Chapter 33
Caleb Ross shifted for the first time in May.
At school.
During jazz-band rehearsal.
This was unfortunate for several reasons.
The largest was the trumpet.
Jake received Marcus’s text at 4:12.
MARCUS: WE HAVE A SITUATION
JAKE: define situation
MARCUS: furry
JAKE: where
MARCUS: band storage
JAKE: why are YOU there
MARCUS: long story
Jake and Noah reached the band room seven minutes later.
Marcus stood outside the storage closet.
“Nobody’s hurt.”
A crash came from inside.
Marcus added, “Currently.”
Noah sniffed.
“He’s terrified.”
Jake knocked.
The growl from inside was small.
Young.
Jake remembered waking inside his own body and discovering it had rules nobody had explained.
“Caleb?”
Another growl.
“It’s Jake Miller.”
Silence.
“You probably know me as the guy who almost got suspended for climbing the goalpost.”
Marcus whispered, “Strong opening.”
Jake ignored him.
“Something weird is happening to you. I know.”
A whine came through the door.
Noah crouched beside Jake.
“Tell him he isn’t sick.”
Jake nodded.
“You’re not sick.”
The closet door shook.
“And you’re not dying.”
Noah whispered, “Probably.”
Jake looked at him.
Noah mouthed, Sorry.
Jake continued.
“You’re going to be okay. But we need you to let us in.”
The door opened two inches.
One gold eye appeared.
Jake smiled.
“Hey.”
The door opened farther.
A skinny brown wolf crouched between instrument cases.
A trumpet lay crushed beneath one paw.
Marcus looked at it.
“That is going to be expensive.”
The wolf growled.
“Not helping,” Noah said.
Marcus backed away.
Jake sat on the floor.
Noah sat beside him.
Neither approached.
After five minutes Caleb crawled toward them.
After ten he let Noah touch his head.
After twenty he shifted back.
Jake threw a band jacket around him before anyone could open the outer door.
Caleb stared at them.
“What the hell am I?”
Jake remembered every terrible answer adults had given Noah.
Bloodline.
Contaminated.
Key.
Wolf.
He chose the only one that mattered first.
“Caleb.”
The boy blinked.
Jake smiled.
“The rest we can figure out.”
***
Caleb’s mother believed them faster than Jake expected.
Mostly because her son had called from the band room wearing somebody else’s jacket and no pants.
There were limits to denial.
Mrs. Ross sat at Lisa’s kitchen table at nine that night.
“My grandfather used to disappear,” she said.
Noah looked at her.
“How often?”
“A few nights every year. My mother said he drank.”
Sofia asked, “Did he?”
Mrs. Ross shook her head.
“I never smelled alcohol.”
Jake exchanged a look with Noah.
Dormant line.
Not every wolf family knew what they were.
Some had buried it so successfully the truth became another family rumor.
Caleb sat beside his mother wrapped in one of Jake’s old hoodies.
Jake noticed.
Apparently he had become a clothing bank for confused werewolves.
“Do I have to leave school?” Caleb asked.
“No,” Noah said immediately.
“Can I still play trumpet?”
Marcus looked toward the ruined instrument.
“Maybe not that trumpet.”
Lisa kicked his chair.
Caleb almost smiled.
Jake said, “You get to keep your life.”
Mrs. Ross looked at him.
Jake meant it.
Nobody would turn Caleb into a project.
They would teach him enough to be safe.
Then let him be sixteen.
That felt more like Warden work than anything Jake had done with glowing chalk.
***
Jake and Noah made one rule for summer.
No hunting supernatural problems unless the supernatural problem came to them.
The rule lasted twelve days.
Technically, Jake argued, the problem came to them.
It arrived as a voicemail on Sofia’s phone.
A woman in Arkansas had a seventeen-year-old son who woke in the backyard with no clothes, no memory, and mud under his fingernails.
Sofia listened twice.
Jake looked at Noah.
Noah looked at Jake.
“No,” Noah said.
Jake nodded.
“Absolutely.”
“We are not driving to Arkansas.”
“Correct.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow.
Jake continued.
“We can call her.”
Noah relaxed.
“Call.”
“Give advice.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe mail pants.”
Noah closed his eyes.
“Why are you like this?”
Jake grinned.
Because somebody had found Noah.
Because somebody had stayed.
Maybe that could become the thing they passed on.
Not blood.
Not destiny.
A phone number.
A safe place.
Someone who believed you when you said something impossible had happened.
Jake took the phone from Sofia.
“Hi,” he said when the woman answered. “This is going to sound strange, but I think we can help.”
***
The list began as a joke.
THINGS WE ARE DOING THIS SUMMER THAT DO NOT INVOLVE CULTS.
Jake wrote it on notebook paper.
Noah added: 1. Swimming.
Jake added: 2. Six Flags.
Noah crossed it out.
“Why?”
“Werewolf hearing plus screaming roller coasters.”
“Coward.”
Noah wrote: 2. Camping.
Jake stared.
“You were literally hunted in the woods.”
“Reclaiming.”
Jake nodded.
“Fine.”
He added: 3. Drive-in movie.
Noah added: 4. Teach Caleb not to eat a trumpet.
Jake laughed.
They eventually reached twenty.
Fishing.
A Royals game.
A day in Kansas City where they did not tell anybody where they were going.
College shopping.
Teach Claire to drive Jake’s car without destroying it.
Noah wrote: 14. Get Jake a better car.
Jake crossed it out so hard the paper tore.
“You take that back.”
“It makes noises.”
“It has character.”
“It has a warning light.”
“Mood lighting.”
Noah laughed.
At number twenty Jake stopped.
“What?” Noah asked.
Jake wrote slowly.
20. Be boring.
Noah looked at it.
Then added underneath: Together.
Jake did not make fun of him.
Much.