Shadows Lurking
Eight

September 20th, 2005 – Tuesday, 5:34am

Staring out at the rising sun as it struggles to peak over the tree line, I can’t help but smile to myself. Nothing has been better than it has in the last couple of days. None of the other students have been bothering me, avoiding me further now after nearly killing Finley. Mattheo hasn’t been weird about the whole ‘letting me cry while he holds me’ thing, and I’m grateful or it. I don’t think I could handle him spreading it around the school, or even to James and Corey.

All three of the boys have been almost pampering me in a way since the Finley incident. I think that they’re worried I might attack the kid again or get expelled from the school. According to Professor Dawes, it’s a possibility. Unless I agree to keep distance from the little blondie, I’ll be given the boot. A part of me is tempted to confront him again just so I’ll finally be kicked out of here, but then I remember that day in the infirmary with Mattheo.

I finally have someone to call my friend, and if I take James and Corey into consideration, I have three. Being with them and spending all of our time together makes me think back on those similar days with Thomas. I’ve not seen or heard from him since I got thrown in this place and I doubt I’ll ever get the chance again.

Letting my fingers tangle in the wet grass, I attempt to imagine what this might have been like for my mother. Did she really enjoy sunrises as much as I do, or was that some ploy Nicholas had used to get closer to me? I’d like to think that she found just as much peace as I do when watching the sun claim its rightful place among the clouds.

Shuffling from behind causes me to scramble to my feet. Facing the intruder now, my shoulders become slack when I realize it’s just Sheriff Goodey. Standing just a bit behind him is Nicholas and Kerum. The two seem to be in a deep discussion, about what though I’m not sure.

“Rylan.” Goodey steps closer, not even hesitating. He doesn’t seem to register my backwards retreat. “I brought some things from your house- your old house. I hope you don’t mind.”

He extends his hands and in them there are a few different things. One of the things that catches my eye is the framed picture from the hallway. Five kids, smiling, enjoying themselves in the still black and white photo.

“That’s not mine.” I motion to the photo. “I don’t know those kids. I think it’s something that was left behind from the old owners.”

Goodey now stares at me, confused and unsure, before glancing back at the other two. They seem to have stopped their discussion and are now focused on the two of us. Goodey then turns the picture around and stares down at it, longingly.

“You should know, Rylan.” He places the photo in my hands. “This is a photo of your mother when she was your age.”

“W-What?” I stare down at the photo now. Seeing the wide smile on the girl’s face and the way her dimples are poking through now causes a tug in my chest. “This is my mom?”

“It is,” Goodey confirms. He releases a deep breath, as if he had been afraid to breathe this entire time. “That’s your mother, Nicholas King, Arthur Sutton, Collin Woods, and your father.”

He names them off, pointing to each one, and my eyes are now trained on the one he identified as my father. Noah had been smiling in the picture, staring at my mother, as if he hadn’t realized he was a monster yet. That little boy would grow up to be evil and the world’s worst father.

I let my eyes trail back over my mother. She’s not even looking at Noah. No, she’s staring at Nicholas, smiling with a twinkle in her eyes. Glancing up, my eyes meet Nicholas’, and I can’t help but stare as well. They must have actually been friends. I replace it a bit strange that my mother, James’ father, Corey’s father, and Mattheo’s father were all friends just like we are now.

Goodey clears his throat now. “I hope you don’t feel too offended that I grab yer’ stuff for you. I just thought you’d like to have something of Emelia’s while here.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “I don’t have anything of hers. This is the first time I’ve even seen a picture of her, knowing it was her anyway.”

He struggles for a moment with something in his pocket before pulling out a folded wallet. “One second,” he hums. He pulls a small photo out of his pocket now and places it in my waiting hand. “Here you go. Your momma sent that to me two weeks after you were born. I had never been so choked up than when I was seeing Emelia looking like a mother.”

Standing center photo is a young woman, maybe mid-twenties, holding a small baby in a light brown onesie. A locket around her neck stands out.

