself of that."

She looked rather dazed as she took my empty bowl to the kitchen. When she came back, she said, "Let's not move you out to the barn just yet. Not until animal control has taken care of the dog problem."

I sighed. I might have been brave when it came to taking a punch, but I was relieved at the thought of staying in the house. Taking a deep breath, I asked the question that had been troubling me since she'd found me in the barn. "What's a Skinwalker?"

Her lips thinned and she wouldn't meet my eyes. "Forget I said that name. Speaking of them draws them near."

11.

The bus pulled into the school parking lot. I stared at the tan brick school through the rain-streaked window and wished I could shrink down into my seat and disappear. When all the students had filed off, I dragged myself to the exit and stepped into the rain. My feet refused to take another step.

The parking lot was awhirl with students. They hurried past me so intent on themselves that I was invisible again.

By the time I mustered up enough courage to make my feet start walking, I was soaked clean through. My bra was visible beneath my thin, sopping wet black T-shirt and my drenched hair looked blacker than black despite that it wasn't black anymore. I hugged my sodden jacket closed over my shirt and trudged forward.

As I pushed the school door open, the tardy bell rang and students evacuated the halls. My shoes squeaked and squelched on the linoleum. I turned a corner toward the gym and my feet screeched to a stop before the rest of my body. Hands clamped down on my shoulders and held me in place. I took a step back and glared up at Bridger.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

"Nope."

"I need to talk to you. I tried calling your house yesterday, but Mrs. Carpenter said you were grounded from the phone."

"Yeah, I was grounded. Leave me alone." It was easier not getting attached to someone. Because that way, I couldn't get hurt. I turned toward the locker room, but his long arm came up, hand resting on the wall, barring my way.

"Something really important came up," he said.

"Something so important you didn't have the decency to give me a freaking ride home? What came up?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Whatever. Just leave me alone, Bridger. As far as I'm concerned, we never met." I shoved his arm away and strode into the girls' locker room.

The locker room was empty. I wiggled out of my drenched jeans and jacket, then pulled the soaked T-shirt over my head. From my locker I got dry running clothes and yanked them on, shoving my jacket and backpack inside.

Instead of stuffing my jeans and T-shirt into the locker, I laid them out over the bench to dry.

I stood tall, wiped the smeared mascara from under my eyes, and walked into the gym.

It was hard, but I did not let my eyes wander, did not allow myself to scan the gathered students for any sign of Bridger.

"We'll hold cla.s.s indoors today because of the rain," Coach bellowed as he entered the gym. "All girls, line up for sprints. Boys, stretch."

I followed Ginger to the far end of the gym. We were the only girls in track that day.

"Hi," Ginger said as we lined up.

"Hey."

"All right, ladies, to the other side and back twenty times. And hustle," Coach said and blew his whistle. As I sped past the bleachers where the boys stretched, I couldn't help but search for black hair. He was there, as studiously avoiding my eyes as I had been avoiding his. All the other guys, though, stared at me. I looked straight ahead again and ran.

The whole cla.s.s pa.s.sed that way, with me straining to avoid any type of contact with Bridger, even eye contact. A wall of tension loomed between us. The students must have sensed it. No one spoke. No one smiled, even at each other. And everyone seemed to be glaring at me. Except Ginger. And Bridger, who acted like I was nonexistent.

When Coach excused us to shower and change, I practically ran from the tension.

"Maggie Mae," someone called when I was only a step from the freedom of the girls' locker room. My heart thudded in my chest as I turned to see what Coach wanted. My track mates pushed past me a little too roughly, jostling me with their shoulders. Bridger was last in line. As he brushed by, his eyes flickered to mine and he paused.

"I think something might be up," he whispered, glancing toward the boys' locker room. "Be careful." His fingers touched mine and I had to fight the urge to jerk my hand away. Then he was gone.

"Maggie Mae?"

I blinked.

"I need to speak with you," Coach explained. "I'll give you a late pa.s.s for second period."

I followed him to his office, a small room next to the locker rooms, decorated with trophies and ribbons of years past.

"Have a seat," he said, motioning to a metal folding chair squeezed into the corner. I sat. "You're the best sprinter I've ever had," he said as he sat behind the desk. His chocolate eyes, with their thick caterpillar brows, studied me. "I'd hate to lose you."

"What do you mean, 'lose me'?" I asked, though I pretty much knew what he was going to say.

"We can't be a team if two of our members are trying to kill each other." I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he was referring to Bridger and me, or Danni and me. "It would be a darn shame if I had to kick you and Danni off the team for fighting. This is the only warning I'll give you."

So he meant Danni.

He stared at me for a long time. Could he tell that I didn't care if I was on the team or not? Running track had never been an ambition of mine.

"Do you realize that with your fifty-yard dash time, you could get a track scholarship to any major university?" he asked. "You are planning on going to college, right?"

"Not really." Everyone seemed to make such a big deal about college, like if I didn't go, I'd be a complete failure.

As if to convince me of the importance of gaining a higher education, Coach told me all sorts of stories about when he ran track at Arizona State. It wasn't until the dismissal bell for second period rang that we realized how much time had pa.s.sed. He scribbled an excusal note for me to give to the attendance office and I hurried out of his office.

Back in the girls' locker room, I began to tremble with cold, as if the rainy morning had made its way to my bones. I stripped out of my gym clothes and grabbed a towel from my locker, then darted to the deserted showers.

The water, even when turned to full hot, was barely warm enough to feel good. It did nothing to melt away the ice that coursed through my blood and made my teeth chatter. The third period tardy bell rang, but I ignored it, standing under the tepid water, letting it spray the top of my head and trickle over my body.

Long after my skin had turned prunelike with wrinkles, I turned off the shower, wrapped the towel around my freezing body, and went to my locker.

My clothes were exactly where I'd left them-draped over the bench and dripping puddles on the locker room floor. I put my jeans on first, hardly able to get my legs into the cold, stiff fabric. Then I grabbed my black T-shirt and paused. Something had caught my eye-a burst of color. I held the shirt up.

My heart dropped to my stomach and seemed to explode. On the front of my T-shirt was a giant scarlet letter A, paint fumes oozing from it. I thought of Hester Prynne from The Scarlet Letter, thought of the A that marked her as an adulterer for everyone to see. I had been marked, too. I studied the A on my shirt and my blood started to boil.

Absolutely furious, I threw the T-shirt onto the bench. There was no freaking way I was going to wear it. I'd wear my smelly gym shirt because, seriously, it's not like anyone got close enough to smell me.

I opened my gym locker and gasped. It was empty. Nothing-not even my gym shorts, not even my backpack-was in it.

I sat heavily on the locker room bench and stared at the empty locker, thinking maybe I'd opened the wrong one. I double-checked the number-117. Nope, I had the right locker. My things had been stolen.

I looked down at myself, at my damp, dingy white bra and low-rise jeans. I couldn't go out into the halls wearing that, so I grabbed the black shirt and turned it inside out.

As I pulled it over my head, I cringed. The paint had soaked through. Even inside out the A was visible. I felt branded.