15
Pregnant moon
“You did WHAT with the bullets?" Grandma shouted.
I had walked around for hours before I worked up enough nerve to go to Grandma's house. It was evening by the time I got there.
I didn't mean to tell her how it happened. I started out just telling her the bullets were lost, but Grandma has a way of poking and prodding at the loose ends of a story until the whole thing just unravels.
"The Wolves trust me. I had to prove myself worthy to them―they were all watching me!" It was a lie. No one had been watching. I told myself that I had a good reason for lying to Grandma, but that was just a lie, too.
"Listen," I told her. "I've got some information for you." Then I told her how the Wolves planned to sneak out through the drainage tunnel beneath Troll Bridge Hollow. "Find where that tunnel lets out, and you'll have them," I said.
Grandma sized me up for a moment, then said calmly, "That information can't help us if we don't have silver bullets," she said. "But I suppose you already knew that."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm really, really sorry."
Grandma looked at me, stared into my eyes, and said nothing. Then, finally, she smiled. "Of course you're sorry. I know you are."
Only there was no warmth in her smile, and her eyes were still hard.
"What are you going to do now?" I asked her.
"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll cook up something."
"Hey―you had some other bullets, didn't you?" I asked. "The ones that were still cooling? Where did you put them?"
"Someplace safe," she said quickly, almost sharply, and didn't bother to tell me where.
I reached to my chest, feeling the little silver coin that Mom had given me. It wasn't much, but it could be melted down into a single bullet.
"Maybe I could give you some silver, Grandma."
"Don't worry, Red. I'll manage. I always have."
It was as though a chill had descended on the room. Grandma moved around the house, locking cabinets and drawers, as if absentmindedly. But she didn't miss a single one.
"Are you worried about me, Grandma?" I asked.
"Oh, not at all, not at all," she said. "I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing. Why don't you run along home now, Red. I have a lot to do, a lot to prepare."
"Grandma, please, let me help you."
But I could see a guarded expression on her face now, a look of suspicion that I had never seen there before.
"No, you've been enough help, I think."
I went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't, so I stared up at the moon, watching how it's trailing edge faded into darkness, so close to being full, but not quite there. A pregnant moon, Grandma called it. Full almost to bursting, and ready to give birth to something unthinkable. Tomorrow night, the Wolves would prowl the city streets, devouring anyone in their path. Tomorrow night would also change my life forever. Whatever happened tomorrow, whichever way it went down, I know nothing would ever be the same.
When my alarm went off before dawn, I got out of bed and went down to the park, but Marissa never showed. A little later I tried calling Grandma, to offer my help again, but there was no answer.
I spent the day in a kind of fog. I couldn't think straight, couldn't make any decisions. I felt paralyzed as I waited for the sun to set.
I went by the antique shop at five o'clock. A sign on the door said back in fifteen minutes, but the back door was unlocked, so I let myself in.
"Marissa," I called softly. "Are you here?"
There was no answer, so I sat down behind the register to wait.
And that's when I noticed the box on the counter by the register. It was a small, thin box, the kind that usually holds a watch or a bracelet, the kind of gift girls go gaga over.
Except this one didn't have a girl's name on it. It had mine.
I picked up the box. It didn't have any gift wrap or ribbon on it, just a piece of tape holding it closed, and another piece of tape holding the small envelope with my name on it.
I tore open the envelope and found a note.
you ain't too sharp, red.
yours trouly, marvin
I lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a tarnished silver butter knife.
What was it supposed to mean? Was it a threat? Not a very scary one. You ain't too sharp. Was the dull knife just a joke, or was there something I wasn't getting here? Was there something about the knife itself?
I held the tarnished knife up to the light and studied it. It was heavy, thick, with a finely detailed pattern of flowers on the handle. I turned the blade over and noticed some printing on the flat side of the blade, near the handle. The words stainless steel.
It was just a cheap, steel butter knife, not an expensive silver one.
But stainless steel doesn't tarnish―that's something that happens only to silver. I looked at the knife again, scratched it with my thumbnail, and the stains came off on my fingers. Silver tarnish won't do that, you have to use special polish. So this knife wasn't tarnished at all―but it had been "antiqued." Someone had brushed it with steel wool and used special acids to make it appear like silver. People who didn't know the difference would think they were getting something of value.
A thought started to roll around in the back of my head. I put the knife down on the counter and stood up, feeling a little dizzy.
I looked across the store at the crowded shelf of knick-knacks and spotted the silver candelabra Marissa had used to find out whether or not Marvin was a werewolf.
I walked over to the shelf and stood in front of the heavy object. Five curlicue branches arched out from the center. The tarnished silver gleamed dully under the display light of the cabinet.
I didn't want to, but I reached out and picked it up. Then I scratched the base with my thumbnail. The "tarnish" came right off.
The candelabra wasn't silver at all. It was steel, treated to look like silver.
Which meant Marvin never touched silver . . .
A sharp slam of pain knocked the thought out of my mind, and my head was once again filled with cartoon stars before everything went black.
I woke up so sore I couldn't move. Then I realized I couldn't move because my arms were bound together behind my back. I tried to stand, but my ankles were tied to the chair, so I tried to cry out, but couldn't do that, either. Something stuffed in my mouth kept me from making a sound.
The Wolves must have been in the antique store, waiting for me! But why? I thought they trusted me.
Marvin . . . there was something about Marvin I needed to remember. Something I had found out. . .
I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to look. Big mistake. I felt a sharp pain radiating from where I had been hit on the head, and I groaned.
"He's awake," a voice said. It was cold as ice, but it wasn't a voice I expected. It was Marissa. She and Grandma came over to where I sat.
"We had to do this for your own good," Grandma said. "I'm sorry, Red."
I shook my head vigorously, in spite of the pain.
Marvin . . . something important about Marvin. Why cant I remember?
"Really, Red," Grandma went on, "I'm sorry. You're not a Wolf yet, and I won't let them make you one―even if it's what you think you want. Once we get rid of all the Wolves, you'll be out of danger and we'll let you go."