“Do you have this necklace?” I point at it in the picture.

Goodey looks torn before shaking his head. “Sadly, no. Your father hid most of your mother’s belongings before she died. He was always twisted, playing mind games on your mother, and even us at times.”

Staring at the blue ribbon around her neck and the golden locket hanging from it, I focus as hard as I can on the engraving. I barely make out an E in the middle of some flowers. I wish I could hold it in my hands, open it and see whatever it was she decided to carry so close to her heart.

“Thanks, anyways.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “So, do you have to arrest me now?”

“Arrest you?”

“Yeah-” I nod. “-for nearly killing Finley.”

Goodey laughs now while patting my shoulder. “Kid, I think everyone has been wanting to teach that family a lesson since I was your age. However, do I need to remind you that you still have raw strength from not shifting much? Yes. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t expected to just let him or anyone else run over you whenever they feel like it.” He has a lost look in his eyes while staring down at me. “Your mother always said that the strong were made strong so that they could defend the weak.”

“What if I don’t want to defend someone weaker than me? What if I’m tired of helping everyone else?”

“That’s too bad,” he practically hums. “The weak ones? They’ve not been through what us strong ones have been through, yet. Stick with ’em, love ’em, and protect ’em until they can do it for themselves. That’s something Emelia said when we were younger.”

I never thought about using what I can do to help others. Sure, I’ve beat up the occasional bully and defended my friends, but it’s not like I had set out to do those things. They just happened. “My mom was kind of a nice person, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, the kindest.” His eyes twinkle now. “And I was proud to call her my friend.”

“Adam,” Kerum calls out. “I do believe we have an appointment with Phineas.”

Goodey now squeezes my shoulder once before letting go. “I’m sure your time here will only get more difficult, but always remember what I told you. Your mother would never just lay down and let someone run over another person. She protected everyone; her friends, her family, and even her enemies.”

“Adam,” Kerum calls once more. “We really do have to leave now.”

“Coming,” Goodey grumbles. “I’m coming.”

The two walk away, arguing as they go. I wish I could hear them, but my hearing is still going through whatever that hexen had put it through. Nicholas stays, his feet planted in the grass, not making one move to come forward. The look in his eyes is clear. He wants to come closer, but he’s holding himself back. As much as I would love to just walk away and let him stand there for the rest of his life, he’s Mattheo’s dad and apparently a good person.

Against every muscle in my body, I take a few steps closer to him, until we’re within reaching distance of each other. He tries to hide the surprise on his face, but it’s too late.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

I shrug. “Fine, I guess.”

He nods. “Right. Mattheo had said you were out for two days, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I heard that Fletcher was out for three days,” he muses. “I’d say knowing the damage you’d caused would be considered punishment enough.” He gives me a small grin, one almost identical to his sons. “Not that I’d have punished you for something like that though. Even Fletcher’s father would attempt to start things between me and my friends back in the day. It’s to be expected of his son as well, I guess. After all, we are all a small portion of our parents.”

His words are like ice on an opened wound. I had never considered myself anything like Noah Evans, but now it crosses my mind. Noah had been a monster in his own way, and I’m one in my own. We’re not too different from one another. One just outlived the other, that’s all.

“I have a proposition. Would you like to go with me and Mattheo the third weekend of October?” Nicholas asks. “We’re taking a bit of a fall shopping spree downtown with Corey and his father, Collin.”

Spending an entire day alone with Mattheo, Nicholas, Corey, and his annoying dad? I’d rather not, but Mattheo did mention that I needed some new clothes.

“Uh, sure.” My shoulders are slack, not even having enough energy to fake being excited for it. “I’ll go.”

“Great,” he breathes out, relieved. “Collin and I will wait for you three by the gates on Saturday around, say, four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Sure.”

The man reaches out, nearly clamping his large hand on my shoulder, but stops himself. He pulls his hand back down at his side and gives me a soft nod. It’s strange. Goodey didn’t care one bit, he just went for it, but Nicholas hesitated. I don’t get why. It’s not like I have much of a choice whether they can do stuff like this or not. I can’t punch them, or I’ll get in trouble and I’m in no position to demand things.

Nicholas clicks his tongue before giving a brief grin and turning on his heels. Much like Mattheo, he’s not one for explaining himself or his actions. I’m left feeling clueless about what just happened, but relieved, nonetheless. I wanted to sock Goodey right in the mouth when he grabbed me, but I couldn’t. So, knowing that Nicholas controlled himself helps when I think about having to spend time with him again on the weekend.

Tuesday, 12:53pm

Corey once again stands up on the table, making it seem as though he has bulging muscles by flexing as hard as he possibly can. The girls down the table are giggling as usual, and the guys are all rolling their eyes at him. Mattheo has yet to notice that his friend is out on control for the third time in the last hour. Just a few more seconds and I’m sure he’ll be yanking back down into his seat once more.

Twenty children total in each year, and I get stuck with these three idiots.

James rolls his piece of parchment up and slides it over to me. He nudges me while motioning towards it and, against my better judgement, I open it. Inside the parchment, scribbled in black ink, are his master plans for this winter. He has a set schedule for each and every prank they’ll be pulling, both together and individually. Just at the bottom of the page is my name with a blank area beneath it.

“Why is my name on here?”

James gives a wicked smile. “I’m still waiting for your potential to reveal. You know, what you’re good at when it comes to mischief.”

“I’m not doing anymore pranks, James.” I scoot the parchment back towards him. “One was enough.”

“Oh, come on, Rylan.” James lays the parchment back out in front of me. He then says in a sing-song voice, “It would help you learn hexen’s better.”

Sending him a glare, my nostrils flare. I don’t want any more trouble, if it can be avoided that is. “No.”

The boy’s shoulders go slack, and he groans while slamming his head onto the tabletop. His sandy-brown hair now rests right next to his mashed potatoes and steamed carrots. James is usually a bit more distant, but ever since Mattheo mentioned a new outline for their pranks, he’s been putting his heart and soul into it. Now, James’ shoulders become stiff, and his head shoots up from its prone position. He has a look of panic in his blue eyes.

“Oy, Minnie!” He shouts out towards the group of girls down the table from us. “Where’s Amaya?”

Miriam Minnie Dailee, the small girl with ebony skin and long dark braids that follows Amaya everywhere stands now. Her pale-blue butterfly dress swishes as she makes her way towards us. Deep mocha eyes lock onto James before looking around, as if she’s making sure no one else is around to listen in on their conversation.

“She’s in our room. Been locked up in there since this morning,” Minnie admits.

“Why is she there?” I ask her, ignoring the glare James gives me. “Did something happen?”

Minnie looks nervous but nods anyway. “Fletcher happened.” James’ shoulders become taught. “One of the other girls in our dorm said that he was talking to her, and then she ran off, crying.”

James’s hands form into tight fists, knuckles turning white now. “Where’s Finley now?”

Mattheo reaches across the table and keeps his friend seated. “Don’t even think about it, Jay. One rough around with Finley and you’ll be in the infirmary longer than Rylan was.”

My own hand now reaches out and places itself on his right shoulder. “He’s right. Just wait and we’ll get back at him somehow. Right now, we should all go and check on Amaya.”

James finally releases his fists, and his shoulders relax. “You’re right.”

Without saying anything else, the four of us take off for the hallway. The boys know better than I do where the girls’ dormitory is, so I let them lead the way. A door at the bottom of the east hallway, farthest from the front office, holds the girls’ dorm. Their tower is laid out just like ours. The first year and second year students on the first floor, third and fourth on the second, fifth and sixth on the third, and seventh and eighth on the fourth floor. Their decorations are nicer though and everything seems a bit more well-kept.

Just through the door, a woman sits in a gown with ruffles and a deep red vest, strings hanging from it. Her long dark hair is pinned up much like Miss Holstead’s, and her eyes are practically dancing in the lit fire of the fireplace, orange shining against brown.

“Well, well, well,” she hums out, closing her book and standing to greet us. “Four little boys are in the wrong dorm. Four little boys who do not quite fit the norm.”

“Um, h-hi,” Corey stutters. “We’re just h-here to see a friend. Amaya Porter.”

She’s closer to us now, but her brown eyes still dance in the flamelight. “Hmm, rare indeed that Amaya has guests. But to you four, I deny your request.”

“Please,” James pleads. “We need to make sure she’s okay, Miss.”

“Pleasant with words are you, boy with golden locks.” She begins to circle us now, her cold fingers littering soft touches to our hair and faces. “Yet they fall deaf on one who cares naught.”

“Astrid.” Amaya stands now at the bottom of the twisted staircase, a book in her hands, and a glare in her blue eyes. “That’s enough. They can come up if they want to.”

This Astrid woman chuckles now. She stands and makes her way for the door behind us but doesn’t move to open it. She walks right through it, like a ghost. My insides tingle now at the thought of that being an actual ghost that had touched me. The other boys must be feeling it too with how much they’re trembling next to me.

“W-Was that a-” Corey gulps now. “A ghost?”

Amaya sighs from the steps. “No, not a ghost. A spectral.” She motions for us to follow her, and we happily comply. “Spectral’s are much like ghost, except they willingly died to become a guardian of some kind. Astrid willingly let herself die so that she could become the guardian of the girls’ dorm. Why we need one, I have no idea.”

We reach Amaya’s bedroom and Corey immediately jumps on the nearest bed. He tests the springs a few times before sprawling out on it. Mattheo takes a seat on the one that mirrors where his own is in our room. He looks comfortable like this, as if it’s nothing new to be here in the girls’ dorm. James stands close to Amaya, wringing his hands nervously as he looks anywhere but in her direction.

“S-So, this is y-your room,” James stammers. “It’s nice.”

“Uh, thanks.” Amaya now stands to the side and motions towards the other beds. “Take a seat, I guess.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

James and I sit on separate beds while Amaya stays by the door, looking just as nervous as James was. I can only assume that boys and girls don’t spend much time in each other’s dorms based on their reactions. Which now makes me think; Would we get in trouble for being in here?

“So, what are you guys doing here?” Amaya asks.

“Finley,” James says with venom. “We heard he made you cry.”

Amaya’s cheeks flush, clearly embarrassed that people know about what happened. “Oh.”

Nice going, James.

“What James means to say-” I stand and sit closer to her, next to Corey on the bed by the door. “-is that we were worried he might’ve hurt your feelings or something. That’s all.”

Corey nods from beside me. “Yeah, we were worried about you.”

“Yeah.” James nods, a defeated look on his face before he hangs his head. “We were worried.”

Mattheo only grumbles from the other bed, “Sure, whatever.”

Amaya’s blue eyes glisten now, and tears begin to leak from them. Panic sets in. I have no idea what to do in a situation like this. No one ever prepares you for when a girl just starts crying out of nowhere, but here we are. Amaya’s cheeks are now wet with a steady stream of tears and her nose is a bright red on the end of it.

Now I notice it. Her hair is tangled on the ends, matted and not as straight as before. Even her braids seem lopsided, and her freckles are dull. She doesn’t seem like the same bright-eyed and smiley Amaya she had been the first day we met each other. It’s as if the life has completely left her eyes and the color has left her skin and hair.

“Did something else happen?” I ask her. “Something not involving Finley?”

Her hands shake now as she sits in front of us on a wooden chair. Tears continue falling down her cheeks as she finally whispers, “She’s gone.” Her pale blue eyes shimmer with tears yet to fall. “I was called away on Friday, called to go back home. We had a funeral for Nanna. She was sick,” she sobs. “And none of us knew.”

Amaya’s shoulders shake as her trembling hands cover her wet face. “What’s worse? My mother acts as though nothing has happened. She never liked Nanna, and now she expects me to be fine with it all, but I’m not. I just can’t be fine with it.”

My hands itch from their position on my knees. Not knowing how to comfort her stings. Even now, as she’s crying in front of all four of us, she still seems ready to comfort us if we need it.

Mattheo sighs from behind me and Corey. He makes his way to where Amaya is sitting and bonks the top of her head, startling her. He rolls his eyes while stating, “Nanna wouldn’t want you tearing yourself up over her, right? So, why don’t we spend the rest of the day in here with you, and you can talk to us about her.”

“What?” Amaya croaks.

“You know, tell us about how tooth-rotting she was and whatnot,” he explains. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine too. Just stop crying.”

Amaya’s eyes now twinkle through the tears. Her lips quirk as she grips Mattheo’s hand and says, “Thanks, King.”

“Whatever, Porter.” He shrugs off her hand on his, but he has a small dusting of pink on the bridge of his nose. “Get to talking before I change my mind.”

Amaya’s smile brightens, and she spends the next hour of our day talking about her grandmother. The woman seemed like someone that helped Amaya become the confident little girl that she is today. And apparently, Amaya is named after her as well. Amiyah Delaney Harris. The name has a ring to it, one I doubt I’ll forget.

Laying on her stomach on the floor, Amaya kicks her legs back and forth as she continues painting Mattheo’s fingernails black. Corey stopped laughing the minute Amaya mentioned doing his next, and James is quietly observing us in our little circle from the bed above.

“I think that Mom knew your mom, Rylan.” Amaya finishes Mattheo’s last finger and motions for me to come closer. It’s my turn. “She said that she hadn’t been to a funeral since her friend Emelia passed away. I remember hearing Professors Grey and Dawes talking about her as well.”

Mattheo and I switch places and Amaya gets to work on my fingernails, ruining any shred of manliness I had. “Uh, probably. My mom came here around the same time their dads did, so it makes sense.”

Corey perks up now. “Wait, your mom was Emelia Evans?” I nod and he slaps his forehead. “How could I not have put that together until just now!”

We sit in silence as Corey rushes from the room now. Mattheo looks lost for words, and James is too busy staring off at the opposite wall to have noticed his friend’s departure. Whatever the kid is up to, I don’t want to be involved.

“Anyways,” Amaya hums while stroking another streak of black paint on my thumbnail. “Mom says Emelia and her both had a huge crush on your dad, Mattheo.”

“What?” Mattheo and I both exclaim. We look at one another before shuddering and looking away as I mumble, “That’s not weird at all.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting us know that Porter,” Mattheo grumbles. “I’ll never see my dad the same way again.”

“Hey, it’s not like he felt the same way,” Amaya argues. “Apparently he was head over heels for your mom, Samantha.”

James slides from the bed and exits the room now, quietly excusing himself. There was a slack in his shoulders and roughness underneath his quiet voice. Something must really be eating at him to not jump at the chance to talk with Amaya.

“Was it something I said?” Amaya asks.

“Kind of,” Matthe admits. “My mom was his aunt. That’s how we’re related, through her side of the family. After losing Mom, that side of the family just fell apart, really.”

“I didn’t even know you two were cousins,” I admit.

Amaya gives a sad smile to Mattheo. “I’m sorry if I came off as insensitive about your mom.”

“Nah.” Mattheo waives her off. “I’ve gotten over it, but James is still a bit sensitive. Mom was the one person we could always count on to dig us out of whatever hole we would put ourselves in. Besides, I think he kind of blames himself. I know I did for a while there, but Dad eventually broke through to me.”

“How would her dying be his fault?” Amaya muses. “I thought Samantha’s death was an accident.”

The room is quiet now. Mattheo seems to be contemplating his answer, and Amaya looks unsure of herself for asking. I feel the awkwardness coming from them both in waves.

“I think that’s something that you should talk to James about directly,” Mattheo finally answers. “It’s not really my place to say.”

“I understand,” Amaya mumbles.

Her hands fiddle now with the closed bottle of nail polish. My fingernails are now an extremely dark shade of black, but they look as though they’ve been done by a professional. Amaya is pretty good at doing nails. Not that I’ve ever had my nails done before this, but it’s nice for a first-time thing.

The door swings open and Corey enters the room panting, followed by an also panting James. Corey holds out a giant framed portrait of a young woman standing next to a person whose face has been slashed into shredded pieces. The painting looks old and worn down from years of moving around and not being cleaned properly. A bronze finish surrounds the edges of the portrait along with scattered bits of purple flower petals.

“I found it!” Corey exclaims. “I knew I’d heard that name from somewhere, and this is it!”

He slides the portrait along the floor until it’s slanted up against Amaya’s bed, and he props it with some books that had been scattered about. The woman in the portrait looks hauntingly familiar. Hastily, I pull the small picture from my jean pocket and hold it out towards the painting. The woman in the photograph and the woman in the portrait are undoubtably the same.

Dark hair trailing over thin and fair shoulders, light blue eyes somewhat resembling two iced over ponds, and a slim nose dusted with a bit of freckles. She looks like the mother holding me as a baby in the photo, only in this portrait she seems troubled and less youthful.

“May I introduce you to Emelia Autumn Evans; The only daughter of Heather and Johnathan Evans.” Corey waves his hands towards the portrait in a show of presentation. “She was kind of a big deal here before we were born. She graduated top of her class and was immediately accepted on as a professor. Her top agenda when professor here was apparently equality throughout the social ladder. She was a red fur though, so she kind of got the high end of that ladder. Emelia is someone my dad mentions a lot when he’s-” Corey’s words come to a full stop before his face loses all color. “She’s just a big talk around my house sometimes.” His eyes light up now. “She was also the legendary Wolf of Virginia.”

Amaya tilts her head now. “You mean the tale that humans would tell their offspring so they would steer clear of the woods at nights?”

“What-” I look between them, clearly confused. “My mother stalked kids in the woods?”

Corey releases a boisterous laugh. “Uh, no. Your mom was a legend for taking on rogues that prowled the woods of Virginia. There used to be a problem here where Lycan’s would be banished from their respective packs, and in a sign of rebellion, they would kill civilians to retaliate against our laws.” Corey nods at the portrait now. “Your mom, Emelia, made sure they didn’t get the chance to touch a single person.”

“How though?” I ask.

Amaya stacks her books up in a neat pile by the portrait and sits on it, crossing her leg over the other at the knee. “If I’m not mistaken, some of the other students during our first year had mentioned that The Wolf of Virginia had grown into two abilities, which is rare. It- Sorry- She had unmatched speed and the ability to predict moves when fighting against another Lycan. It was like a type of foreshadowing.”

“I didn’t even realize we came with superpowers.” Looking at my hands now, I can’t help but wonder if I obtained any of her gifts. It would be awesome, but I can barely even shift, let alone harness cool powers.

“I wouldn’t exactly call them superpowers,” Amaya sighs. “They’re abilities that not many Lycan’s receive. It’s only really heard of for alphas to get them, but there have been a few omegas to receive one.”

“Like Corey,” Mattheo muses. “He’s the fastest one in our entire school.”

Corey reddens now. “Not the entire school! The year maybe, but saying the whole school is kind of pushing it.”

The two begin bantering back and forth with one another about whether Corey’s ability is the best one to have while Amaya looks done with the conversation. My eyes stay lingering on the painting of my mother. Those two light blue eyes look haunted. Staring at the photo in my shaking hand, her smile is bright and her eyes shine. The only difference between her in these photos are the company she’s in. The man next to her in the portrait is unrecognizable thanks to the four slashes across where his face would be. Whoever he is, he drained all the life from her eyes, and that makes my hands tremble. It had to have been Noah. He was a monster even then.

September 23rd, 2005 – Friday, 5:35pm

Cold and dirty water splashes up into my face and it takes everything in me not to punch Corey for causing it. This is the second time in the last ten minutes he’s done it. The night is quiet, save for the wolves growling at one another during their lacrosse practice and the splat of our rags.

Somehow, we’ve all four landed detentions once again and now replace ourselves washing the side of the equipment shack. Coach Greene had insisted that he needed the building in top condition. Boards barely hanging on the nail and splinters catching with each swipe of my rag indicates it might be time to just tear the thing down.

Coach Greene passes by us, doing his ten-minutes interval check to make sure we’re working, and focuses back on the practice. Corey slaps his rag against the water’s surface of the small brown bucket and stands to his feet with a huff of annoyance.

“Let’s go do something fun,” he pleads. “This is boring.”

“I’d rather not get detention next Friday too, thanks.” I slap my own rag against the wall, continuing to scrub the dirt clad wall. “Go do something fun on your own if you’re so bored.”

“I can’t,” Corey whines. “I need my friends with me.”

James groans while leaning against the wet wall with his soaked white t-shirt. “Corey, just give us some time to finish this wall and we’ll all go exploring or something.”

“Yeah, just another hour and our punishment’s over,” Mattheo grumbles.

The fact that this is what is considered a punishment now eases me. I would gladly take scrubbing the side of the equipment building or cleaning sticks off the trail over what I’ve been through beforehand. As annoying as these things might be, we really don’t do much else when not serving detention. I use the free time to just study with Amaya and Minnie while the boys are off doing whatever it is that they do when not around me.

Something sharp hits the back of my head now and I rub at it. A quiet growl rumbles from my chest as I turn and glare at the wooded area behind us. “Who’s there?”

The boys seem to perk up now, joining me on the edge of the woods. Everything is quiet, too quiet almost. There are no birds chirping, no leaves shifting about in the breeze, and even the growling from our classmates are muffled now. This had happened before, but it was when we had to clean up the trails.

“Oy! Whoever’s out there better show themselves!” James stands in front of us now, his chest puffed out and his hands on his hips. “We don’t want to have to come in there and get ya’ ourselves, but we will!”

“Speak for yourself,” Corey rushes out.

Mattheo rolls his eyes now as he huffs towards James. “Come on, Jay. We’ve gotta finish this or Coach will make us redo it tomorrow, and I have a study session.”

James rolls his shoulders once before turning back and heading towards the shed again. Corey follows after him and Mattheo stands next to me now. His hand lightly touches my shoulder, and he gives it a soft squeeze.

“We should get back to work,” he murmurs.

The woods are still silent, eerily silent. My focus centers on the edge of the tree line. A small pool of that same black liquid catches my attention. Stepping closer, Mattheo’s hand keeps me from moving too far. From the tall weeds at the tree line, Finley, Gratt, and Wilson emerge with smirks plastered on their evil faces.

“Thought you two would’ve run off like the other greys,” Finley taunts. “Clearly you need to be taught another lesson.”

“I’m pretty sure the one who is constantly losing fights shouldn’t be the one saying that,” Mattheo replies.

Gratt now sneers at the boy next to me. “You two only won those because you’re obviously on something.”

“On something!” Mattheo exclaims. “Now you’re accusing us of taking drugs to be better than you.”

“Drugs-” Finley shrugs his shoulders. “-or something like them. Maybe you four have been using hexen’s when you’re not supposed to.”

“Even if we were- Which we’re not- we wouldn’t tell someone like you,” Mattheo growls out. “You’re the biggest nark in this entire town. It must run in the family.”

Finely steps closer now. “Watch it, King.”

“Or what?” Mattheo now taunts him. “You’ll lunge at me, thinking you’re something big, and then Rylan here will lay you out faster than your mother jumps from your dad to her own brother.”

Finley still has a few bandages on his arms. I notice some peeking out from under his collar as well. Another round of us fighting with one another and it just might be enough to break the kid. Ignoring the burning urge to just hit him already, I shove my trembling hands into my pockets.

“Unless they’re the same person,” Corey says as he saunters toward us.

James comes up just behind us, tossing an arm around my shoulder in the process. “That’s a high probability, given their family tree.”

“I think you mean family bush,” Corey taunts.

Finley now attempts to lunge at Corey, but my shaking hands connect with his chest, shoving him backwards. The blonde hits the ground hard. Gratt and Wilson immediately rush to help their leader up off the ground while sending us glares. My skin begins to itch and the hair on my arms stands at attention. There’s a shift just barely brewing under the surface. Steam emits from my entire body as a low growl rumbles through me.

James has his arms around my chest now, keeping me from stepping any closer to the flailing boys. They all three struggle to stay upright as they rush towards the practice field, clearly scared.

Corey begins taunting them as they run away, but his words are nothing more than whispers compared to the pounding in my ears. My own heartbeat drowns out everything else. I’m shoved to the ground, now sitting on my knees, and my hands grip the damp grass.

“Rylan.” Mattheo’s voice is quiet. “Rylan you have to calm down. Fight it.”

An attempt at responding only leads to more growling on my part. It’s useless.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says solemnly.

A sharp and piercing pain erupts in my side, and I can feel my lungs expanding once more. Hot liquid spills from between my fingers now as they hold my side. A hole is now gaping right where I’ve been experiencing some discomfort since the Finley incident before.

Laying on the wet grass now, I can feel myself reaching even breaths. No longer heavily breathing, the noises are all able to come back now in full force. Corey is attempting explain things to Coach Greene while Mattheo keeps James from lifting my shirt up to examine the bleeding hole. Off in the distance I can hear them; the birds are finally chirping. I never realized I could miss something so small and simple. Their tiny and high-pitched songs echo in my ears now, drowning out the babbling idiots beside me.

“...okay?” Mattheo hovers over me now, sweat dripping from his bangs and his pupils blown out. “Rylan, can you hear me? I didn’t mean to dig that deep, but you weren’t responding the first three times I said anything.”

As much as I don’t want to come back to reality, I know it’s necessary. “I’m fine.”

He breathes out in relief at the two words. James now slaps him on the back. “Looks like you didn’t kill him after all, Matt.”

“Thank the Gods,” Coach Greene groans while rubbing his bald head. “That’s the last thing I need happening on my watch. Now, you four go and get cleaned up. The old girl is clean enough for now.” He taps the shed before walking back towards the concerned players on the field.

Sitting up on my elbows, I turn to stare at Mattheo now. “What happened anyways?”

“Well, it depends on what you remember.”

“I remember everything, I think.” My head spins now as they pull me to my feet. “I remember Finley getting close and stopping him. Then I felt hot, like I was about to shift, then something stabbing me.” Touching the still bleeding hole in my side, I grimace now. “Yeah, something definitely stabbed me.”

“Uh, not exactly.” Mattheo releases a quiet and breathy laugh now, seemingly nervous. “I may or may not have dug my claws into your side.”

“Are you insane?” I shout the question, straining my side.

He shrugs. “I’ve been called worse, I guess.” He helps pull my shirt back down over the bleeding wound. “You know better than I do that it might be time to talk to Professor Kerum about replaceing a tether.”

“A tether?”

He nods while explaining, “Something to keep you grounded when you feel out of control. You’d be tethered to a certain object that could help bring you back when you feel close to slipping. We all have one, but we’ve had years to practice with ours to the point that we don’t need them anymore. You’re new to all of this so it might be a bit harder for you to connect with something like that.”

“I’ll-” There’s shuffling in the woods near us. Someone is still moving around back there. “We should go back to the school.”

Mattheo seems conflicted as his eyes flick back and forth from my face to the woods behind me. Corey groans about still being bored while James shoves him around a bit, attempting to lighten the mood.

Corey elbows James before racing off shouting, “First one to the den gets to pick tomorrow’s victim!”

James groans while grumbling in protest, “He’s literally the fastest-” Another groan. “He’s so frustrating!”

James and Corey bound towards the building, leaving Mattheo and I behind. He pats my back before slowly making his way to the building in the distance. My gaze stays lingering on the dark wooded area. Questions rattle through my mind, but one that sticks is; Why was Finley back there in the first place?